Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Marley
I close my rickety apartment door, listening for any sign of life.
There’s nothing.
No snoring, no low rumble of the television. No intermittent beeping of the microwave, holding forgotten food. No husky laugh over a ridiculous game show.
The space is empty for the first time in months. Apparently, my mother went out tonight. And while it’s not my place to worry about a grown woman, I can’t help but be on edge. Because she’s not here. Not in the safety of home. Not where I at least know she’s not using.
When she’s out, there are too many ways to veer off her already narrow path of sobriety. It’s a toss-up whether she’ll be gone for an hour or months. Will she run into one of her old circles? Will she decide, again, that a little won’t hurt this time?
I know the pattern. I can’t control it, but it still doesn’t stop the underlying worry clawing itself into my belly.
Tonight is not the night that I want to be up worrying about her. I’ve spent my entire life doing that.
Right now, I want to revel in the way I can still feel Theo’s hands on me. The gentle lean of his body, catching mine. His thumb moving against my skin, and the intensity of his stare on my lips.
I’m going to drive myself crazy, overthinking a moment that probably meant nothing to him.
So, I call Emmy. Normally, she’s the type to toss her phone across the room at the sight of an incoming call, but she’s told me more than once that I’m the exception. The only person who’s allowed to call instead of text.
The line rings. Once. Twice. Three times. I brace myself for voicemail, already accepting that she’s not going to answer.
Then, suddenly, a deep bass thumps through the speaker, the music warbling her voice as she shouts, “Hold on!” Muffled noise, a shuffle, and then the creak of a door. The music fades, replaced by the deep rumbly voice of someone, maybe a bouncer, close by.
“Well, hello, my gorgeous, beautiful, incredibly talented, and professional best friend,” she finally says.
“Em, I need to tell you something,” I rush out.
“Calling to finally spill the secret you’ve been holding onto?
” she asks, her voice too loud, likely overcompensating for the ringing in her ears from the music moments before.
Ever since I told her I couldn’t talk about what was bothering me, it’s been driving her nuts.
At least half a dozen times a day, she floods me with outlandish GIFs and texts, begging me to spill the gossip.
It’s a topic I’ve shoved to the side, hoping that if I ignore it long enough, I’ll forget. Because the sale of The Cobalt is the very last thing I want to dwell on. Not when there’s much more entertaining things to think about, like my very attractive boss.
“No, not that,” I reply.
“Don’t leave me hanging. Tell me, woman.”
I chew on the corner of my thumbnail. “Theo and I … I think we almost kissed.”
She screams so loudly, I have to yank the phone away from my ear.
“I knew it! I fucking knew there was something between you two!”
“I wouldn’t go as far as to say that.”
“Then explain it. How do you ‘almost’ kiss someone if there’s nothing going on?”
“Okay, fair point. He’s extremely difficult to read though. What if he was just, I don’t know, being nice?”
“Give me a play-by-play. I’ll tell you if he was being nice or not.”
I tell her everything. Every single detail. How we planned to practice his speech. How by the time we ended our practice session, I was cheering and he was smiling. How my hands ended up gripping his shirt, and his fingers brushed my hair out of my eyes.
When I finish, I can hear the entertained note in her voice. “Marley, that man was about two seconds from bending you over his desk.”
“Or two seconds from remembering that I’m his assistant, who, at one time, he very much disliked.”
“Keep telling yourself that, girl. From an outsider’s perspective, it’s easier to read between the lines. The man wants you. The question is, do you want him too?”
As I toss and turn in bed for the rest of the night, Em’s question is on a loop in my head.
I do want him. However, even as a person who typically sides with optimism, I can see that it’s impossible.
He’s my boss, and I’m his assistant. He is well-off, while I’m barely beginning to get on my feet.
Men like him don’t go for loud, unfiltered people like me.
What he’s looking for is a neurosurgeon who donates her time to performing pro bono surgeries, with a part-time modeling contract on the side.
The best I could ever give him is good sex and a healthy dose of noncommitment.
By midnight, I hear my mother stumble in.
I crack my door open, peeking out from the tiny sliver of space.
If this were a show, there would be a montage of every time I’ve done this: hearing her come in late, opening the door, only a sliver, while analyzing her movements to determine if she’s under the influence.
