Chapter 29
29
KYLIE
“ I ’m excited to see your first basketball game this weekend,” I tell Ben over breakfast, which has become my favorite part of the day. It’s the time I get him refreshed from sleep and willing to talk.
At dinner, he’s tired from the day or looking to escape and go text his new friends. I’m genuinely shocked by the one-eighty he has done since seeing his therapists. Especially this new one who seems to be somewhat of a mystery. He apparently doesn’t come out and greet parents after his sessions, which I find a bit odd.
“I think my therapist might stop by and watch the game. He said he’d try to make it,” he tells me.
“Really? That’s cool. You really seem to get along with him.”
He nods his head. “He’s like an older brother.”
I realize what he has been lacking in his life—having a male to look up to. I can cook for him, play board games, and support him in every way possible, but I can’t provide that male bonding that every boy needs.
“I’d like to meet Scott next time. You should tell him to come out with you.”
He shrugs. “I’ll ask.”
“Well, I’d like to meet him before I do something like allow him to see you outside of your sessions.”
“Fine,” he grumbles, then scoots out of his seat.
And just like that, I’ve got a teenager on my hands. Attitude and all. But I don’t care because we just had an entire conversation, and he didn’t stutter or slow down once.
He still speaks slower than most people, but it isn’t so obvious. And that is worth everything to me.
The week has flown by at the office. It’s already Wednesday, and I’m waiting for some important emails to come in for Lincoln regarding the acquisition. After our time together on Saturday, it’s been slightly back to normal between us. He’s loosened up, but I still feel like he’s holding back on me.
I don’t know why he cuts off all conversations that deal with his family or childhood. It’s like that side of him is off-limits and I’m not allowed to know about it. It’s clearly a dark time of his life, but I don’t understand why I can’t be part of it. If we’re doing this, if we’re really dating, we can’t hide entire pieces of ourselves from each other.
I want to talk to him, but I don’t know how without pushing him away. And I can’t keep this up with lying to Ben about where I am when he’s out with friends or at basketball. We have to figure out what we are and go public with it, or this needs to end.
I don’t even know what going public looks like though. Do I lose my job? That can’t happen, and I don’t think Lincoln would let it happen, unless there’s some kind of company policy.
The phone rings.
“Mr. Monroe’s office,” I say into the earpiece.
“Hello. This is Tricia Stanford. Is Lincoln available?” a woman’s sultry voice asks.
I look at Lincoln’s line and see that he is on the phone. “I’m sorry. He is currently on a phone call at the moment. May I take a message?”
“Yes, please tell him that I called and wanted to say thank you for dinner last night.”
My stomach churns as I try to process what she is saying. I didn’t know Lincoln went out to dinner last night. He told me he was busy when I asked what he was doing. Ben had practice until seven, and I’d thought we could spend some time together.
“I will certainly tell him,” I reply as I jot down her name and the number on the screen.
“Thank you, dear. Goodbye.”
I put the phone down as my heart starts pounding against my chest. There’s no way he could be seeing someone else. Right? I mean, did we ever truly iron out that we were exclusive and actually dating? I thought we did, but now I’m beginning to second-guess myself.
I think back to all the photos I’ve seen of him on dates and going to events with supermodels when I googled him. He does have a reputation for getting around and never settling down. Why would he be any different with me?
Nausea settles in my stomach as I think about how reluctant he is to get close with me, to talk to me about his past. Maybe that’s his way of telling me that I’m pushing for something he doesn’t want. Doubt clouds my mind as I see the light go off, letting me know that he is off the phone. I grab the Post-it Note with the woman’s name and stand up on shaky legs.
Well, if it was a date, I’m sure I’ll see a look of guilt and regret on his face when he knows he’s been caught.
When I walk in, I find him by the window, looking out at the city thoughtfully. He must sense my presence because he turns around.
“Hey,” he says softly.
“Hi,” I reply. I hold up the yellow paper. “Someone named Tricia Stanford called. She said she wanted to thank you for dinner last night.”
“Ah,” he replies coolly.
I study his face to see if I sense any guilt or fear, but it remains neutral.
“Can you send flowers to her?” he requests.
I almost drop the note to the ground. A horrifying shudder runs through me. Part of me wonders if I heard him correctly, that maybe I should ask for him to repeat himself, but I know what I heard.
“Oh, um, you want me to send her flowers for you. I can do that.”
“Thank you.” He walks back toward his desk like I’m supposed to just take his request and say nothing.
I can’t move. I won’t. This is a level of cruelty that is far beyond what I thought he was capable of. Taking my virginity and playing me like I’m nothing to him.
