Chapter 28
28
“You’re asking the wrong question.” I move to the opposite side of the island. “You made your opinion of me perfectly clear. You said, and I quote, ‘I can’t keep doing this to myself.’ End quote.”
He tips his head. Again, studying me intently. “What is the correct question?”
“I don’t know!” I shriek. “It’s a question for yourself, not for me!”
“What is the appropriate question that I should be asking you?” he calmly rephrases.
His tone and his words are infuriating in spite of his wasted effort to be soothing. I needed him to be soothing a week ago. I needed him to return my calls or my texts at any time in the past week. This ship has sailed, and he was the one who ran it aground anyway. Again. I’m not letting him drop the anchor in terrifying, tumultuous waters for a third time.
I hate all these stupid analogies that I’m making in my own head. I don’t even have anything but a working knowledge of naval stuff. “Nothing. You should be asking me nothing.”
He slowly rounds the island until we’re standing so close that the heat from his body radiates into mine. “I’m going to ask anyway.”
I lift my gaze ever so slightly at the memory of me saying similar words to him. Over a week ago. In a crowded bar. When I put everything on the line to protect him. When he cut me down and never looked back.
He opens his arms wide. “Can I hold you?”
“No.” I shake my head to convey the point.
“Please?” He begs with nothing more than his voice. “I’ve been getting a serious workout this week.”
“Your gym woes are not my problem.”
He lowers his arms. “I haven’t been to the gym. I’ve been a little busy trying to stay out of jail while navigating a serious investigation at the office.”
I lick my lips with anticipation. “You shouldn’t be asking me anything, but you should be telling me about what’s happened at Chester. After everything, I deserve that much.”
“You deserve much more,” he insists, tipping his head toward me briefly before settling on the floor again. He closes a few cabinet doors before leaning against them and stretching his long legs in front of him.
Content that he’s not going to force the issue of unwanted physical contact again, I mirror his posture as I sit on the floor beside him. “Who is Daisy Newhouse? What does she have to do with this?”
“I already told you that Daisy is Maeve’s best friend. And that Maeve was bent on revenge on her behalf because of Chet.”
Yes, yes. We’ve been over this. I make a get on with it motion with my hand. If he’s attempting to seduce me with knowledge foreplay, then he’s going to be disappointed. I am closed for any business other than getting answers to all my burning questions.
Peter smirks before continuing, “Apparently, he discovered a venture capitalist that would be perfect for funding Chester Biotech. Chet used Daisy to get closer to her father. He’s well known for using his deep pockets to invest in promising start-ups.”
I swallow the acrid taste on my tongue. “Used in what way?”
Peter frowns in a show of solidarity. “Unclear. According to Maeve’s testimony, Chet gave Daisy the best sex of her life, only to dump her when he got what he wanted out of the relationship. She was devastated by the breakup. Daisy herself refuses to corroborate any of Maeve’s story. She claims that it was a platonic friendship, and that she was fully aware of Chet’s endgame the entire time.”
“Yes!” I thrust my fist into the air. “I knew it! I told him so! Chet sucks at chess. He uses people like pawns, and it inevitably comes back to haunt him!”
Peter squints at me. “Not going to lie, I’m a little concerned that you’re so happy about Daisy being used as a pawn on Chet’s chessboard.”
I shoot him my best deadpan glare. “I’m not happy about that. I’m happy that he’s finally facing real consequences for his deplorable actions. Even his wife didn’t teach him a lesson. She should have stuck to her guns about wanting something different for her life, not come crawling back to him after a little wining and dining followed by agreeing to bear his offspring.”
Peter pops his eyebrows. “Noted. Just how well informed are you about Chet’s personal life?”
I study the air in front of me as I genuinely contemplate this question. He simply started talking one day in lab after I’d passed all his personal tests of trustworthiness. I have never wanted class time to end so badly in my entire life.
“More than I ever wanted to be.,”
“How did you not know about Daisy then?”
I shrug. “He must have played her after college. Chet and I lost touch while I was consumed with grad school, and he was busy using more people to build his empire. I honestly never expected to hear from him again, other than the invitation I received to his wedding.”
