We put on our flip-flops—foot fungus was all about equality and didn’t care how much money someone had—and headed for the showers. I’d gotten over my fear of naked people when I’d seen the club’s shower set-up. If not for the pain one had to go through to need the shower, I’d be here every day. Each stall was as big as my entire bathroom, and the shampoo and conditioner they provided could actually tame my hair. Plus, their towels were incredibly poufy. It was like drying yourself with a stuffed teddy bear. Eww—disturbing image. I take it back.
Emilia started talking as soon as we were done hosing ourselves off. “I’m surprised you’re letting whatever it is between the two of you stop you from doing the best client you’ve ever— Wrong word choice. Stop you from keeping the best client you’ve ever had.” She didn’t flinch when her towel fell. Since she’d lost all that weight and worked us both so hard to keep it off, she had no problem talking to me while topless. “He has a ton of work for you, right? He pays a higher wage than any other client, and your schedule would be a whole lot emptier without him. Can’t you just find a way to ignore everything else?”
“I’m not sure.” I pulled my shirt over my head one-handed, the other one clutching my towel to avoid an accidental nip slip.
“Andi, you are the strongest person I know. And probably the most focused. So let’s run through a few different scenarios.” She continued after I nodded warily. “Number one—this whole romantic entanglement thing with Hayden is all in your head. The answer to that is to suck it up and deal with it. You’re not sitting next to him all day—you’re across town from him. At night, you can dream about him sweeping you off to some secluded destination and banging your brains out, but during the day, you stay focused on your job and ignore the inclination to over-examine his every comment. Because they don’t mean anything. He’s married, and you’re a good person. Therefore, it’s not going to happen.”
“You’re right.”
“Of course I am, but I’m not done.”
I wiggled into my undies, the towel securely tucked around my waist. Emilia had no such trouble since her towel was already in the bin. So she just watched me struggle with an amused grin on her face. Where did she buy her confidence?
“Scenario number two,” she continued, “he totally has the hots for you and wants to screw you on your desk until you have keyboard shaped dents on your ass.”
“Thanks for the image which will never leave my brain.” Granted, the screwing-on-the-desk one was ruined by the dents-in-my-ass one—’cause I don’t need any more of those, thanks very much—but that was probably for the best.
“You’re welcome. Now back to the scenario. Here’s the flaw in it: As much as I love you, and as beautiful as I think you are inside and out, the guy barely knows you. So we’re not talking about true love here.”
We weren’t? No, of course we weren’t. If anything, we were talking about two people liking each other a lot, who hadn’t been exposed to the dangers of getting sex mixed up with love. Who hadn’t gotten confused and decided that great sexual compatibility meant they should be together. If anything, Hayden and I were just two people who’d gotten to know who each of us really were without the games and pressures of a physical relationship.
Shit. Was I talking myself out of it being real or into it?
Emilia went on, totally unaware of my screwed-up internal argument. “We’re talking about a man who may not fully understand the parameters of your working relationship. Who might be lonely, have a terrible marriage, and think his respect for you and your work means more than it does. Now, I don’t think Hayden Bennett is a stupid man. If you told him what’s up, he should be smart enough to deal with it. If he can’t, then that’s on him, and you walk away with your head held high.”
“You’re right again.” I tossed my wet towel into the bin and buttoned my pants.
“Of course, I am.” She grabbed a fresh bottle of water from the club’s members-only fridge, cracked it open, and downed at least half of it. “So, as we’ve just learned from both scenarios, this is not an insurmountable problem. I think you should consider giving him one more shot. I’m not going to force you into anything, but if you sit down with him and tell him what is and is not going to happen, it might clear things up between the two of you.”
“Maybe. But you’re not talking about sitting down, sitting down, are you? Because I don’t think I’ll be able to sit for a couple of days.” I rubbed my butt again to increase circulation.
“Fine. You both talk standing up and in different places.” She slammed her locker and spun the lock. “Oh, quick change of topic before you get back to worrying about things you can’t control. Are you helping Rob with something? I’m guessing it’s computer related because my help isn’t good enough. Anyway, he mentioned that you’ve been hard to get a hold of.”
“You mean you’re okay with your hot husband getting a hold of me? Thank you! Rob will really help me forget about Hayden.” Actually, thanks to caller ID and the fact that very few people knew my number to begin with, it had been easy to avoid her husband. I had nothing to tell him anyway.
She glared at me. “Just for that, I’m going to sign us up for another spin class and make sure we get two spots in the front line.” Laughing at her own joke, she tucked her water bottle into her oversized purse. “I am now going to focus on my desperate hobble to the car and leave you to think about my incredible advice.”
I did think about it. All the way to the car, on the drive home, and through four hours of Netflix binging. Oh man, if the zombie apocalypse doesn’t seem all that bad compared to real life, you have serious issues.
Emilia was right—Hayden was probably just a bit confused. If I sat him down—metaphorically speaking, because sitting was out of the question for at least a few days and meeting him was out forever—and set some rules, maybe we could continue working together. After an unknown amount of time playing it straight, I’d be able to think of him as just another client. He’d be a paycheck, not a friend, and definitely not anything beyond that.
