63. Now
SIXTY-THREE
now
“Here we are.”
I step into the Hallway to Nowhere with Ella beside me. My coat hangs off her frame, hiding the orange sweater dress underneath. Her blue gaze remains wary as she hugs her arms around her body.
“I shouldn’t be here,” she mutters, more to herself than me.
I reply anyway. “Yeah, well. I think we’re well past what we should be doing at this point.”
She shrinks from the bitterness in my voice. Fresh guilt pricks my stomach before rising to join th e thick, thundering apprehension in my chest.
She’s probably right. What the hell am I thinking?
Back at her office, I took one look at her pale face and watery eyes before bundling her into both of our coats and all but carrying her out of the building. She seemed too exhausted to put up any sort of fight. I held her up all the way down to the street, where she silently got into my car and scooted all the way over, leaving as much space between us possible for the duration of our journey.
That’s fine. I don’t trust myself, anyway. The fact that I’m currently blowing off all manner of important shit to take her home with me at 10 a.m. on a Friday morning seems like a pretty obvious indication that I’ve lost the last of my sanity.
Being so close to her, alone, is its own form of torture. I’ve imagined what would happen if I ever had her back within reach so many times. But none of those fantasies can happen. She’s a mess, and so am I.
Outside my door, Ella glances around the useless strip of hall and bites the inside of her cheek, considering. “Does someone else live on this floor?”
She sees the needlessness of the whole arrangement. Within ten seconds, of course. I smirk, “Just me.”
Ushering her into my penthouse, I let the metal slab fall closed behind us. It suddenly dawns on me how completely alone we are—and I pace away before I’m tempted to tug her body into mine.
“I’ll make us some coffee,” I mutter, striding to the kitchen area. “Or do you want something else? I can send out for anything.”
Ella doesn’t reply. She stands just inside the door like she isn’t sure she should venture any further. Even huddled in our coats, her body shakes. Her vacant expression stops me in my tracks.
“Ella?” I moved back toward her instinctively. “Did you sleep at all? ”
“Sleep,” she repeats, still staring into space. “Not really, no. Not much all week. I keep having—” She cuts herself off as I reach her.
Concern overrides my pride, the reflex to protect myself. I cup my palm around her jaw until she finally looks at me. “What?” I murmur. “You keep having?—?”
Shadows dance through her eyes. “Nightmares.”
Before she shudders through another breath, I snap her up, bending to put one arm under her knees and balancing the other under her shoulder blades. She gasps but doesn’t argue when I say, “You need to sleep, Ellie. I’m putting you to bed. I can work from here while you rest.”
She folds herself closer to me, clasping my lapels in her small hands. Seconds later, I deposit her on the end of my mattress, turn to my dresser, and pull out some comfortable clothes. “Use these if you’d like. Your phone is dead, so I’ll plug it in while you sleep. It’ll be out there if you need it. And so will I.”
She accepts my clothes with a meek nod. I step into my closet to shuck my jacket, tie, and shoes. I also lower the bedroom’s black-out shades and turn on the fan from my phone. By the time I come back out, Ella is under the covers with my large hoodie on. The neat stack of clothing she left at the foot of the bed tells me she isn’t wearing the joggers.
My cock twitches at the idea of having her in my bed, half-dressed. I tamp down a startling surge of raw lust and clear my throat. “Come get me if you need me.”
Out in my living room, I pause to figure out what the hell to do. Lunch sounds like a good idea. And I know Beth probably has a thousand things to rail at me about. I shoot off a message to Marco before calling my office.
Predictably, my assistant rants about the schedule changes. Her outrage toes the line between prim professionalism and motherly disappointment.
