Forbidden Grumpy Boss (Damaged Daddies #2)

7. Leah

Chapter seven

Leah

The inside of the company car I’m driving smells faintly like pine, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s intentional or just a result of too many air fresheners. Either way, it’s distracting, but not distracting enough to cut the tension in the car.

Caleb is sitting beside me, staring out the window as if the passing buildings are more interesting than engaging with me. The silence feels as thick as the fog of my mind right now. What do you even say to a teenage boy who clearly doesn’t want to talk to you?

Maybe something neutral, something that doesn’t scream awkward adult in a rom-com . I clutch the steering wheel a little tighter, my mind racing for something—anything. But before I can come up with a brilliantly boring topic, Caleb cuts through the quiet.

“Dad’s been riding me about these exams coming up. Like, it’s all he talks about.”

His voice is low, almost a mumble. But the frustration’s there, clear as day. The corner of my mouth twitches in what I think could be a smile, but probably looks more like a grimace. Ah, academic pressure. An old, familiar tune.

“What exams?”

“He wants me to go to Livingston High,” he says, keeping his tone as casual as possible to seem unbothered.

“Isn’t that the best school in the city?”

Caleb nods, not breaking his gaze from the window. “Yeah. But, like, it’s his dream or something. Not mine.”

I glance at him quickly, catching the way his jaw clenches slightly, the same stubbornness I’ve seen in Silas. He’s practically a carbon copy of his dad, but younger and minus the ego. I want to tell him I get it, and I know what it feels like to have someone else’s dream thrust upon you. But I don’t.

I focus back on the road, the hum of the tires on the asphalt the only sound between us now. I’m not sure what it is. Maybe it’s the way Caleb’s voice cracks a little when he talks, or perhaps it’s my own baggage from years ago. But I can sense that something’s off. I don’t ask. I already know.

He’s being bullied.

The realization hits me like a slap. And suddenly, I’m fifteen again, stuck in a high school hallway with my own bullies cornering me. I swallow down the memory like bad medicine and force myself back to the present. Caleb doesn’t say the word, but I don’t need him to. I know the signs. The avoidance, the quiet rebellion in his voice, the way he withdraws.

The car slows as I pull into the school parking lot. And I cut the engine, sitting there for a moment as I think of what to say next. Caleb shifts beside me, tugging his hoodie tighter around him like it’s armor. He’s still a kid—Silas’s kid—and I hate that he’s going through this.

“Livingston High isn’t everything, you know,” I say softly, my voice surprising even me. “Have you told him you don’t want to go there?”

“It’s not like I don’t want to, you know?” he says. “I’d just like him to talk to me about it first. But he’s barely ever around, so when would he have the time to do that?” He laughs sardonically.

I pause. “Are you okay, Caleb?”

He doesn’t respond right away, and I take the opportunity to look over at him. The tension in his face eases just a little, but there’s still that shadow hanging over him. It’s the same one I had when my dad shoved me through life like a chess piece, never caring what I wanted. I sigh, my grip on the steering wheel loosening.

“I’m not really in the mood to talk about it,” Caleb finally says, his voice tight.

I nod, not pushing it. Maybe it’s not the time to press. I know that look in his eyes. It’s the same look I used to have when my dad wouldn’t stop throwing money at problems, thinking it would solve everything. Like when I told him I didn’t want to work in the family company. Or when Mom left him after he cheated. Or when she died.

It's five years since she’s been gone, and the wound still feels fresh, especially this time of year when the anniversary looms over us. It never gets easier.

Caleb’s phone buzzes, pulling me from my thoughts. He checks it and frowns.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing,” he mumbles, pocketing the phone. “Just my dad texting to see where we are.”

I nod, and we get out of the car, the cool air hitting me as I walk beside Caleb toward the school entrance. I see Silas waiting outside, pacing, hands stuffed into his coat pockets. He looks up when he sees us, his face a mix of irritation and something else. Something I can’t quite place.

“Are you hurt?” He touches his son’s shoulder and inspects his face.

Caleb pulls away. “I’m fine, Dad.” He adjusts his glasses.

“Let’s go, Leah,” Silas says as he walks away. “You, wait in the car.” He points at Caleb over his head.

Caleb hangs back, giving us some space as Silas and I walk together toward the Principal’s Office. The school halls feel too bright, the kind of sterile lighting that makes you feel exposed, like a hospital. It does nothing to improve my mood.

We reach the office, and Principal Morgan, as the title board on her table reads, greets us with an overly polished smile. Her office smells faintly of lavender. Probably some essential oil diffuser trying to cover up the harshness of reality.

I don’t buy it for a second.

She motions for us to sit, and I notice how Silas hesitates for a beat before taking the chair next to mine. He’s stiff, his body radiating tension. And I can feel it like a current between us. I wonder how the meeting with the Caldwells went.

“Mr. Waverly. Miss,” Principal Morgan begins, folding her hands on the desk in front of her. “We’ve had a few incidents with Caleb lately. He’s been . . . distracted.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Distracted?”

She nods, her expression soft but condescending. She’s probably wondering who the hell I am. “Yes. I think it would benefit Caleb greatly to have more structure at home. A stable, two-parent household, if you will.”

I glance at Silas, who’s trying to keep his expression neutral. But I can tell the suggestion has hit a nerve. His jaw clenches, and I know he’s fighting back a retort. He says nothing, though, just listens as Principal Morgan drones on about “the importance of family” and “providing Caleb with the support he needs.”

“Is he suspended?” Silas asks.

“We must take some disciplinary measures, I’m sure you understand.” She shakes her head regrettably. “You’ve got a great kid, Mr. Waverly. The final exams are in three months, and you know how important it is for him to pass it if he’s going to get into Livingston.”

“I saw the library on my way in here.” Silas crosses his legs. “It looked like it could use some repair.”

Principal Morgan’s eyes widen as soon as she hears that. “Um, I’ll see what we can do about the suspension.” Silas stands, and she stands, too. They shake hands as I stand there like an outsider. “But keep what I told you in mind, Mr. Waverly. A two-parent household is necessary for a kid, especially for a busy man like yourself.”

When we finally leave her office, my patience hangs by a thread. The second we’re out of earshot, I turn to Silas, my voice sharp.

“You need to be more present in Caleb’s life,” I say, my words cutting through the air between us. “He’s going to grow up resenting you if you keep treating him like this.”

Silas stops walking, turning to face me, his eyes narrowed. “You don’t know anything about my relationship with Caleb.”

We’re out in the yard now. School’s out, and many of the kids have left. Just a few are hanging around, probably in detention. The sun is warm on my skin as we walk to the car.

“You know, throwing money at shit won’t solve anything.”

“I just had his suspension rescinded.” Silas throws me a look. “So, yes, it will, in fact, solve shit. ”

“You didn’t even ask what happened or why he was fighting.” I accuse. “You just threw money at the problem, hoping it went away.”

“You don’t know shit.”

“I know enough,” I shoot back, crossing my arms. “I know what it’s like to have a father who’s too busy for anything but his own agenda.”

He’s silent for a moment, and I can see the wheels turning in his head. Then, out of nowhere, he says, “What if we got engaged?”

I blink, caught completely off guard. “What?”

“A fake engagement,” he clarifies, like that explanation makes it any less insane. “Just for a few months. It would solve a lot of problems.”

I stare at him, my mind racing. Is he serious?

“You can’t be serious,” I say, my voice shaky with disbelief.

But the look on his face tells me he is. And that’s when it hits me. He’s not joking. He’s dead serious.

And somehow, that makes it worse.