Chapter 15
Hazel
I still hate my boss.I think.
The last few days have challenged my opinions about him. Today”s Thursday, and here I am.
We”ve been busy with work, and he hasn”t mentioned anything about a possible future date after we had sex in his office. I assumed he wanted to fuck me and move on, so after sex, I acted professionally. If I were indifferent, he”d notice. I”d scare him away forever if I let him know how obsessed I was with him.
Hell, I”ve noticed him looking at me the past few days, and I wonder if he has something to say.
But I can”t make him. After our make-out sesh on that fake date, I wised up when he”d asked me if I wronged him.
I wonder if he wants to have sex again. Should I have sex with him again?
I mean. I want to. I would. But I can”t make it easier for him—as much as my pussy has different ideas on the subject.
Since we had sex, I”ve thought about how his hands felt on me. His mouth. His cock. He’s the rollercoaster ride that stays with you long after you’ve left the amusement park.
I close the journal and put it back into the drawer. Then, I look at the Post-it note I made to myself with a message from his grandmother. Oh, shit.
The lovely lady called earlier when he was in a meeting. She asked me to remind him not to ”forget to take a picture.”
Whatever that meant.
I use the excuse to enter his office and find his handsome self focused on his computer, a pensive expression on his face.
”Mr. Cromwell.” I”d be lying if I said I didn’t use his surname to annoy him. It”s immature and a petty way to get back at him for telling me to call him Archer only on that Saturday.
He”s partially redeemed himself by being generous when it comes to my dad and, of course, railing me in his office days ago. But I want more—even though I know I shouldn”t expect it. Or want it.
”Yes?” he asks without taking his attention away from the screen.
”Your grandmother called earlier when you were in a meeting. She said your cell was off. She asked me to remind you not to forget to take a picture today.”
He rocks back in his chair at those words, running his strong hands down his face. ”Jesus, fuck,” he says under his breath. ”It”s today.”
”What is it?”
I scavenger hunt the corners of my brain, wondering if I forgot any particular date on his calendar. I mean, his grandma is in Florida. What could she be talking about?
”Have I forgotten anything?” I ask.
Have I been a lousy assistant again? A bad… girl?The words sting at the tip of my tongue, but I bite the inside of my cheek, inwardly telling myself to behave. His serious expression doesn”t hint at sexual foreplay. A wave of disappointment washes over me.
He pops his knuckles, a twinge of sadness touching his eyes.
I frown. ”What”s wrong?”
”Every year, my grandmother visited my mom”s grave. Today is the anniversary of her death. When Grandmother moved to Florida a few years ago, I took over. Now, I visit on my mom”s birthday and the anniversary of her death. I take flowers and send a picture for my grandmother so she knows I did it.”
My heart skips several beats, and when it resumes, it does so in a much warmer fashion. God, I’m a fool… ”That”s kind of you.”
He waves me off. ”Don”t peg me for a do-gooder. My grandmother will send me on a one-way ticket to rock bottom if I don”t oblige her.”
I cross my arms over my chest. I can’t even begin to understand the relationship he must share with his grandmother. But I want to. Despite common sense, the more I discover about him, the more it motivates me to find out more. I try hard to portray a cool exterior, but every inch of my insides is warm and soft for him. ”Okay. Well, you”d better get to it. You have an important appointment at four.”
”Right. I have to get going.”
”I can tag along,” I offer. I swallow the lump in my throat. What am I doing? I should stick to the Mr. Cromwell treatment and vent my frustration in my journal entries.
He lifts an eyebrow. ”Why would you do that?”
”I don”t know. On the way, we can talk and get some work done. If you leave now, I won”t have much time to brief you about your four o”clock meeting by the time you get back.” Good save, I tell myself.
”Okay. Fine. Let”s go.”
In the car, I can”t help but think that having him take me with him is a small victory. Why did I insist on coming? Because that impulsive heart of mine is a stubborn bitch and doesn”t always listen to my brain”s directives.
But the idea of him visiting his mom”s grave alone seemed so sad. From what he said at the hospital when Dad was in the ER, he didn”t have a whole lot of support when his mother was ill.
He”s probably used to handling everything on his own. He needs me to cater to his orders, book appointments, and take notes. But he does any emotional lifting without help.
No one should ever deal with so much at such an early age.
Life doesn”t work that way, of course. I wish Archer had a better support system or someone who’d looked out for him as a child. Maybe his grandmother was that person, and he was too young to share his pain with her. Or didn’t know how.
And now he probably thinks he”s too old to share it with anyone.