Even though I’m uncertain of the exact timelines, I know in the deepest pit of my brain that Chet wasn’t sleeping with Daisy after he got back together with his wife. He might have a moral compass that bends more than mine, but he’s also not stupid. He wouldn’t risk winning back Lauren for a business deal. Would he?
He threw me under the bus when he had the adult version of a temper tantrum. I don’t know why I’m even defending him in the privacy of my own head.
“If you hold him in such disregard, then why did you ever agree to come work for him?” Peter’s voice bears no hint of accusation, only genuine curiosity.
“You weren’t the only one who spiraled after MIT,” I confess. “I holed up in my bedroom, subsisting on Twizzlers for sustenance and Zoom tutoring sessions for income. I became the agoraphobe Chet always accused me of being. He called out of the blue one day and promised me that he would pay me enough to make a dent in all my student loans. I accepted because he dangled a private office and no social interaction in front of my face. He played me, too.”
Peter hums. “He had to know you well enough to play you.”
“Yes,” I agree. It’s not like I’ve ever been a closed book. No matter how hard I try to hide it, I wear my weirdness on my sleeve.
Peter nods like he’s satisfied with my short answer. “Maeve took it upon herself to get vengeance for the way Chet broke Daisy’s heart. She understood he was a businessman, so she wanted to hit him where it hurt.”
“Fine, but how did she get access to your computer?” It’s the one riddle I can’t solve, and it’s driving me nuts .
Peter hangs his head briefly before returning my gaze. “She figured I was the same kind of man as Chet since he hired me as director. Thought she could use her feminine charms to get close to me, so that I’d give her the proverbial keys to the kingdom.”
I blink at him. “That explains absolutely nothing.”
A smile tugs at his mouth. “She admitted she was really put out by my refusals. She didn’t think it would take her so long to get the job done.”
“ How did she get the job done?” I press.
He shrugs. “She’d come into my office and make small talk. Flirt. I didn’t realize she was actually waiting for me to log into my computer. It took her months, but she eventually memorized my keystrokes. A few at a time until she’d figured out my entire password.”
My jaw hangs open. “That’s…brilliant. Committed at the very least.”
“It’s something,” he agrees. “Chester will be moving to fingerprint logins on all devices going forward.”
“Wow.” I let my head fall back to the cabinet as I contemplate all this new information. Even if Maeve’s actions were criminal, I can’t help but admire the lengths she was willing to go to on Daisy’s behalf. I can, however, imagine what Daisy must be feeling. I’ve been there. Whether she admits—publicly or to herself—that she knew what was going on between her and Chet all along doesn’t matter. The end result is the same. Being used sucks.
Peter sighs. “Yeah. Wow.”
I roll my head to stare at him. “I take it this means you’ve been cleared of any wrongdoing?”
His chest rises then stills as he holds his breath. When he lets it out in an audible rush, he reaches for my hand. “I have. Because someone insisted to Chet Goulding that I was innocent. I don’t think he really wanted to believe that, but he also isn’t the type of guy to leave any stone unturned. He watched the security footage with his hired goons. Once they realized the dates of the emails matched up with her presence in my office, they went back further and pieced together how she did it. After she confessed to everything, Chet didn’t have much choice but to clear me.” Peter sticks his tongue in his cheek as he squints at the air in front of him. “Honestly, I think the humiliation helped my case more than anything.”
“Humiliation?” The only humiliated person in this sordid affair is Daisy. And me.
He tips up the corner of his mouth when he returns his gaze to me. “I can’t prove it, but I think Chet enjoyed that the femme fatale wasn’t actually attracted to me. She only wanted my password.”
I scoff and free myself from the caress of his thumb against my hand. “Why is that humiliating? You were the one who turned Maeve down.”
Peter tips his head as he studies me yet again. Though he’s been answering my questions, it feels more like he’s interrogating me than the other way around.
“It wasn’t humiliating for me,” he clarifies. “Chet believed it should have been a humiliating experience.”
