Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Cole
Wendy has been driving me insane for days now. Her smart mouth, her expressive eyes, that stubborn tilt of her chin every time she pretends she's not thinking of or looking at me and Ethan. She's trying so hard to keep us at arm's length, but her defenses are crumbling.
And I'm going to be the one to finish breaking them down.
She's in the office kitchen when I find her, glaring at the open fridge like it owes her money. Her hair's doing that thing—soft, unruly curls falling every which way. She huffs, slamming the fridge shut, and spins to grab a coffee mug, nearly smacking into me.
"Shit, Cole! You scared the living daylights out of me!"
I step closer, trapping her between me and the counter. "You're too jumpy. What's wrong?"
Her eyes flicker, a defensive edge in her tone. "Nothing," she bites out right as her stomach growls, making a liar out of her.
"Hungry, huh?" I smirk, opening the fridge and pulling out the container I stashed in there earlier. "You didn't bring lunch again, did you?"
She crossed her arms, her freckled nose scrunching adorably. "I didn't not pack it on purpose. I kind of just forgot it in the fridge at home."
Of course she did. I know damn well she's been running herself ragged between this job and fuck knows how many other ones she has. She's stretching herself thin because she's too damn proud to ask for help, and I just know she won't accept the help if we offer it to her anyway.
My hand itches at the thought of spanking her ass red until she finally gives in and lets us take care of her in the way she deserves.
"Good thing I brought extra," I say, placing the container on the counter.
Her eyes narrow at the Tupperware. "You happened to bring extra lunch?"
"Eat your lunch, Wendy," I command, my voice firm but calm.
She blinks, her mouth parting slightly, and I see the moment she decides not to fight me on this one. She hesitates, then grabs a fork.
I step back just enough to give her room, but not enough to let her forget I'm still standing here, watching her. She takes a bite of the chicken salad, her eyes widening as the flavors hit her. The moan that escapes her has my cock twitching in response and I've never been so jealous of a fork in my life.
"This is... really good," she admits begrudgingly.
"Of course it is. I made it."
She pauses mid-chew, her brow lifting in a slight challenge. "Nothing wrong with your ego, is there? Were you always this cocky?"
"It's not cocky if it's true. And I put everything into my meal prep. Cooking for someone is an incredibly intimate thing. And I like caring for what's mine.”
Her fork clatters against the container as she stares at me, her cheeks flushing a pretty shade of pink. "I'm not yours."
Not yet. But we'll get there. "I was talking about Ethan," I whispered, enjoying the way her blush deepens even more. I lean in, bracing my hands on either side of her. "Wendy, do you know what happens to girls who skip meals and work themselves into the ground?"
Her eyes dart up to meet mine, and I see the flicker of uncertainty—and curiosity. "What happens?"
"They get taken care of whether they like it or not. And if they keep being stubborn, they end up over my knee."
Her gasp is so soft I almost miss it. Almost.
I brush a curl away from her face, letting my hand linger near her cheek. My thumb traces the dark circles her makeup doesn't quite hide. "You're pushing yourself too hard, Wendy. Let us help."
Her defenses start to creep back, her walls slowly rising brick by brick. "Cole, I don't need?—"
I cut her off by swiping my thumb over her chin, catching the dollop of mayo she didn't realize she spilled. Her breath catches as I bring my thumb to my mouth, licking it clean.
"Careful, babygirl. You're making a mess," I say instead of responding to whatever the hell she thinks she does or doesn't need.
Her jaw drops, and I don't wait for permission. Leaning in, I press my mouth to hers, claiming her like I've wanted to for an embarrassingly long time.
She freezes for half a second before melting into me, her lips soft and sweet beneath mine. My hand moves to her waist, pulling her closer, and she lets out a tiny whimper that shoots straight through me.
I pull back just enough to speak, my voice low and firm. "You're coming out to dinner tonight."
Her eyes are wide, her lips swollen. "What?"
"You heard me, babygirl." I step back, crossing my arms. "Dinner. Tonight. You, me and my deliciously handsome husband."
Her face turns scarlet at the mention of Ethan and she stammers, "Cole, I can't... I don't..."
"You can, and you will," I say, cutting her off. I'm ridiculously pleased at how well this is going. Who knew I just needed to push some more Dom into my voice to get her to give a little? "No excuses. Seven o'clock."
She gapes at me, her hands gripping the edge of the counter like it's the only thing keeping her upright.
Just then, Ethan walks in, casually strolling toward the coffee maker. “Am I interrupting?” Ethan’s amused tone breaks the charged atmosphere, his smirk growing as he glances between us.
"Not at all," I reply, not taking my focus away from Wendy.
Ethan glances between the two of us, his smirk growing. "Good, because I just had the most amazing idea. We should all grab some dinner together tonight. What do you think, Wendy?"
She looks between us, her freckles standing out against the bright flash of her cheeks. "I... What do I think? I think you're both insane."
Ethan chuckles, pouring a ridiculous amount of sugar to his coffee. "That's fair. And probably more than a smidge true."
"Seven," I repeat, my tone leaving no room for argument.
Wendy groans as Ethan laughs again.
"Oh, sweet, sweet Wendy. You got him to bring out his bossy pants. You're in trouble now,” Ethan warns as he walks out of the kitchen, leaving me alone with her again. I’m warmed by the trust he’s placing in me.
"This is a terrible idea," Wendy mutters as she hides her face in her hands.
"Maybe," I admit, stepping closer to her again, my voice dropping to a whisper. "But we won't know until we try. And just think of how much fun we can have in the meantime."
Her hands drop, and she glares at me, though the effect is ruined by the way her lips tremble. "I can't afford to have fun, Cole."
I step closer, the teasing edge in my tone replaced with something firmer, more deliberate. "You can't afford not to, Wendy."
Her wide eyes meet mine, and I can see the war waging inside her. Pride, fear, stubbornness—she's built her whole life around those things. In order to survive, she had no choice but to cling to those things. But it's about time for her to do more than survive. It's time for Wendy to thrive .
We stare at each other long enough for me to see it. Underneath everything else, it's there.
A flicker of longing, of wanting to believe she doesn't have to keep doing this alone.
That's all I need to confirm I'm doing the right thing. She wants this too, no matter how much she might deny it.
"You don't have to do it all on your own," I continue, my voice softening just a fraction. "With us, you get to share your burdens. With us, you don't ever have to go it alone again."
Her brows knit together, and she looks down at her hands, fidgeting with the edge of her shirt. "Cole, I don't... I don't even know what you want from me. You tell me we could have fun, but then you promise me impossible things."
I tilt her chin up, forcing her to look at me. "What I—what both Ethan and I—want is simple. We want you to let go, just a little, and let us take care of you. You're strong, Wendy. No one believes any differently. But even the strongest people need someone to lean on from time to time. And right now, we want to be those someones for you."
Her lips part, a protest forming, but before she can say anything else, Priya walks in, popping the bubble around us.
She's looking down at her phone, so she doesn't see me in Wendy's personal space—not that I'd mind. But from the way Wendy quickly scrambles away and puts distance between us, she certainly minds quite a bit.
Hmmm. We’ll have to work on that.
But now isn't the time. I've pushed enough for one day.
Smirking at her I hand her the lid to the forgotten lunch, before walking out the kitchen with one parting shot. "Seven, sharp."