Plus, as was the case in Emilia’s first scenario, I was probably just being an idiot and reading too much into everything. He had no interest in me, apart from me being an employee. It wasn’t as if no boss had ever befriended an employee before. So maybe we could be friends, and I could figure out another way to handle the blackmail issue.
Right, because things always worked out the way I wanted them to.
15
Hayden
I was on my third cup of coffee, feeling jittery but no less exhausted. I’d spent the previous night working, but was so distracted by thoughts of Sira, everything had taken three times as long to go through. It was my own fault. She had every right to be upset. I’d never been fired before, but if I’d ever deserved it, now was the time. Eventually, the tang of disappointment would go away.
When my phone rang, I hesitated before answering, sure it was whomever the agency had chosen to replace Sira. “Bennett.”
“We need to talk.” Her voice. Not angry, not weak. Strong, like she was about to put me in my place. And, for once, for her, I would allow it.
“I’m listening.”
“I really liked working with you, and I appreciate the complimentary things you said to my boss about my work.” She took a breath. “I may have reacted badly, or misinterpreted certain things, and for that, I apologize.”
“If an apology is necessary, it should be from me. Your reaction was completely appropriate.”
“Thanks, but I don’t agree. That being said, for whatever reason—real or imagined—things may have gotten a bit…out of hand and, while I’m not exactly sure how or why, I’m hoping that if guidelines are set up, it won’t happen again.”
“What sort of guidelines?” I would agree to almost anything that would end with us speaking.
“Well, for one, meeting in person—even if you ask my boss—won’t be happening. Our conversations, as much as I enjoy them, should be kep
t to a minimum to avoid any misunderstandings. And…um…there was a third one, but I forgot what it was.”
“Something about me not being allowed to think about how much I’d like to buy you dinner, perhaps?”
“You think of— Um… No, that wasn’t it. But now I think we should add a fourth—you’re not allowed to say things like that.”
“I’ll do my best,” I said, smiling. “But it’s like handing someone a sealed envelope and telling them not to look inside. Can’t be done.”
I knew there was a line, and I knew I’d crossed it. In for a penny… Why not just stalk the poor woman? Who was only trying to do her job in a professional manner. The problem was that I never gave up. On anything.
Not since my father had beaten me unconscious after little league. Final game of the season, and an eight-year-old, hyper-competitive Hayden got pissed off at the ref’s call, threw his mitt down, and stomped off the field. The memory of the injuries that had followed my outburst and a whole bunch of other paternal lessons still drove me. Had gotten me far. At least, in terms of money and shit I didn’t give a shit about. Far enough to where I was seriously contemplating ruining a woman’s life on the off chance our flirtation could be more than that.
Fuck you, Dad. Thanks a lot.
“You need to understand that certain…ideas have entered my consciousness,” she said. “And I need them to go away. If you—even in jest—play on those ideas, I’m going to have to permanently separate myself from you.”
I should walk away now before I got in any deeper. Yes, I could find another assistant. No, I didn’t want to. Sira understood me, read between my lines and gave me what I wanted before I knew what that was. But that was work, not life. Why did I think one would bleed into the other? Because they did in every other way. Work was my life.
Maybe I was in need of some serious therapy. Maybe I should just leave her alone. Maybe.
But the world didn’t run on maybe. The world was made up of yes’s and no’s. And if you didn’t pick one, someone chose for you. Another lesson I’d learned from my father. And from watching him die right in front of me.
“Do you understand, Hayden?”
“Yes,” I said slowly, forcing the word out. “Yes, I understand.” As much as I didn’t want to.
16
Hayden
Just like any other day, Clare was sitting on her chair when I came home. But instead of reading, she stared at the floor, her knees tucked into her chest. It was a subtle difference, and if our life together had any variation in it whatsoever, I wouldn’t have noticed.
“How was your day?” I asked. Same words, different actions. Instead of just walking by her on my way to the kitchen, I stopped.
“Fine. Yours?” Her voice was strained, hoarse.
“Clare, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
I waited for a moment, wondering if I should just leave her alone, take her at her word. I probably should. It was what she obviously wanted. But I didn’t. “Clare, talk to me.”
When her head popped up, I saw her eyes, red from crying, her brow tight with anger. “I said it’s nothing!”
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but it’s obviously not nothing.”
“What the hell do you know?” She vaulted out of the chair and shoved my chest with both hands. I stepped backwards, but she kept coming, shouting uncontrollably. “You don’t know anything about me, Hayden. Least of all how I’m feeling.”
When she slapped me across the face, I went from stunned to more stunned. I pushed her away as gently as I could. “What’s wrong with you?” I’d known her for six years and had never seen any violence in her before. I’d barely even seen her angry, other than a short-lived fight with a friend or when the caterer screwed up. But never at me.
She came at me again, raising her hand to strike.
I grabbed her wrist and backed her up. “What the hell?”