“You’re serious right now?” I reply, my voice rough with anger.
He hesitates, blinking with confusion. “I’m sorry? Did I say something that upset you?”
I huff out a sarcastic laugh. “Let’s see. Did you say something that upset me? I don’t know. I’ll have to think about that. I asked you to go out to dinner last night, and you told me you were busy. Then the woman you’d decided to have dinner with called, and instead of trying to hide your indiscretion, you asked me to send her flowers.”
I take a deep breath and continue, “I should have known. I should have known that the cold, ruthless billionaire wasn’t capable of letting someone in and keeping it in his pants. All this time, I thought maybe we had something real. I thought you liked me. But turns out, you were just using me for my body. The tabloids don’t lie; you’re just a playboy looking to go from one woman to the next. I was no different.”
My body trembles as his body stiffens. He looks at me like I’ve just cut him open, like I’m the one hurting him.
“I see.” He stands up and crosses his arms across his chest. “I see you made up your mind about my character a long time ago. Apparently, if it’s printed in the papers, it must be true. And here I thought, I had someone who trusted me, who saw me for who I really was.”
I scoff at his words. “I can’t believe you’re going to throw this back on me.”
“No. Of course not. This is all on me. I went against my better judgment and considered the possibility that I could trust someone. If you don’t mind, I have some phone calls to make.”
He dismisses me like I’m not worth another minute of his time. I turn around completely and start to walk out of his office. I have no idea how I’m going to recover from this. I feel manipulated and used.
“Oh, one more thing,” his cold voice states.
I don’t turn around to face him.
“Tricia is my client’s wife. My client who was there with us last night. She called me to thank me because, last night, she revealed she had cancer. One of my friends is the top oncologist in the city, so I gave her his contact information. The flowers are to express my sympathy for the road she has ahead of her. Sign the card, From the ruthless playboy billionaire . That seems to be who I am to you.”
I swallow the despair in my throat. Too stunned and sickened to reply, I continue out of the office, then sink down into my seat. My heart squeezes in anguish as I process what just happened. He certainly just took my accusations and threw them back at me, accusing me of being the one with trust issues.
Is that true? I don’t even know where to begin to dissect this. It all happened so fast and with such poor timing. I had already been struggling with how much he had pushed me away and kept me at arm’s length since his mother had begun calling, even going as far as snapping at me for being concerned. For Tricia to call at that very moment, with all my doubts and insecurities bubbling at the surface, was unfortunate timing.
The realization that I might have lost my job hits me. There’s no way he can find it in his heart to forgive me. Not with the look I saw on his face before I left. The anger and resentment, the disbelief. I need to do something. I need to go in there and apologize. I need to beg to keep my job.
I may not be able to fix us, but maybe I can at least convince him to take pity on me and keep me employed. That’s a lot to ask after the words I just spit at him, but I have to do something. I start to think about Ben and what this would mean for him, and a deep feeling of regret settles in the recesses of my soul.
“Girl,” Paris approaches me, carrying a box in her hand and her purse slung over her shoulder.
Oh my gosh. He really is going to fire me. But the man doesn’t even have the balls to do it himself. I look into his office, and he’s watching me with such disdain—I feel it deep in my bones. He sure acted fast. What’s it been, five minutes?
“What did you do?” she whispers over my desk.
My throat closes up. I feel nausea churning in my stomach, threatening to rise up and further humiliate me. Paris waits for me to answer, but my words are stuck in the back of my throat.
“Well, whatever you did, it’s apparently landed you a spot as Roy’s assistant. He stormed over to my desk and said Lincoln had demanded they switch assistants immediately. No questions asked.”
She starts to come around my desk and places her box, filled with all her things, on the ground by my feet. I stare at the contents of her box in disbelief. He’s not going to fire me. After all of that, after everything I just accused him of, he’s switching me to another executive.
I look up again, and his icy eyes remain glued on me. I stand up and grab a box in the corner that was going to go to recycling. I fill it with what little contents and personal belongings I’ve gathered here in the four months that I’ve been here, then grab my purse and coat.
“I’ll talk to you later. I think you have some explaining to do,” she says as she takes a seat in my chair.
Instead of standing here like a fool while Lincoln watches me, I take the walk of shame out of his sight and head straight for Roy’s corner of the floor. Tears threaten to spill over my lids, but I suck in a breath to keep them at bay.
This is not the time to wallow in my self-pity. I have a job to save. I have a brother to take care of, and I need to make that my number one priority.