“The head of the legal department needed two hours of your time today, Mr. Stryker,” Beth barks. “ Two hours . Have you any notion how difficult it will be to rearrange that? Not to mention, Daniel asked to speak with you first thing this morning, and so did the new employee in acquisitions, Miss… B-something. I don’t recall. But HR also needs a word—some issue with an intern? And so does Milton, in accounting, and?—”
My head spinning, I cut her off. “All right, I see your point. Just tell them all…” I don’t know what. The truth is, since beginning my CEO role in earnest, I’ve never missed a single day of work.
Thankfully, her stern voice interrupts me. “I told them that you have multiple meetings out of the office today and alluded to a large international project of great secrecy and importance. I may have also implied that it’s above each of their pay grades, and they would do well never to presume that they are entitled to your time. You are the true CEO now, after all. These people cannot expect you to bend to their whims.”
A wry smile tugs at my mouth while her brilliance sinks in. “But you can?”
“Yes, sir,” she replies crisply. “I most certainly can, and I do.”
Well, she has every right to. Clearly, I’d be a lost cause without her. “I accept those terms. Will you send me a list?”
She agrees and I thank her, hanging up and making my way over to the far corner of my great room. Tucked behind the kitchen, there’s a desk area I seldom ever use. I’ve just started an email to payroll, ordering a salary increase for my assistant, when I hear noise from my bedroom.
A wail. Haunting and full of anguish.
Throwing myself to my feet, I cross the room before I draw another breath and bolt into the master suite. There, curled into a ball under my covers, Ella’s entire frame pulses as she pants in her sleep. Another sound escapes her slack lips—this time, a fearful squeak.
Fuck .
For the world’s longest minute, I freeze. Undecided. The cruelest part of me—wounded and full of spite—wants to leave her to whatever ho rrors she’s never deemed me worthy of knowing. The rest of me loves her so desperately; every tweak in her expression is a blade between my ribs.
Her next whimper hits me like an arrow to the heart, making my decision instantly. I leave my shirt where I stand, not bothering to take the time to remove my pants, and barrel under the comforter.
“Ella,” I murmur, bending over her shoulder to speak into her ear. “Ellie?”
She groans but doesn’t fully rouse. I stretch one arm over her, stroking her hair back from her face, while the other slides around her waist. “Ellie, it’s just a dream. Wake up for me.”
Her fists open, then grab at the forearm I’ve tucked against her sternum. Her heaving breaths slow as she stops sucking in gusts of air.
She’s so exhausted that even her horrible dream can’t wake her. Somehow, though, I seem to chase it off. Her body gradually relaxes, tension draining as she leans back against mine little by little.
Her beautiful features soften. Even in the dark room, I know her by heart. The slope of her button nose. The dusting of freckles under her eyes. The peachy glow on her cheeks.
She’s really here .
There was a time I would have done anything to have her back in my bed. Bargaining , the experts called it. A state of grief where I told myself it didn’t matter what she’d done or why; that I would do whatever I had to do to have her back in my life.
Unhealthy.
I knew that then, and I know it now. No matter how much I long for her, I can’t abandon all pride, reason, and whatever else just to hold onto her while she lets me. I need to be able to trust her. Without an explanation, I’ll never be able to.
…will I?
My eyes roam over her face, adjusting to the darkness. Despite all my unanswered questions, I feel like I know her. The same way I know, in my soul, that she would never hurt someone on purpose.
Especially me .
I truly believe that.
And I feel like an idiot for it. Because I have absolutely no proof she won’t wake up and bolt. Except for the thick pulse of hope beating in my chest.
What if I help her feel safe with me, once and for all? What if she’s changed?
After our wild interlude on my desk, she didn’t run off. I did.
Maybe that means there’s hope for us.
Honeysuckle warms my nose while I lay my head on the pillow behind hers. The length of her back melds into my bare chest.
God , she’s so warm and sweet.
The longer I linger, the less I want to leave. I feel my muscles go slack, pressing into and around her while drowsiness dulls the edges of my mind. My forehead drops forward, resting against her crown.
And I say a silent prayer that she’ll still be here when I reopen my eyes.