“Chet knows from experience,” I shoot back. “He’s quite adept at humiliating people.” Damning my natural curiosity but unable to hold it back while I have the opportunity for answers, I ask, “Why wasn’t being used humiliating for you?”
Peter doesn’t right his head. Simply continues his careful inspection. “It’s impossible to be humiliated about fake romantic overtones that I wasn’t remotely interested in.”
“Oh.” I shove my hands between my legs. That’s a completely sensical answer. Humiliation can only be felt when one has invested in the fake relationship. I know this from experience. I sigh. “Poor Daisy.”
“Agreed.” Peter finally tears his gaze from me to glance around my apartment. “You’ve already broken the lease?”
I nod.
“Have you found another job yet or are you going to your parents’ place?”
“I’ve been hired as a professor at Pitt. I’m genuinely dreading having to teach full classes in person,” I mumble.
He abruptly stands then offers his hand to help me up as well. “Which room needs to be sorted next?”
I cock my head back in surprise. I don’t know what I expected if we ever saw each other again, but this level of civility feels uncharacteristic for a breakup. Especially for a second time. Perhaps if I’d stuck around at MIT, I would have found him to be just as polite.
With mirrored neutral politeness, I answer, “I was going to sort my clothes and shoes next.”
Peter strides down the hallway toward the bedroom. “Do you need more boxes?”
Perhaps I was too hasty in my judgment of Peter’s politeness. It seems that he can’t be rid of me soon enough. Unlike at MIT, he’s the one who ended us this time.
By the time I enter the bedroom, he’s already seated on the floor in front of my closet, pulling out shoes. He holds up a stiletto with a red sole, turning it back and forth in his hands like it’s the most fascinating cross-section of a new biomaterial alloy that he’s ever held. “Keep or donate?”
“The question is does it bring me joy?” I lean against the doorframe to give myself a few moments to steel my heavy heart against his nearness.
“It brings me joy,” he mutters before saying clearly, “These can’t be easy to walk in. Why do you have them? ”
“I was trying to dress for success. This was my first professional job, and I wanted to look the part.”
“Obtaining your PhD at MIT was your first professional job,” he argues. “Why didn’t you wear these then?”
“That would’ve been impractical, not to mention unhealthy for my feet. I walked from my apartment to campus. The labs were in the biological sciences building, but our administration offices were in the engineering building. My required TA classes were in a variety of locations across campus. Besides, no one on campus dressed like that, whether students or professors.”
I don’t know why he needs me to explain these obvious facts to him. He was there, too.
He nods then licks his lips. “Which do you prefer?”
“I prefer fitting in with my peers and coworkers.”
It appears that he struggles for several moments in silence before a small smile wins the battle on his face. “Are you saying that you would prefer if I wore heels to the office?”
“I think you should dress in whichever way makes you feel the best about yourself,” I respond rotely though I still believe he should never be allowed to wear gray sweatpants to the office. Especially in light of the situation with Maeve.
He pops his eyebrows.
Too late, I realize that he’s made his point in a rather devious manner.
Before he can verbally claim victory, I further explain, “I like the way they make me feel, but I do not like the way they feel.”
He doesn’t ask for clarification in the way I expect. Rather, he murmurs, “How do they make you feel?”
I sigh as I accept that he won’t be deterred. Either in his subtle interrogation or in his desire to help me pack the remainder of my belongings. “They make me feel powerful. I did not ask for large breasts but wearing attire such as this puts me in control of my physical assets. The clothing and shoes are tools, much like the ones we use in the lab.”
He nods but offers no further commentary. “Keep or donate?”
“Throw them on the mattress,” I suggest. “That can be the undecided pile.”
He follows orders then frowns. “Where’s all your furniture?”
“I sold it. Pitt isn’t covering my relocation expenses, so I didn’t want to have to rent and pack a U-Haul by myself.” I don’t blame them. I’m actually surprised they’re taking a chance on me.
“How long are you planning to sleep on a mattress on the floor?” He reaches into the closet for another pair of shoes.
