Chapter 17 #3
Easier for him to focus on her lashes than for him to acknowledge the truth in her words.
Fuck. How much did she know?
“That meant it was personal. And frankly, too bad. Now everyone knows what you did to Devore. I owed you a thanks for that. Consider this my thanks.”
She gave Connor a hard look.
“You don’t have a future here. Better you buy yourself some time and leave with a safety net. Be smart, not dumb. And one more thing.”
“Of course,” Connor answered, his voice strained. “Anything.”
“I need my assistant back now.”
Junie gave him an apologetic look as Thornton climbed to her feet, clearly having no choice but to follow.
“Call me tonight? We’ll talk and–we’ll talk.”
“We’ll talk,” Connor repeated, holding onto that promise. And he remembered Thornton as well, looking right at her and thanking her before he was heading out the door.
He typed up that email before he left the building, ducking into a bathroom stall and ignoring Nate’s incoming texts as he did.
Good morning, Linda, typed with trembling fingers. I’ve just learned of my brother’s passing overnight.
He didn’t have a brother–but Nate probably didn’t know that.
I’ll be taking FMLA and grief-leave to be with my family.
Another call from Nate lit up his screen, but Connor swiped it away.
I apologize for the inconvenience my absence will cause. I will be available to discuss more tomorrow evening.
And then he sent it off, all too aware of his breathing as he watched his phone screen in the aftermath.
He did exactly as Thornton told him next, exporting his Alarie inbox to a personal email. That would take time to complete, but until then–
His phone vibrated, another text from Nate.
Connor, please call me… read the text preview.
Connor swiped it away, and on second thought, he blocked Nate’s number for good measure.
Now what, he wondered to himself, resting his forehead against the bathroom stall.
His laptop was still up in Nate’s office. His bag, but–
Connor patted his pockets and exhaled a sigh of relief. His wallet, his keys. Both in his pockets.
He was fine abandoning his bag, his laptop, his work notes. His emails would be exported in another hour, and then–
Find another job.
Find another job.
That was what Dawson had told him only a few months after they’d moved down here, only a few months after he’d started at Alarie.
It hadn’t been said to hurt him, or to make him small. But Connor hadn’t seen it like that at the time.
Dawson had been lonely and depressed since they moved to California. Two years on, he never managed to integrate the way Connor did. Maybe Connor had been unfair, expecting his Midwest boyfriend to abandon his Midwest lifestyle, his rugged Midwest job.
But Dawson never found another dock job like they’d been planning, and he didn’t want to put himself in a suit and tie like Connor did just so he could answer phones.
So he took whatever job he could get in the meantime, whatever could keep him working with his hands–and Connor thought that would be enough. That they could be happy all the same. But they weren’t.
Find another job, because Connor had started working ten hours a day, and then he needed to go out with his coworkers after to socialize, to boost himself up, to keep his face in people’s minds–
And two years on, nothing.
Connor had dug his heels in, refused to quit a race he’d started. He didn’t fold.
In his chess days, he’d be down to just his King, forcing his opponent to chase him around the board until they sniped out a brutal, exhausting victory.
He didn’t fold. Ever.
Not even when Curtis Devore had come in, hand on his shoulder, his knee, breathing soft praises and comments into his ear and brushing back his hair while Connor worked on his forms.
At the time, sleeping with Curtis had felt like a victory, like curing some deep loneliness in himself after Dawson left. Like loving this powerful man–this man who said he loved Connor in turn–might help get him ahead.
But Connor had been young, naive, and Curtis had seen right through him, playing him like a set of keys.
He knew just the right promises to make that had Connor feeling seen, appreciated even.
He knew the right words to say to get Connor in his lap, in his bed, spreading his legs and thinking he was fully in control the entire time.
Get another job.
He’d considered it, briefly, after Curtis blocked Connor’s department transfer request. And then he’d come into the office one day to find Curtis on a conference call, locking eyes with Connor as he pointed to the ground, expecting him to drop to his knees.
That was when the illusion shattered.
At the time, Connor had pretended not to see it, slipping away so he could plot his revenge.
No, he didn’t get another job.
Why should he? Why should he have to? He wasn’t the one–
So of course, it seemed obvious to sacrifice Devore to save himself.
Get another job.
Connor sucked in a slow breath.
He wasn’t going to work on his resume. He wasn’t going to update his LinkedIn.
No, he was going home, and then–and then he was going surfing.