The Relationship Clause

Chapter 29

I don’t knowwhat makes me think Owen might reply right away, but I wait like a dog by a door, hoping he will. My knee bounces under my desk. Seconds pass. Then minutes.

Nothing.

But it’s fine. He’s busy. I know this. I know he’s in the middle of something, and I double know he’ll get back to me when he can because we’re committed to each other.

Of course, there’s been nothing in writing or in our words that have expressly said we’re committed to each other, at least not in the traditional sense of the word. Neither of us has uttered the word “boyfriend” or “girlfriend” or “exclusive” or “steady.” Do people even say things like “going steady” these days? I’m pretty sure they don’t. But even if they did, Owen and I haven’t said them to each other.

And yes, I know we probably don’t need to say those words, but after the stupid conversation with my dad, I wish we had. I could hold them up in my head like banners. No, like shields. Big, strong, heavy shields to tell the rest of my brain, “We’re safe! Stop freaking out! Dad is wrong!”

I try to distract myself from Owen’s lack of response by throwing myself into my work, but I can’t concentrate. For some reason, my brain keeps going back to that dinner I had with Kiera and Summer when Summer asked me that stupid question. “What are you afraid of?”

Her words roll around my thoughts like a rock in a dryer with nothing to cushion it, clashing and clanging around, denting everything it comes in contact with.

All this time, all my life, I’ve claimed I was happy with the way I lived and how I moved from job to job, person to person. I was doing exactly as my dad had taught me to do, protecting myself the only way I knew how. But I’m not stupid.

My own mother left. I know what kind of effect leaving can have on people. That’s why I cut myself off completely, changed jobs, moved constantly. I didn’t want to see the aftermath of my absence. I didn’t want to feel it.

But I think I know what I was really afraid of all this time.

Yes, I am worried I’m incapable of truly giving one hundred percent of myself to one person. That’s always been the thing I’ve claimed.

But maybe what I’m most scared of is jumping off that ledge, careening my whole self into a pitch-black pit toward the promise of someone waiting at the bottom, only to find out there was no one waiting for me to begin with. That I threw myself off for nothing. And that Dad was right.

He’s right. He’s right. He’s right.

No. I squeeze my eyes shut against the intrusive words.

“Everything okay?”

My eyes pop back open to find Cole from accounting staring at me like he wishes he didn’t ask me that question. I smile, wishing my face weren’t so warm.

“Yeah, I’m good. What can I do for you?”

He hands over a folder, looking more than a little relieved. “Can you make sure Owen gets this report when he gets back?”

“Of course.”

The rest of the day is pretty much a repeat of this exchange. Me getting too deep in my head only to be awkwardly pulled out of it again by this or that. Time drags with a painful slowness. Eventually, the calls from my dad stop, and my phone is devoid of all communication. I think maybe Owen will call after work, but I eat dinner and watch four episodes of Gilmore Girls without so much as a peep. I go to bed unreasonably grumpy.

The next day is a repeat of the first, only now, instead of being distracted and worried, I’m also getting angry. My temper boils beneath the surface of every interaction, a defense mechanism I haven’t used since I was a teenager. It’s better than bursting into tears though.

Again, Kiera tries to get me to open up to her, but I brush her off. Even Summer has a go at me with no success.

I’m this close to breaking down and looking up Shane’s number in the company directory, calling him, and demanding to know why his business partner has been ghosting me, but a shred of pride keeps me from pulling the trigger.

At the end of the day, as people are leaving the office and packing up, I check my phone for the millionth time. Nothing. I grab my purse a little too forcefully and knock over the little cup on my desk that holds paper clips. A hundred tiny, metal clips scatter to the floor. I glance up, hoping someone might come to my rescue and help me pick them up, but at least two-thirds of the office is already gone, including Kiera and Summer, so I drop to the floor to retrieve them by myself. Tears threaten to spill from my eyes, but I refuse to let them.

Tonight is definitely going to be an ice cream night. A big bowl of chocolate peanut butter Tillamook. I might even go wild and dump half a bottle of chocolate sauce on top. Who’s going to stop me?

No one.

Because I have no one.

And no one—

The elevator doors ding, and a silence comes over the office. I’m behind my desk, still picking up the stupid paper clips, but I notice it immediately. Then, two sets of footsteps pierce the air, somehow familiar. One set sounds an awful lot like stiletto gunshots. The other, expensive men’s shoes.

I peek around the desk and feel the blood drain from my cheeks.

Owen’s mom AND dad are here. Together. Walking toward me. And if looks could kill, I’d be so deep in the grave, the earth’s core could melt the skin off my face.

My legs twitch with the need to run, but the rest of my body is frozen in place. I’m a deer caught in headlights, and this truck is coming to crush my bones, no stopping it. I don’t have to guess why they’re here looking at me like that. If they’re together, it can only mean one thing: they found out. Somehow, they found out. And now it’s all coming out, and Owen isn’t even here.

“So it’s true,” Fred says, stopping in front of me. “You are his secretary.”

“You’re dating my son?” Ms. Burton demands.

Forgetting the paper clips, I stand and wipe my now-sweaty hands on my pants. The remaining employees in the office are staring. I don’t blame them. This has all the makings of a spectacular train wreck. How could they not watch?

“Fred,” I say, “let me exp—”

“You don’t get to call me Fred. It’s Mr. Ferguson to you”

My heart rate climbs, pounding in my chest. This can’t be happening. I fell asleep at my desk, and I’ll wake up any minute from this nightmare.