“Ideally, only a few days. I have until the end of the month to vacate this apartment and report to Pitt. Since it’s the middle of the spring semester, I don’t have to teach any classes until the summer. I can begin my research and move into my lab sooner.”
“Did you already find a new apartment in Pittsburgh?” He holds up a pair of sneakers so old that the soles are worn thin.
“Throw away.” I point to an empty corner of the room. “I’m still searching for a new place.”
“Rentals are hard to come by near major universities in the middle of the semester,” he agrees with a frown.
We work in mostly silence with the exception of him questioning whether items bring me joy. I offer no explanation on my judgments, and he doesn’t press the issue again. Several times, Isaac saunters into the room to shamelessly rub himself against Peter’s body. He only leaves after he’s been lavished with an adequate amount of attention from his favorite human.
“You should keep him,” I blurt, unable to look at Peter as the words slip out. “He favors you. I’ll rarely be home with the equivalent of working two jobs as a researcher and professor. I’ll forget to feed him. To change his litter box regularly. Does your apartment allow pets?”
The weight of his gaze presses on my shoulders. “He would be miserable without you. I think he’d prefer scraps of your affection to nothing at all.”
Somehow, I’m aware that he’s projecting his feelings onto a cat. “Most children acclimate to their parents divorcing, given enough time. So long as the parents also move on to healthier relationships and maintain open lines of communication for co-parenting. Blended families who put the interests of the children first are the most successful.”
“How would it work for us to share joint custody of Isaac? Would I bring him to visit you once a month? Would we trade off flying between Pittsburgh and Newark every other month? Am I expected to host both you and your new boyfriend with a smile when you come to visit?”
There’s a hollow quality in the tone of his voice that seems incongruous to the bitterness of his words.
I glance up in surprise. “No. Of course not. Isaac is a cat, not a child.”
“You’re giving up so easily again.” He shakes his head but leans back against the wall. Disappointed, yet calm in his assessment.
“I didn’t give up. You did.” I rise then walk to the bathroom to sort items there. We’re done in here anyway.
He follows me shortly, inhaling audibly before crossing his arms as he leans against the doorframe to watch me empty the contents of my medicine cabinet. “I didn’t give up.”
“Yes, you did,” I insist as I throw away beauty products en masse. I don’t have time for face masks. I rarely remember to put on eye cream at night. The sunscreen goes into the keep pile.
In case the stress of the past week has interfered with Peter’s short-term memory storage, I remind him, “You dismissed me at the bar. I was fired in the middle of the night and escorted from the building while you were presumably getting drunk with the rest of our coworkers. I haven’t heard from you since. I don’t even know why you’re here now.”
He stretches his neck to stare at the ceiling then opens his mouth.
I cross the distance between us then feel the sting against my palm before I’ve even registered that I’m in motion.
Peter doesn’t hold his cheek where I’ve slapped him. He wraps his hands around my wrists to haul me against him when I attempt to retreat in horror for what I’ve done.
Oh my God. Emotions are not good. Allowing myself to feel them is not good. I never would have assaulted another human being in my entire life until this moment.
Tears shine in his eyes as he stares down at me in wonder. “There she is. There’s the woman I’ve always seen.”
“What?” I sputter as my chest heaves. “That makes no sense!”
“It makes perfect sense. A woman who’s so delighted by snowflakes feels deep emotions. She sees beauty in every little thing. You’ve been conditioned to value that which has no risk to you. Sunshine can’t wreck your self-esteem, but people’s misguided attempts to love you are a threat to the world you’ve built for yourself.”
“Let me go,” I demand. I don’t need to hear this. I don’t deserve to be torn down by him in this way. Not again.
He doesn’t let me go. Instead, he bands his arms around me and asks, “Why did you hit me?”
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!”
“Don’t apologize,” he grinds out through a clenched jaw as he shakes me a little in his grasp. “Tell me why .”
He’s justified in making demands after my gross breach of social protocols. I whisper, “You did that same thing at the bar. You looked up at the ceiling before telling me that you couldn’t keep doing this to yourself.”
“I lied,” he insists. “I’ll keep doing this forever. I’ll fly to Pittsburgh every month. Hell, I’ll fly to you every weekend.”