Her eyes widened when her back hit the wall, and she yanked to be free, lifting her knee a little too close to my balls for comfort. I slammed into her to keep her still, to not give her room to recoil. I pressed her hands against the wall with mine, our bodies flush. Her breath came fast, heavy, her chest rising and falling in gasps, her jaw shaking.
“Where is this coming from?” I was too close to her, my body against hers, blocking her movement. It had been too long since I’d been in this position, felt a woman’s breasts pressed against my chest, her hips pushing into mine. I felt the blood rush to my cock, felt it press into her belly.
Right then it could have been anyone. I was so confused, so frustrated. All I wanted was to feel good. To feel something. Relief. Release. Wanted.
She leaned forward as if to kiss me, her lips separated. I shied back, letting go of her. Her hands immediately dove to my belt, opening up my pants, gripping my erection. It had been so long since someone had touched me, wanted to be with me. Clare was my wife. So what was stopping me?
I cupped her jaw, unable to keep my eyes off her mouth. I could take it, cover it with mine, lift her skirt and bury myself inside of her. It would be so easy, such a relief.
But this? This was wrong. I wanted her, and it could never happen.
“No,” I said, pulling away, prying her off, and stumbling back. “What’s wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with you?” she spat. “Why can’t you just fuck me, Hayden? Just let go for one second, stop over-thinking everything, and take me right here?” Her skirt was tucked up, exposing long beautiful legs and the edge of lace panties.
She was so beautiful and so sexy. And she didn’t want me. Not really. All of this had been caused by a level of emotion that she’d never felt for me. And never would feel for me.
“You’re not thinking clearly.” Which made two of us. I swallowed, unable to look at her anymore because my control was paper-thin. I turned away and dragged myself into the kitchen, fastening up my pants on the way. “You’re angry. At something or someone. Not me, that’s for sure. Because you don’t care enough about me to feel that much passion. So, who is it?”
Her voice came from right behind me, still breathy. “I care about you.”
“Not like that, you don’t.” I went around the island so there would be a big chunk of granite between us, protecting both of us from something that shouldn’t have even gone this far. “Who is it?”
She slid onto a stool, staring at me, her anger and desire defused and replaced with remorse, regret maybe. Then she looked down as if she couldn’t face me and speak at the same time. “No one you know.”
“Shannon?”
Her head popped up in surprise. “How did you…?”
“Just because I try to stay out of the drama of our social circle, doesn’t mean I don’t know what’s going on.”
A panicked look appeared on her face. “What are people saying about me?”
“Don’t worry.” I leaned back against the counter. “They don’t know.”
She fidgeted. “Know what?”
We’d never talked about it, but I never thought it was because she was trying to keep it from me.
“I’ll admit to not being the most attentive man in the world, but I’m not stupid.”
“I didn’t say you were,” she said quietly, picking at a fingernail.
“We’ve been married for three years, known each other for six. Do you really think I’ve never noticed how you look at her?”
Clare’s brows came together. “Maybe I’m the inattentive one because I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I sighed. Enough. I’d had enough lies and numbness, sleepwalking through my existence with no wonder or excitement, no goal I actually gave a shit about.
I took a bottle out of the wine fridge and filled two glasses, not speaking until we each had one to stare into. “We have a good life, don’t we? Security, stability, friends.”
“Yeah,” she said, swirling her glass gently.
“Do y
ou know the only thing I’ve ever really wanted and have never had?” And, until recently, never imagined I could.
She shook her head.
“For someone to look at me the way you look at Shannon. For someone’s eyes to light up when they see me, to warm just because I’m there. To need me that much.” I took a sip of wine to ease the ache in my throat. “To love me that much.”
“I don’t—”
I silenced her with a hand. “We’re past ignoring it, Clare. Lying to each other or pretending things aren’t what they are.”
Her shoulders slumped, her incredible confidence and posturing gone. “How long have you known?”
“Since the beginning.”
“That’s impossible. We—”
“Since the beginning,” I repeated. Since before we’d gotten married. Before we were even engaged, I’d known. When we’d had sex, I’d known, and I’d pretended she actually wanted me, loved me, and wasn’t just letting me inside her because of a marriage certificate.
“Why’d you marry me then?”
“For all of the wrong reasons and a few of the right ones.”
She shook her head, but she also looked relieved—not to have to hide anymore, to have someone to be honest with. “I’m sorry.”
“There’s no need to be. It is what it is. I could’ve done something, said something, so I’m not without fault.” I filled her glass after she emptied it.
“Shannon dumped me.” She raised her glass in a mock toast. “Said she was too tired of hiding.”
That explained her outburst. “Did she ask Frank for a divorce?”
“No.” She chuckled sadly. “She’s trying to go straight.”
“Think it’ll last?”
She shrugged. “Not sure. Frank has no idea, so…”
“You thought I had no idea. Maybe he already knows.”
“Maybe. But he isn’t the man you are. Her cheating just makes him feel better about his own. If he knew the other man is actually a woman, he’d probably just keep pretending he didn’t know. I guess it’ll be easier now that we’re not together anymore.” She swung off the stool and came around the island, sliding her glass across the counter until she was two feet away from me.