“Where is he?” Ms. Burton demands. “Where is Owen?”

“He’s not here. Work emergency,” I manage to choke out.

“That’s just as well,” Ms. Burton says. “You’re fired.”

“You can’t fire me.” The words fall out of my mouth before I can think about them. They’re definitely a mistake.

Ms. Burton steps dangerously close to me. I have visions of her headbutting me. Is that how she wins all of her corporate arguments? Head butting anyone who dares oppose her?

“I can do anything I want. I’m Cynthia Burton. You’re nothing but a lying, scheming nobody. How you weaseled your way into Owen’s life is beyond me.”

I take a deep breath, clutching my fists at my sides. “We met at my old job where I was a barista. I never lied to him.”

“There you go, proving my point. You’re nothing but a coffee girl. I bet when I have my PI look you up, he’ll tell me everything I already know. That you’re poor. In debt. A little leech who decided to latch on to my son as soon as she saw how successful he was. Well, I’ll tell you what, missy, you’ve got another thing coming. You are forbidden from working with or seeing my son ever again.”

Her words are a sucker punch to the gut. I can’t say anything, because she’s right. When she goes digging around for dirt on me, she’ll see my hospital debt and the work Owen’s been helping me put in on my house, and it won’t matter what I say after that. Her suspicions will be confirmed. It doesn’t matter that I’m not the leech she thinks me to be. My fate is sealed.

Adrenaline tears through me. I’m shaking. My breath comes out in quick gasps, too quick to be healthy, and I’m lightheaded. Confrontation has never been my thing, but here I am in my second heated argument in two days.

And maybe I could handle them on a good day when I’m at one hundred percent, but today is not a good day. Not after everything that happened with my own father. Not after all my insecurities concerning Owen. I’m functioning on maybe twenty-three percent, which is not enough to deal with Owen’s parents, even for a million dollars.

I can’t take it anymore. I grab my bag. Thank goodness my legs work. I sidestep Owen’s parents, who both gape at me as if wondering how I could possibly dare. I run-walk to the elevator, but they don’t let up. They follow me inside, berating me every step of the way.

“Where are you going? Running away? Stop and look at us when we’re talking to you, you little viper.”

“Viper is too kind a word for what she is,” Ms. Burton spits. “You lied to us. Both of us. The way you spoke to me, the way you kept me from my son all these weeks, forcing me to make appointments and not letting me drop in on my own son; you have no idea the kind of misery you’ve brought upon yourself. By the time my lawyers are done with you, girl, you’re going to wish you never pulled the wool over my eyes.”

My toe taps on the floor. Stay calm. Deep breaths. Owen wouldn’t appreciate me slapping his parents. Probably.

“Not just your eyes, all of ours.” Fred’s face is splotchy, his gaze cutting into me with a painful prick. “Owen’s too. What kind of lies have you told him, huh? What did you tell him to make him fall under your spell?”

“I haven’t lied to Owen.” Why does my voice have to be so shaky? Why is this elevator so slow?

Fred throws up his hands. “Bah! How can we believe anything you say?”

When we get to my floor, I fumble with my keys.

“She even got him to let her live across the hall from him,” Fred says. “I didn’t think anything of it before, but now I see what you’ve done.”

“She was working her way further into his life. Further into his money.” Ms. Burton sneers.

I manage to shove the key into the lock and force the door open. The urge to slam the door in their faces burns me, but something stops me. I can’t let them have the last word. I won’t.

I whirl around on my heels. “For your information, I didn’t weasel my way into any part of Owen’s life. Do you know why we lied to you both? And yes, I said we, because I wasn’t the only one who lied to you.”

“I don’t care what you—”

“We lied because of you two. You and your awful relationship with each other, your messed up past, your pushy attitudes. You’re the ones who weaseled your way into his life. He asked me to pretend to be his secretary to keep you out of his business,” I say, jabbing my finger toward Ms. Burton. “And we only pretended to be dating at first so you wouldn’t blow a gasket about his secretary sitting on his desk.” I turn my finger at Fred. “So this whole thing is as much your fault as it is mine or Owen’s.”

The two of them blink at me for a second, then at each other, as if still trying to process what I said.

“So, let me get this straight, you’re not involved with my son?” Ms. Burton asks.

And of all the stupid, idiotic, self-absorbed things she could have said, this was the worst. I draw myself up to my full height. Steam should be curling from my nostrils with how heated I am.

“No, I’m not involved with your son. I’m more than involved with him. We’re dating each other. He’s my boyfriend. And guess what? We don’t have any plans to break up. You want to know why? Because I love him. I, Juniper Cousins, love Owen Ferguson, even despite his awful parents. You can’t stop me from loving him just like you can’t stop me from dating him. And guess what? You can’t fire me either.”

I slam the door in their horrified faces. After a speech like that, maybe I should feel empowered. Bold. Confident. But none of those emotions take over in the silent aftermath. All I can register is the clawing sense of doubt.

What if there is something they can do to break us up? They have money, after all, and money can do some powerful things. Is there anything they can say or do to convince Owen to break up with me? I don’t know what kind of strings they might be able to pull, what kind of secrets they might be hiding. And I called myself Owen’s girlfriend. More than that, I told them I love him. The word just popped out of my mouth. What do I know about love? About what it takes to give myself wholly to another person? And what if… what if Owen doesn’t love me back?

What if everything I said was wrong?

My heart hammers in my chest, blood rushing in my ears, legs and arms shaky. I take a great, gasping breath, then another, and another, but it does nothing to calm me.

I whirl around and immediately start packing.