“No.” I shake my head and attempt to free myself, but he hangs on tighter. “The adage third time’s a charm is stupid. It’s inefficient. It shows a lack of learning ability. We don’t need a third try. I’ve learned my lesson. I swear, I have. Let me go.”
He tips his face toward mine, his mouth soft but his eyes wild behind his glasses. “Did it ever occur to you that you’re asking the wrong questions? You wanted to know about the investigation. You wanted to know if I’ve been cleared of any wrongdoing. Why haven’t you asked me where I’ve been this past week? Why I didn’t contact you at all. You remember my physical reaction at the bar, but you don’t remember me telling you that I get obsessed with things. That I have no middle ground. That when I’m focused on a task, everything else falls by the wayside.”
I manage to squeeze my arm through the hold he has against me to slap a palm over his mouth. “It doesn’t matter,” I shout at him. “You said you couldn’t keep loving me, and I agree with you!”
“You’re trying to distract me. It won’t work. Ask me where I’ve been. What I’ve been doing.”
I’m slightly appalled to realize that he’s right. I absolutely was trying to distract him without even realizing it. Knowing that he’s a far better chess player than Chet could ever hope to be, I succumb to his checkmate. If asking the questions that he wants to hear will get me free sooner, then so be it.
With absolutely no emotion in my voice, I say, “Where have you been this week? What have you been doing?”
“I’ve been trying to love you in the way I thought you needed,” he insists. “I’ve been fighting for you. For us. I didn’t give up even though I made the mistake of lying to myself for a split-second.”
Oh, he’s good. He’s very, very good.
“What does that mean?” I exhale all my emotions and relax in the fold of his arms. There’s nothing wrong with the pursuit of knowledge. It’s the only part of me that’s celebrated after all. “Explain yourself.”
He rearranges our bodies, so that it feels more like he’s holding me instead of holding me captive.
His palm sweeps up and down my back as he murmurs, “I got a call from Frank right after he escorted you from the building. I wasn’t getting drunk with our coworkers. Joel and I were driving to New York City to confront Chet. The rest of the team went back to the office to start digging for clues about why you were let go without any explanation. They were intent on burying any evidence they might find, without direction from me. For the past week, I haven’t only been fighting for my job. I’ve been fighting for yours. You did everything Chet asked of you, despite being hired under false pretenses. You found what even the most experienced, highest-paid investigators missed. Instead of repaying you with his undying loyalty, Chet had a temper tantrum and kicked you to the curb. Because all he cared about was his own damn ego that you bruised spectacularly.”
I wince at the memory of feeling kicked when I was already down.
Peter caresses my cheek. “The entire team promised to walk off the job if you weren’t reinstated. They knew Chet only invested in R&D on a trial basis, but they also figured he wouldn’t like the bad publicity of having to fold because he couldn’t keep the department staffed. Carly threatened to go public with the misogynist culture at Chester, which would further erode his plans to go public with the company.” Peter grins. “You’re right about him, by the way. He’s a shitty chess player. We had him by the balls before he ever agreed to watch the security footage.”
I furrow my brow. While my chest warms at the lengths so many people were willing to go to for me, I can’t focus on that until I have total clarity. “I don’t understand. You didn’t fight for my job. The whole team did. Your story still doesn’t explain where you’ve been all week.”
“We got your job back easily,” Peter concedes. “That wasn’t enough. Not for me. I learn my lessons, too, Elise. I’m never going to go back to the man who does the bare minimum for you ever again. I’ve been working all week to make sure you get what you deserve.”
“You’re being purposefully obtuse,” I accuse, my muscles tensing again. “Say plainly what you mean to say.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Like you did at the bar?”
“That was different.” I struggle to break free again. “I wasn’t communicating well because my brain was moving too quickly. My only focus was protecting you!”
“I know,” he soothes as he presses a kiss to my forehead. “I’m sorry my ego got in the way. All I heard was your accusation that you thought I was with someone else. I wasn’t translating you the way I would in less heated circumstances.”
