Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Marley
As the free drinks are drained and the wings and pretzels devoured, the party winds to a close.
The number of Prescott Investment Corp employees has steadily dwindled, leaving only a few stragglers nursing glass after glass of water, either trying to sober up or ward off the hangovers I’ll never know, thanks to being sober.
Even with most of our group gone, the outdoor patio has grown busier. People fresh off work pour in, ready to kick off their weekend, and the once-quiet space fills with the chaotic hum of overlapping conversations and boozy laughter.
I notice the change in Theo almost immediately. The man who had been unusually pleasant and relaxed tonight is gone, replaced by the version I know too well: closed off, tense, and unreadable.
He sits on a barstool, his eyes fixed on the muted soccer game playing on the mounted televisions, though I’m sure he isn’t actually watching.
An older, busty woman at his side has made several failed attempts to grab his attention.
Yet, Theo remains unmoved, gripping his beer with one hand while his knee bounces with restless energy.
He looks like a man waiting for an exit.
Holden is beside him, animatedly telling some grand story to a group of strangers he’s clearly just met, holding court as if they’ve been lifelong friends.
Meanwhile, Angelica has completely ditched him.
She’s now cozied up to a bearded hipster in a tie and vest, laughing a little too loudly and touching his arm far more than you’d expect from someone on a second date with another man.
As soon as I see off the last coworker and catch Busty Older Woman gearing up for another go at Theo, I decide it’s time to step in.
I walk up to him, deliberately blocking his view of the television and plopping into an empty stool beside him. “Well, I can honestly say I’m impressed. For someone who doesn’t celebrate birthdays, you handled it like a pro. If you want to make a run for it, though, now’s your chance.”
His expression changes instantly, from vacant to alert, eyes lighting up. “And if I want to stay?”
“Be my guest, but I figured I’d give you an out,” I say, letting my eyes flick to the woman he’s been pretending doesn’t exist all night. “You know, just in case.”
His cheek twitches, knowing exactly what I’m insinuating. By his expression, it’s clear the liquor has hit him, softening the edges of his usual restraint.
He tilts his head toward the exit. “Want to call it a night?”
I’m the sober one here, unless a sugar buzz from the endless lemonades Theo kept me supplied with counts.
But the moment he says ‘call it a night,’ my mind goes somewhere less innocent.
There are plenty of ways I could interpret that.
And if it were anyone else, I’d assume they were insinuating something a lot less professional by ‘calling it a night’ together, in bed, with his dick in my mouth.
With Theo, though, it’s not like that. It could never be like that.
Even if I’ve let my mind wander to the possibility a time, or two, or twenty, when he shows up to the office in one of those perfectly tailored suits, or when his hair rebels against him by the end of the day.
Honestly, I’m certain there isn’t a single person in this city who hasn’t at least wondered what it’d be like to be under someone with an intensity like his.
We walk to the end of the bar, where he closes out his tab and leaves a tip so staggeringly generous it has both the bartender and me exchanging surprised glances.
Yet another green flag: good tipper.
We wave goodbye to his brother, still lost in his grand story with his newfound best friends, and make our way out of the brewery.
The crowd is thick, voices blending, but Theo’s hand finds its place on the small of my back as we walk out together.
We’re pushed together as we weave through the busy bar.
My back presses against his chest as we squeeze ourselves between patrons, the scent of his cologne enveloping me.
We push through the door, with his hand warm against the sliver of skin exposed between my top and skirt, a stark contrast to the cool bite of the night air.
I don’t want to feel this way. I don’t want to feel a zap in my belly, or this delicate fluttering in my chest. The only thing I want is a steady, well-paying job.
Not a quickly spiraling attraction to my boss.
As soon as we’re out on the sidewalk, he takes a giant step back, creating a wall of distance. At least one of us has some willpower. Although it may help that he can’t possibly see me the way I see him. I’m the broke dancer barely meeting ends, while he could have literally any woman he wants.
He clears his throat. “Thank you. For tonight.”
“You don’t have to thank me. It was fun. And I’m glad you came, even if I did have to low-key blackmail you.”
That rare smile appears, dimpling his right cheek. “Never thought I would say this, but I’m glad you did.”