Why is any of this my concern? That question haunts me as we walk through the serene cemetery, where many families of Dallas” old money are buried. He had sex with me days ago and hasn”t tried to do it again. He”s my boss—we have no other link.
Yet, as we reach his mother’s gravestone—located in a peaceful area near large oak trees with intricate sculptures—I realize I don”t need to make sense of inviting myself along. I simply need to be present for him.
Archer puts the flowers on her grave and looks at it in silence.
I let him take a moment to do whatever he needs to do before saying, ”Tell me about your mom.”
”She was good-hearted. Believed in people”s bullshit too much. My father”s especially.”
I sit next to him. ”What happened to him?”
”He left us when I was three. Fatherhood wasn”t his thing. When he heard my mom had been diagnosed with an autoimmune disease, he came back and did a whole theater act. She fell for it, and two years later, when she died, he left with most of her money.”
I touch his shoulder and feel the tension in his muscles under his suit. ”Shitty dad. I”m sorry.”
”I went to live with my grandmother.”
”I”m glad she took you in. “Was she good to you?”
”She was heartbroken when she took me in. She blamed my mom for being so na?ve. As far as being good to me, she did the best she could. Came from a different generation, so she always raised me to do better—at sports, with grades, that type of thing. A big fan of timers,” he says, and a smile slips through his lips.
”I see how blaming was easier for her. But from what I understand, your mom was also in a delicate state. Maybe she took your father back because she wanted you to have another parent in case something happened to her.”
”I don”t know.” He looks ahead. ”When I was a teen, what I wanted the most was to change my reality, to escape, to time travel, and to bring my mother back.”
”Is that why you entered the traveling business? Because it helps people escape?”
”You”re insightful. Is this another free-of-charge therapy session?”
”I”m on the clock, so it”s not free of charge.”
His handsome features relax. ”You”re annoying. Did I ever tell you that?”
”Yes. You point out my mistakes often.”
He dips his head, and I freeze. Anticipation builds in my core, and heat coils in the pit of my stomach. Is he going to kiss me? I inhale the wonderful scent of his skin, complete with a dash of woodsy notes and a blend of spices I can”t pinpoint. I close my eyes and lean closer, and when he brushes his lips on my cheek, my heart rate skyrockets.
He drags his mouth to the corner of my lips, and I part them, welcoming him, but he disengages and whispers, ”Thank you, Hazel.” Then, he kisses the top of my head.
Later in the day, I”m still processing that visit as I stare blankly at my computer screen.
Five o”clock.
He”s done with his meeting.
I should leave soon. Thankfully, my dad is doing fine and up to his old tricks. I told him I”d get home later today because I needed to shop for a dress for Sarah”s birthday party.
I tried to give Emma her dress back, but she insisted I keep it. I may have to buy her something nice in gratitude. That dress helped me in more ways than one—but I still need a different one for the next event.
”How”s your dad?” Archer asks, coming by my desk. ”I forgot to ask.”
I grab my purse and put my cell phone, the journal, and a couple more items in it. ”He”s good. Stubborn, but he knows sooner or later I”ll find out if he rebels against the doctor”s orders.”
He tilts his head to the side, eyes on me. ”Smart.”
A lump forms in my throat, and I stare back at him. Heat radiates from my chest, and my breath catches in my throat. ”Yeah.”
Archer glances around as if we wouldn”t see if anyone came our way in the long hallway leading to my desk. Then he leans closer. ”Do you want to… do something?”
Do something? I lift my eyebrow. ”Are you asking me on a date?”
”Yes.”
Desire pumps through me. So he”s coming for more… Very well. I”m excited, nervous, and anxious, but try not to show it. I casually look at the time on my screen. ”I can”t stay out late, though. You have two, three hours max.” Not a lie. I guess I”ll have to buy the dress for Sarah”s party tomorrow or something. But I still don”t want to be gone too long before getting home to check on Dad. I can”t trust his eating habits these days.
”Okay.”
I turn off my monitor and reach for my bag at my feet. ”Where are we going?”
He closes the distance between us, and although he isn”t touching me, his nearness sets off all my sexual alarms. ”Let me see. We can go to an expensive dinner and talk or go to my house and order in.”
Ripples of excitement travel through me. I know what he”s implying. Do I want to go to a swanky restaurant and eat and dispel the sexual tension for two hours, or go straight to dessert? As much as I”d love to share a meal, I don”t have time to waste. I gather all my courage and try to sound cool, saying, ”I”m kind of tired of talking.”