The CEO's Baby (Thirsty Thursday Book 2) Page 9
I wrench myself from his grip and roll off the bed. Once my feet hit the floor, I bend to retrieve my clothes. I think about taking them to the bathroom and getting dressed there, but I decide to give him a bit of a show instead. Call me bitter, but I don’t care. He hurt me, and I won’t pretend that it was the other way around. Not when he’s had plenty of time to make things right. He could have apologized at any time during the last month and a half. Instead, it happened during a sexual encounter that never would have happened if we hadn’t happened to be seeing the same movie. So no. I won’t accept these tears.
I take a full minute to put my clothes back on, and in those sixty seconds, nothing was said. Without another word, I leave his bedroom, pad down the stairs, and snatch my purse from the ground. It’s only when I shut the door behind me and pull my phone out to bring the rideshare app up that my own tears fall.
Holy hell. That did not feel good at all. Not one ounce of me feels like what I just did was the right thing to do. I can barely see the screen as I request a ride, and my fingers are shaking when I finally press the button, but I also can’t bring myself to go back in there and apologize. It might be better to burn the bridge and put this behind us for real. We’ve now hurt each other, so it’s clear we’re not right for each other. Isn’t it? When your first reaction to someone’s kiss is to slap them, that should be a clue. But if your second reaction is to kiss back with more passion than you’ve ever felt? Then what?
By the time my ride shows up, I’m more confused than ever. It seems as though I can’t trust reaction when it comes to Blake. I can only go by what my heart is telling me. And my heart’s telling me that I might have messed up big time.
Chapter 11
Blake
I can’t fucking focus. Isn’t that the running theme of my life right now? I have no focus. Well, that’s not true. I have perfect focus. I just keep focusing on the wrong thing. Instead of focusing on these reports I have to go over, I’m focusing on how spectacularly I fucked up on Friday. Instead of focusing on these numbers I have to approve, I’m focusing on how I spent the rest of the weekend at home, alone, and in bed. Sad and pining after a woman who left me in much the same state I left her almost a month and a half ago. Deserved? Absolutely. But also crushing? You better believe it.
Weekends suck for the brokenhearted. Because that’s what I am. My heart’s broken, my dick’s broken, and my brain’s broken. I’m just fucking broken. And the only cure is the very same thing that broke me in the first place. It’s a fucked cycle, and I don’t know how to fix it.
And Mondays spent at work also suck for the brokenhearted. Just because they already suck for most people.
The whole morning goes to waste in a haze of when-will-I-see-her-again and what-the-hell-do-I-do-now? How do I move on from a woman I’m not supposed to move on from? How do I accept my fate as another one who let her get away because I couldn’t commit when I’m more than willing to make myself commit now?
I’m trying to suck it up. I swear I am. When Janet comes into my office to drop a delivery off, though, she notices my bad mood and tries to cheer me up with my favorite lunch from The Steam Room, but all that offer makes me think about is her. About the coffee and the muffins I got for her after our first night together. And that makes me think about how all of my nights with every other woman have been the only night with them, yet with her, my angel, I have a first night. Because there was a second. And I’ll include Friday night as a third. I just hope that it wasn’t the last. And not because I wasn’t able to bury myself inside her.
Janet’s had enough of my sullen attitude though. She drops the box on my desk and spins around to leave. When the door clicks shut, I snap out of my thoughts and focus on the box. It’s still not the right thing to focus on, but it’s something productive at least. Because it seems to knock something loose in my brain and an idea sparks. As long as Chaz and Shiree are still gone tomorrow, which I know they will be, then I’ll be seeing my angel a lot sooner than I thought.
I pick the phone up, taking a page out of Chaz’s playbook. “Hi. Yeah, I need to place an order, but it’s a little unusual…”
***
Lyra
I would say that this Wednesday started like any other, but that’s kind of a lie. It started like any other Wednesday since Blake Cornwell barged into my life. Hmm. Maybe that’s a lie too, seeing as I kind of barged into his. But I digress. This day has been like the rest of them since that ridiculous, fateful Friday six weeks ago, which is to say alone and sad. I could smack him for it too, since that’s what I do. But no. I can’t. Because he’s not in my life anymore, and I need to accept that for real now.
Over the weekend, I held on to a little bit of hope that he’d forgive me. Because, well, I only returned his gracious favor of leaving after sex. Quid pro quo and all that. And because he actually cried while he was apologizing—and making me come in yet another way he’s added to his arsenal. But he never called, texted, or stopped by. He could have sent carrier pigeons or smoke signals—something. But there was nothing. Nothing at all. Not a peep.
By Monday, I was just about gave up. But a small sliver stayed glued to my heart, and that small sliver aches more than the rest of the thing. It felt slightly less achy yesterday, which I thought was good. Then it came back worse than ever, stabbing me hard, when I got to work this morning and saw his name on my delivery list.
Now, I’m driving to his office building, furious because I both hate and love that I might see him again. I’m simultaneously dreading running into him and hoping I can at least catch a glimpse of him. Mostly because I want to see that he’s looking as awful as I feel. Because he should feel as awful as I do if I feel this awful over him.