“You see,” I crow, so sure of my victory. “We’re no good together! We can’t even communicate!”
“That’s not a deal-breaker.” He resumes the slow path of his hand up and down my spine. “It’s something we have to work on. You’re used to being at the top of the food chain with almost no effort. I’m used to working for everything I’ve achieved. I can help you. Let me show you how to work for something you really want.”
I inhale a cleansing breath before exhaling it slowly to steel my runaway emotions. With concerted effort, I relax my muscles and go limp in his arms again. “You can’t distract me either. Tell me what you mean about learning your lesson. What do you believe I deserve?”
“You deserve more than I’ve given you in the past,” he answers calmly, his gaze never wavering. “It took you walking away for me to learn that lesson. You deserve more than feeling like a dirty little secret this time around.”
He must read the confusion on my face all too easily because he says, “The idea to keep our relationship secret was yours. You didn’t want to be a threat to my job. But I also saw how difficult it was for you to lie to our coworkers, even by omission. You hated that they offered to set both of us up with blind dates.”
“I was perfectly professional at the office,” I argue.
“You were.” He squeezes the tense space between my shoulder blades. “That doesn’t mean it wasn’t hard on you.”
“I didn’t whistle like you after an orgasm.” This is just another example of my low EQ if he so easily read the expressions that I thought I hid rather well. Perhaps it was never Peter who tipped off our coworkers.
Finley insists it was Peter who gave our relationship away, but now I’m not so sure.
Peter smiles, but it’s sad and forlorn. Not the genuinely happy kind that crinkles the skin around his eyes. “I don’t think anyone else noticed. You’re very good at blending in when you want to be. If I hadn’t been studying you for years, I might not have noticed the toll it was taking on you. Little tells. To me. Indiscernible things I learned to pay attention to. The tense set of your shoulders, a nearly imperceptible hardness to your eyes that isn’t normally there. The way you fidget with the creases of fabric in your clothes in a way that you don’t when you’re confident.”
I glare at him. I always thought that was my super-secret coping mechanism. Now, I’ll have to find something else.
“I love those things about you,” he insists, purposefully creasing the fabric of his shirt at his chest before pulling my hand toward the tempting outlet. “I’m actually surprised you haven’t gone for it yet.”
He doesn’t know everything. I also do that when I’m sure of my surroundings, not always when I’m looking for tactile input in a chaotic environment. Sort of like a cat that kneads a blanket when it’s content.
“You’re attempting to distract me again,” I hiss. “How did you fight for me? How did you fight for us?”
Peter rolls his lips between his teeth before murmuring, “What if you didn’t have to lecture to a bunch of freshman undergrads? What if you could make more money, have better benefits that what Pitt is offering you? Would you take that job?”
“That depends. What’s the catch?”
“You’d be co-director of the R&D division at Chester,” he says. “With me.”
I blink. Blink again. Blink some more. “Co-director?”
“You didn’t want us to go public because you didn’t want me to step down. I wasn’t going to throw myself under the bus for your benefit. That would be a meaningless victory for you. We’re on even footing now. No power imbalance. That’s what I spent the past week negotiating with Chet. We’re free to pursue our relationship. Publicly. If that’s what you want.”
This still feels like a trap somehow. After glancing around at the piles of cosmetics on my nearly empty bathroom counter, I realize what it is.
“You’ve stacked the deck in your favor. You knew I wouldn’t sit idle for a week. I’ve already given up my apartment. Already found a new job.”
He tips his head toward me. “Actually, I didn’t anticipate this. Remember my admitted hyper-focus? I forgot about your likely escape plans. I honestly didn’t think you’d give up again so quickly. I won’t lie to you though. I don’t hate it. It’s the perfect excuse for you to move in with me.”
“With you?” I sputter. “Why would I move in with you? We can’t even communicate!”
“Because you’re logical,” he responds evenly. “This position is better suited for you than the one at Pitt. Carly lives with her fiancé, and the rest of the team has single apartments. I’m the only person you know in Paramus who has a spare bedroom.”
I hate that he’s so often right.
There’s only one logical choice. One that has nothing to do with emotion.