Shortly before lunch, payroll dropped off our pay stubs. I didn’t usually look at mine unless I’d been on overtime, but I wasn’t getting anything else done today, so what the hell. I opened the envelope, pulled out the slip of paper and stared at it.
Numbers. Dollars. A chunk for Uncle Sam. A little something toward my retirement. Health insurance. Whatever was left went to college funds, bills and necessities first, and what was left after that went to anything I damn well pleased, like toys. A new flogger. A coil of rope. Some overpriced but amazing coffee to be rationed until the next period of overtime. That pay stub documented every minute I’d been here for the past two weeks. Everything I’d squirreled into a retirement fund over the years. Everything.
Everything except for what I didn’t have.
Nowhere on the pay stub did it break down what I gave up for the privilege of coming here and earning this money. There was no line for Rick. No deductions for pride or a guilty conscience. No bonuses for keeping the client happy.
What could come walking through that door any goddamned minute, just like every day last week, this week, and every week in the foreseeable future.
I pushed the pay stub back into its envelope and shoved it into a drawer. I needed this job because I needed the money. I was too close to the red line to play fast and loose with my income.
There was still the option of a lawsuit, but I had yet to be convinced that wouldn’t make things worse. It sure as fuck wouldn’t fix everything. Especially since nothing—no amount of suing, reasoning, budgeting, or fuming—could make this morning hurt any less. Crossed lines couldn’t be uncrossed. I couldn’t unlove him any more than I could unfuck him. There was no undoing any of this. We could stop, but we couldn’t go back, and what we’d been would always be, even if it existed only in the past tense.
My bosses came by to check our progress, and the sight of them—especially Mitchell, the fucking rat—nauseated me. So did his voice. And the condescending way he spoke to my crew. Dread climbed up from my stomach as he came toward my table. Normally, he’d just grill me from an arm’s length away, but he stopped way too close to me this time.
I stood straighter. No way in hell was I looking up at him.
I gave up Rick because of you.
“How’s everything going, Mr. McNeill?”
All because I can’t handle taking out some loans?
I swallowed. “Fine. Sir.”
“Glad to hear it.”
In the name of keeping my job…
He put a hand on my shoulder, and it seemed to weigh a ton, especially as his eyes narrowed. “Everything’s all right, isn’t it?”
…working for you…
“Everything’s fine.” Two words couldn’t have hurt more than those two did. For the sake of my job, I had to pretend they were true, but I was dying on the inside.
…I let go of the man I’ve completely—
I forced that train of thought right off its rails and looked him in the eye. “It’s all going great.”
It’s all wrong. It’s all fucking wrong. What did I do?
“Good. Good. Glad to hear it.” He clapped my shoulder. “Keep up the good work, McNeill.”
Get your motherfucking hand off—
He squeezed once more and then let go and turned to grill Teagan.
I leaned forward, resting my hands on the table and closing my eyes. My conversations with Rick and my ex-wife ping-ponged around in my head, their words echoing off the inside of my throbbing skull, and one thought lurched its way to the forefront of my mind:
Well, McNeill? Was it worth it?
“Good work, everyone,” Mitchell said. “The client’s coming by later on to have a look at those models, so, uh, let’s all look sharp?”
My stomach fell into my feet.
Not today. God, not today. Rick came in here all the time, but…not today. Please.
I rubbed a hand over my face. I’d been convinced there was nothing worse than facing my boyfriend in the office—or the bedroom—with my boss’s ultimatum hanging over my head.
Wrong. So wrong.
Waiting in here for my ex to walk in with the man who’d strategically driven us apart? Fuck.
And it could get much worse. All Rick had to do was tip his hand, and my job was toast. Even if I could sue the company, that didn’t help me with my cash flow between now and a judge’s decision. I was pretty sure my kids’ colleges wouldn’t accept “I’ll pay you as soon as I’m done suing my ex-employer” in lieu of tuition.
But he wouldn’t tip his hand. I knew damn well he wouldn’t. That wasn’t the kind of man he was, because he wasn’t the kind of man anyone with half a brain would let slip between their fingers. Especially not over something as stupid as money.
That realization—that my secret was safe with Rick even though he probably couldn’t stand the sight of me now—made my chest hurt. He was too good for that kind of vindictive shit. He was too good to let go of.
What have I done?
“Jon?” Marie asked quietly.
I opened my eyes. She was on the opposite side of my table, watching me over her glasses. Her raised eyebrows asked if everything was all right. I nodded. Maybe she was convinced, maybe she wasn’t—her lips tightened, and she held my gaze for a moment like she might pursue the issue.