But I also don’t want him to feel awful. I want him to be happy—just like I want to be happy. I want us both to be happy. Together. Because I must be some delirious crazy person who thinks love at first sight actually occurs in real life. I’m just too confused. So confused that I actually feel a little ill. My stomach churns as I get out of the truck to get the package to deliver at his office. I can’t tell if I’m working myself up into a tizzy or if it’s just how I feel at the thought of possibly seeing him. It’s one or the other, so I shake it off the best I can and head on up to the twenty-third floor.
At Janet’s desk, I try to leave the box with her on the chest-high counter, but she insists that he requested today’s delivery to be brought to his desk.
I slump forward. “You’re kidding, right?”
It’s not like he can’t lift this box. It weighs next to nothing.
“I’m afraid not,” she says, shaking her head.
“Oh good grief.” I drop my head to the box and mimic her shaking motion there.
“I’d let you leave it here,” she whispers, “but it’s my ass if I do. He already warned me.”
When I lift my head, she gives me a sympathetic look. I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the grin that curves one side of my mouth up.
“Thanks anyway,” I tell her as I take the box off the desk.
She stops me before I get too far though. “Hey. Does this”—she points to the box—“have anything to do with what happened last week over there?” Then she points to the elevator.
I shrug. “I have no idea. I’m just trying to do my job. Like I was last week too.”
Her lips tip up into another sympathetic smile, so I take that as a good time to get this whole thing over with.
I’m familiar with where his office is. I’ve been there before, after all, so I march straight to it and then knock on the door. I expect to hear him shout through the door for me to come in, but he opens it for me and gestures for me to enter. I hesitate for a second though. He looks incredible. Polished, well dressed—like he fits the easygoing CEO role perfectly. Like he’s not losing any sleep over having lost me. Meanwhile, I’m in my dingy work uniform, my hair is flat from the hat we have to wear, and the circles under my eyes rival Saturn’s rings.
However, the strongest part that wins out is the part of me that can’t resist spending some time with him, even if it’s a few moments. So I walk through the doorway and set the package on his desk.
He follows behind me and then walks behind his desk. Once there, he snags his scissors from his top drawer and proceeds to open the box. Upon lifting the flaps, he smiles wide. His eyes light up too, so whatever’s in there must be good. But it’s none of my business. So I turn to go, upset that he seems to be doing just fine while I’m dragging ass and wishing I could forget all of this.
“Don’t you want to know what’s in here?” he asks.
When I turn around, he’s reaching into the box. Once I’m facing him, he removes the contents of the box, and I want to die from embarrassment. What a shitty thing to do.
Once I’ve picked my jaw up off the ground, I ask, “You made me deliver your next box of condoms? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“No, no. Again, this isn’t what—” he starts to explain, but I don’t even want to hear it.
“Zip it, asshole.” I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him. “You know, I only completed this delivery because I wanted to see if you looked like shit as much as I hoped you looked like it. As much as I feel and look like it. Because I totally fucked up, but I did it because you’d done it. And, now, I feel and look like shit and hoped you felt and looked like shit too even though I didn’t really want you to, but you don’t. You fucking don’t. You look like you just walked off the set a photo shoot, and you’re ordering more condoms you knew I’d have to deliver because this is my route until Shiree gets back.” I finally take a breath and then throw my arms out to my sides. “Seriously. What in the actual fuck is wrong with you?”
After a few tense, silent, and motionless moments, he reaches into the box once more. “There’s something else in here,” he says, removing what looks like a few packets of seeds. When he holds them up for me to see, the thought is confirmed.
And it’s also confirmed that he’s now the world’s biggest asshole instead of just a regular asshole in the world. He’s the king of them all.
My eyes go wide and then narrower than they were when I was glaring at him a few seconds ago. “Thought you’d rub that in too, did you?” I spit at him.
He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off again. Fuck this shit.
“I just admitted that I messed up. I shouldn’t have left. Just like you shouldn’t have left. But I didn’t make you show up where I work, and I certainly didn’t rub all of my next and future conquests in your face.” My voice breaks on the last word. I don’t want to think about him with anyone else, but he’s made sure I have no other choice. Though I’m able to hold tears back, I clear my throat before continuing. “That’s not what I did, and I would appreciate it if you never contacted me again. Don’t call, don’t e-mail, don’t text, don’t make me deliver your packages, don’t come by my house, and don’t fucking send smoke signals or carrier pigeons, either. I need to be able to get over this and move on.”
Then I spin on my heel and walk away, wiping tears as I go. To the sound of nothing when I hoped he’d at least try to stop me. Shame on me. I won’t be making that mistake again. And I’ll be calling in sick to work tomorrow to make sure of it.
***
Blake
Talk about a plan backfiring… That’s not at all how that was supposed to go. I feel like that’s another running theme in my life. No focus and no expected outcomes. No focus because of no expected outcomes. Which is the real issue at hand. Maybe, if I’d focused a little harder on how to make this plan work better, I would have achieved the desired result.