“So, how are you getting home?” I ask. “You’re a big guy, and I’m sure you can handle your liquor, but we can’t risk having the birthday boy driving under the influence.”
His eyes scrunch near the corners, his smile fully breaking free. “In one sentence, you managed to call me two things I’ve never been called before—big guy and birthday boy.” He shakes his head, amused. “Also, I’d never drive drunk. I’ll call a rideshare.”
“Where are you parked?”
He gestures behind him to the parking garage across the street. “There. It’ll be fine overnight though.”
“C’mon, I’ll drive you.” I hold out my hand, curling my fingers in a silent demand for his keys.
“I’m not so sure that’s a great idea,” he murmurs.
I don’t know whether to take his comment as a compliment or an insult, but either way, it doesn’t faze me.
“No time for arguing. It’s one of the perks of partying with someone who doesn’t drink. Now, lead the way.”
I step past him, heading toward the parking garage. For a moment, he doesn’t move, and I half expect him to tell me to leave him be.
But then his footsteps fall in beside mine.
After a beat, he glances over. “How are you going to get home if you’re dropping me off?”
“I’ll sleep on your couch,” I say it completely as a way to freak him out. And it works. Too well.
He freezes on the sidewalk. “Marley, I’m your boss, you can’t …”
I grab his arm and pull him toward the garage. “I’m kidding, don’t look so terrified. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, but I’ll call a cab or something. No biggie.”
He pays his parking fees at the kiosk before reluctantly leading the way up the cement stairs, me following close behind as we climb floor after floor. When we finally reach the top, his sleek black car is perfectly backed into a corner spot, surrounded by a sea of vehicles packed in like sardines.
He tosses me the keys. I catch them without a second of hesitation, and for a moment, we both smile. For all our differences, there’s something about this—like we’re quietly operating on the same frequency.
The second I drop into the driver’s seat, I realize it’s pushed so far back I’m practically lounging in the backseat.
“Dear god,” I mutter, adjusting the seat. “How long are your legs? I feel like I could fit an entire family in this gap.”
“I’m normal-sized,” he replies flatly, clicking his seatbelt into place.
I snort. “If you’re normal-sized, I’d love to see what an actual normal-sized person looks like next to you.”
Trying to figure out how to start his car’s navigation system, I tap the rectangular screen in the middle of the dash. Instead of pulling up directions, it lets out a sharp beep, flashing an error message like I’ve instead activated self-destruct mode.
“How do I make it stop screaming at me?” I panic, aggressively tapping the screen in a desperate attempt to silence it.
Before I can launch into a full-blown battle with his car’s technology, his hand wraps around my wrist, gently stilling my movements.
“Let me,” he says, his voice suddenly lower, closer.
His fingers brush away from mine as he presses a button I hadn’t even noticed, tucked into the far-right corner of the screen. With a few effortless taps, he pulls up the navigation system and selects Home. The GPS instantly springs to life, like it wasn’t just glitching out on me.
Of course. Everything works better when he touches it. Including me, probably.
As we drive, the glow of streetlights and the shimmer of nearby buildings flicker across his face. For the first time since I’ve met him, he looks peaceful. Like he’s not caught in some relentless internal battle, not bracing for the next fight. Just here.
Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s him getting more used to me, but it feels different between us now. Easier. Like we’ve slipped into something more natural without realizing it.
“You never told me something about yourself earlier. Something I don’t know about you,” I say aloud, feeling brave in the darkness of the car with him.
He makes a noise in his throat, thoughtful. “There’s not much to know.”
“Theo, you have to be the most mysterious person on this entire planet. And I don’t say that lightly. I’ve met a lot of people, and most of them will spill their life story within five minutes. You? I don’t even know if you … I don’t know, own a dog.”
“No pets.” His fingers flex against his thigh, eyes still focused on the road. “I just don’t have much to say. I’m old and boring. I work, I go home to sleep, and then I do it all over again the next day.”
“Oh, please. You’re not old. Forty is the new thirty, after all.”
“That’s easy to say when you’re still in your twenties,” he grumbles. “Get back to me in twelve years.”
“You remember my age,” I remark.
“Constantly.”