“I prefer the term strong-arm, personally. That way it’s not a felony.”
The dimple makes another appearance, and it unfurls this small seed inside me—something warm and hopeful that shouldn’t be there.
“Fine. Go ahead and pull some costs together and we’ll show the executive committee, but I’m not paying any designers or architects or whatever. It’s got to be bare bones.”
“Violate building codes. Got it. You won’t regret this, Premier Stalin.”
“I already regret this,” he mutters, but I leave with a smile.
I wanted to save TSG. It’s starting to feel as if it’s saving me too.
FOUR DAYS LATER, I’m in front of the executive committee and once again, I’m struggling with the smart board.
“Sorry,” I tell them. “It’ll be just a minute. Technology and I are not friends.”
Hunter starts to stand, ready to come to my aid.
“I’ve got it,” Caleb says, shooting Hunter an unnecessary scowl as he jumps to his feet.
He nudges me to the side, towering over me though I’m in heels. His fingers move confidently over my laptop—his hands are so fucking large. There’s something about the sheer size of him that makes me think of being manhandled.
I look away. I have enough issues with the smart board...I need every available brain cell.
“Go to HR when the meeting is done and tell them you need a new laptop,” he says as the slides load. “This thing is a piece of shit.”
He takes his seat, and I show them the initial idea I had for the room, as well as the anticipated costs.
When I’m done, Debbie turns to Caleb in shock. “You approved this?”
He frowns, with a tiny clench in his jaw. “Why wouldn’t I? It’s a good plan.”
“I know it’s a good plan,” she says. “I’m simply stunned that you agreed to spend money without a fight.”
I grin. “There was a little fight.”
“It’s not much money,” he reminds me with a growl. “Correct, Lucie?”
“Wow,” Mark says. “Next you’ll convince him to throw a holiday party.”
“Actually,” I reply, “I think we should start doing staff meetings. There’s research that shows—”
“Meetings are a waste of time,” Caleb says, cutting me off. “I ask for work to be done, pay a good salary, and the work is completed. What’s there to discuss?”
“Use the meeting to tell them they’re doing a great job,” I suggest. Employees are scared of him and they shouldn’t be—he’s someone they’d want to work for, if they really knew him. “Tell them what’s next for the company or what they have to look forward to.”
His eyes roll. “Why isn’t continued employment enough to look forward to?”
I laugh, perching on the edge of the table. “Caleb, if continued employment was enough, you wouldn’t have needed me in the first place.”
I wait for him to point out that he did not, in fact, need me. His mouth tilts, but he doesn’t say it, which is generous of him.
“The cost would be minimal,” I continue. “Just bagels and coffee. I’ll do all the leg work.”
His gaze meets mine and there’s still reluctance in his face, a desire to argue, but it…softens. Unexpectedly, quietly. “Fine,” he says.
“And you’ll be there,” I add, sounding uncomfortably like Sophie issuing one of her warnings. It’s a you’ll be there or I’ll fight you over it.
His lips move into one of his almost-smiles again, as if he’s thinking the same thing. “My schedule is getting packed. If this is really necessary, I can do it two weeks from now, but after that, no promises.” He pauses then, a flicker of worry on his face. “Is that okay? Do you have time to pull it together by then?”
I never thought I’d see the day when Caleb Lowell would appear legitimately concerned about whether he was asking too much.
Mark grins, as if he never expected to see it either.
16
CALEB
Lucie is in the green dress today and her hair is down. “Can I show you something?” she asks, holding up her laptop and I know this is the last thing I need right now—her in my office smelling like roses and sunlight, her in that fucking dress and those heels—but I can’t think of a reason to say no.
She strides toward me, hips swaying like an invitation.
She comes to my side of the desk and sets her laptop in front of me before opening up a spreadsheet. The numbers blur, though, because her smell is in my nostrils and her ass is an inch from my arm, and if I were to look really hard—I swear to God I’m not going to look—I’d see some cleavage as she leans over.
She shuts the laptop. “You’re not even listening,” she says. “What are you actually thinking about?”
My expression, I’m certain, is guilty. My head is blank. I say nothing, and she smiles. “Caleb, tell me.”
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
She steps in front of me and takes a seat on my desk. Her dress is bunched up now, barely covering her ass and when her thighs spread wide, it’s covering nothing at all. She reaches between her legs and tugs the tiny black thong she’s wearing to the side. “Was it this?” she purrs, her fingers sliding over her center, circling her clit.
I should deny it, but I’m already rising, already ripping off my belt. I can’t undress fast enough, as if she’s an apparition that will vanish if I close my eyes. She reaches for me, smiling as her mouth lowers, moaning as I hit the back of her throat.
I wake. I’m so close to coming that for a second I wonder if it’s going to happen entirely on its own.
I slide my hand into my boxers and grip myself tight, just the way I’d want her to do it before she took me into her mouth.
I spent the entire past week thinking about her and I’ll spend next week doing the same. This isn’t sustainable. Harrison was right.
I’m going to slip.
17
LUCIE
On Saturday, Jeremy comes to pick up the kids for their first overnight.
He’s only watched them for twenty-four consecutive hours once before, and though I try to assure myself they’ll be fine, I can’t quite take a full breath as he swerves into the driveway.
This time, he doesn’t get out of the car. He just lays on the horn while staring right through me as if I’m now invisible to him. I doubt that I am, given he was texting only yesterday to tell me how selfish I am for ‘destroying our family.’
I walk the twins to the car, my hand gently resting atop each little head, dropping to my knees when we reach it and pulling them to me. Small lips are pressed to my cheeks and Henry clings, briefly, which makes it so much harder.
Jeremy deigns to climb from the car at last. “Let’s go, guys.” His voice is hard, edged with threat.
They release me and climb into the back. By the time I rise, he’s already walking away.
“Sophie’s allergy meds are in her bag,” I begin. “I wrote the instructions on a—”
“I know about her allergies,” he says, swinging the door open.
He doesn’t. I can’t think of a time he ever reminded her to take her meds or came to her appointments. I barrel on anyway. “Henry will need the night-light—”
He turns, smirking. “Parenting isn’t rocket science, Lucie. If you’d ever done anything significant with your life, you’d understand that.”
My stomach sinks as they drive away, knowing he won’t remind Henry to pee before he goes to bed or move his milk away when it’s too close to the edge of the table. Knowing he’ll be enraged when it goes wrong—when the milk spills or Henry has an accident or Sophie’s eyelids swell after they’ve just arrived at the park because he didn’t remind her to take her meds.
I’ve done this to my children, by leaving. How many days and nights of their lives will they spend under his thumb, suffering him because I couldn’t stand to keep doing so myself? Will there ever come a day when I’m certain it was the right decision?