If she’s using, it’s best to lock the doors.
She’s never been a mean addict per se, but she’s ridiculously unreasonable, like dealing with a three-year-old who’s convinced the world is out to get them and you’re the enemy for trying to help.
Looking through, she sets her keys on the counter, sighing as she takes off her shoes, chucking them onto the shoe rack. Her steps are even, eyes open, no mumbling to herself. No outward signs that she’s drunk or on something.
I’m not entirely convinced she’s sober, but I’ve also learned there’s no stopping a relapse. No amount of begging, watching, or wishing it away.
After decades of hope, I don’t have much left to give. She’s her only chance now. All I can do is try to believe that maybe it’ll be enough.
I crawl back into bed and stare at the ceiling, forcing my thoughts somewhere lighter.
Theo.
The grumpy man who’s somehow become the brightest part of my life.
My stomach tightens, a slow pull that makes me ache. All I want is to know what it would feel like to have him touch me again. I picture his hand on my arm, imagine what would’ve happened if we hadn’t been interrupted.
What I would’ve done. How he might’ve reacted. How far we would’ve gone.
Right then, my phone lights up with a notification. I quickly reach for it, thinking it will be another one of Emmy’s prying texts, but hoping it’s him nonetheless.
And it is.
Theo
I’m not sure if I said it earlier, but thank you for today.
I smile like an idiot into the darkness. Giddy over the fact that he was thinking of me right now, in the middle of the night.
Marley
Anytime. Do you feel ready now?
Theo
Yes and no. Public speaking is the one thing I’ll never feel completely ready for.
I bite my lip, debating my next move. What I should do is put my phone down, mind my own business, and go the hell to sleep.
What I do instead takes me another step closer to taking this too far.
Marley
If you want to practice again, I’m free all weekend.
Three small dots appear. Then disappear. Then appear again.
I stare at my screen, gripping my phone like I can will his response to come faster. Three minutes go by with no reply. I know because I watch the time like a record keeper.
A past version of me would be ashamed of sitting here, staring at the full three minutes that pass, as I await his reply.
Right now, though, I don’t give a single shit. This airiness in my chest is the most alive I’ve felt in months.
Finally, those dots appear again, along with his reply shortly after.
Theo
I’d like that. Tomorrow? 4 p.m.?
Marley
That’s perfect.
Theo
Should we consider it a work meeting and meet at the office? Or somewhere else?
My stomach flips. I stare at the message, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. He’s giving me an out to keep this professional. I don’t want an out, what I want is in.
Marley
We’re friends now, right? I think we can consider this “hanging out.” Maybe at your place?
The dots appear. Then disappear. Then appear again.
Theo
I’ll text you my address. No pressure.
Marley
Looking forward to bossing you around again.
I set my phone down and press my palms against my face, letting out a slow breath.
This is a bad idea. Absolutely stupid. I know it. And yet, I’m already counting down the minutes until I can leave to be with him.
It’s nearly half past four when Theo’s doorman lets me right up. I was anticipating being interrogated by the front desk staff, but it seemed as if they were already expecting me.
I lift my hand to knock on Theo’s door, as a zing of nerves rushes through me. This isn’t me. I don’t get nervous. I thrive on chaos and making reckless decisions. I’ve never had to muster so much courage to tap on a door until now.
When he answers, it doesn’t get much better.
Theo stands in the doorway, staring at me like he’s surprised to actually find me here. It’s the second time I’ve seen him without a suit, and it still feels more intimate than it should.
Jeans. A black tee. A day’s worth of stubble, rougher than I’ve ever seen it. Somehow, he looks even better like this—less put together, a little undone, and a lot like someone I’d love to be under.
There’s a hesitation between us, both of us severely aware that this is uncharted territory.
A realm we shouldn’t even be exploring. Bosses and assistants don’t spend their days off at each other’s apartments like we’re doing right now.
We’ve both lost our common sense and are in this land of make-believe where there are no consequences.
He opens the door wider, inviting me in. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming.”
“And miss the rare sight of you in casual clothes? Not a chance,” I tease.
I step inside, greeted by the warm, spicy scent of something cooking, and him. That familiar mix of cologne, clean laundry, and whatever his apartment always smells like. If I could bottle it, I’d make millions.