Instead, I have condoms I have no use for anymore and seed packets my gardener could have gotten cheaper. And I don’t have the girl. No, she stormed out of here without ever wanting to hear from me again. Which serves me right for the way I handled this. I pictured that going wildly differently, but now that it’s happened, I can see how it all went to shit. I wish she’d given me a chance to explain though. That would have put these items in a much better light.
The condoms are for her. For us. Not for me with anyone else. I can’t possibly think about being with anyone else while she’s on my mind, in my head, and under my skin. Which is why I didn’t have any when she came over on Friday. I threw them the hell away because I didn’t think she was coming back. I might have been out of my mind, but what’s done is done. And I’ve only lived this long to tell the tale because I have two hands of my own.
As for the seed packets, I thought we could plant them together. She was taken by the flower gardens around my house, and she spoke so fondly of wanting to, but she can’t with the limited space she has at her apartment. I mistakenly thought it could be our first real date. It’s not necessarily an interest of mine, but I’d do anything as long as it’s by her side.
Except, apparently, explain myself. Because I listen when it comes to her. She asks, and I do. When she tells me to shut up, I do. But, this time, she didn’t just tell me to shut up. She told me never to contact her again. And I’m not sure I can fulfill that particular request. Especially when the decision was made based on a huge misunderstanding.
Now, I’m not quite sure why I thought any of that was a good idea. Well, the seed packets were good. Maybe, if I’d taken those out of the box first, we wouldn’t be in this situation. I might have been able to explain what they were for, and then I could have shown her the condoms. Or I probably should have just left those in the fucking box. But we are in this situation. So, what in the fuck do I do now?
She told me not to call, e-mail, text, order another package, or—wait. If I remember correctly, there’s one thing she didn’t say not to do. Two, in fact. And you can bet your ass I’m going to take full advantage of that. Because you can also bet your ass I won’t give her time to “get over this and move on.”
There’s no moving on. Unless it’s with me.
Chapter 12
Lyra
I didn’t even need to lie when I called in sick yesterday. I woke up throwing up and generally felt like crap all day. I even canceled Thirsty Thursday with the girls. It was that bad. And I was blaming it on the stress of everything. Thanks so much, life, for bringing this mess to my doorstep. I was just fine before Blake, and I’ll be fine after if you’d throw me a bone and stop putting him on my path. Thanks.
I’m a big, fat liar. I wasn’t just fine before. Everything that happened with Roger had messed me up well before this did. But I wasn’t getting over it. I was stagnant. So, if anything, this has helped push me toward getting over it. Getting back out there. Moving on. Yadda yadda.
But I’m not sure I can still blame how I felt on stress when it’s happening again today. So I call in again. I’m not lifting packages and driving my sick ass all around the city when I could be in bed, getting better.
After a three-hour nap, someone knocks on my door. Yes, my stomach and my heart plummet to the ground when I think-slash-hope that it’s Blake. But I told him to leave me the hell alone, and I think he might truly listen this time. I was livid when I saw him two days ago. More livid than I think I’ve ever been. And I lashed out like a crazy woman. But I’d had it. Enough is enough. If he wants to fuck his way around town, I’m not going to try to stop him. My own heart should thank me for that. It’d be an uphill, painful battle in a war I’d eventually lose.
I swing the door open and find Shiree on my doorstep, in her NatEx uniform, with a bunch of stuff in her hand. Letters?
“Hey!” she says, throwing her arms around me for a tight hug. “I missed you last night! It’s been weeks.”
“I’m glad you’re back,” I tell her just before she unloops her arms and stands up straight. “You look like you had a great time.”
“Aww, thanks!” She goes from smiling to looking like she remembered something important in half a second. “Oh! I grabbed your mail for you. I figured, if you’ve been sick, you might not have gotten it.
”
I take my mail from her and gesture for her to come in.
“Oh, I can’t stay. Gotta get back to work. But I wanted to see you. See how you are and if there’s anything I can do.”
I wave her off. “No, I’m fine. But thanks. Just a stomach bug or the flu or something. Nothing some sleep and some soup can’t cure.”
“Okay, good,” she says. She starts to back away, but then she stops. “Oh! I wanted to ask you. Did anything ever end up happening with that ‘just sex’ guy from a while back? You never mentioned anything, but Patti and Zo said something about—”
“They said something?” I ask, way more alert than I was a few seconds ago. “About what?”
She raises an eyebrow. Slowly, she says, “Just that they thought you might have been seeing someone.” Then she puts a hand on her hip. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“I thought you had to get back to work,” I remind her, totally evading her question.
Her one eyebrow rises even higher, I swear. And she juts her hip out. “Seriously? I’m your best friend!”
“It’s nothing.” I lean against the door, unsure of how to get out of this. I’m not telling her. No way. “At least, I hope it’s nothing now.”
“Lyra!” she scolds.
“Did they say anything about their own dates?” I ask, lifting my own eyebrow at her.
She tilts her head. “They had dates?”
“That’s what I thought. Maybe you should ask them about theirs first.”
“Well, I’m here right now, so you can tell me about yours.”