Chapter 17
Suicide is not the answer.
Viktor
Was kissing Crisis without consent a terrible idea and an abuse of my power as not only her superior but also as someone who could afford the kind of lawyer that could decimate her sexual harrassment charges? Yes.
Did she taste like mint and magic?
Absolutely.
I think I’m going to locate the nearest highway and lie in the traffic.
Hand clamped to my face, I speed walk away from Crisis, past the horses who approach the doors to their stalls, through the hay-soaked scent of the barn hall, and out into the sun, partially hoping it might burn me into a crisp.
Her lips were…so soft.
My first kiss.
It just… It happened. I was thinking about what Crimson told me—to stop letting Crisis get away with everything —and thought okay, okay, this time, I’ll stand my ground. I’ll do what I want. I’ll cast off whatever seems professional or considerate, and put my needs first for once.
Problem is, what I want when I’m with Crisis is to hear everything in her skull, then kiss her until I’m little more than a patchwork of her handprints on my skin.
It. Just. Happened .
It being sexual harassment of an employee who visibly recoils every single time I touch her even casually.
I turn on my heel, face the barn. Swears stampede through my head like a herd of wild elephants.
What have I done ? I need to apologize, on my knees, probably by cutting out my stomach seppuku style.
I turn on my heel again.
Actually, traffic seems a little less painful and a whole lot less disgusting for a woman I’ve already traumatized. Besides, I don’t have a katana. If katanas are even used to commit seppuku. I bet it’s a different, more specific, and completely ceremonial sword.
I do not deserve the ceremony. So traffic it is.
Lifting my attention toward the only quiet road near the sprawling campus of Canter Creek Ranch, I swallow hard. The winding lane rises and falls with the rolling grass beside it, coasting along the side of a sheer stone mountain that glitters in the blazing sun. As far as I can see before the tarmac cuts away, not a single car appears.
My options are becoming more slim by the moment.
Wait a second. Isn’t there a lake on this property? One of the retreat events was swimming at a lake, so there must be one somewhere nearby.
Twisting, I march around the barn, toward the ranch house, in search of it.
Drowning myself isn’t my first option, but I’ll take what I can get. Lots of water. One deep breath. Severe, agonizing pain.
And that’s it. All done.
My steps lock up, leaving me stationary in the center of the kicked up dirt between several pastures and the ranch’s main buildings.
If I drown myself right now, I may never get to kiss Crisis again.
She already hated me.
I can’t have made her double hate me.
Nothing’s changed, except perhaps some of the things we’ve left unspoken are now in the open, where we can possibly address them.
Grow from them, even.
What if this isn’t the end? What if this is a beginning that I’m about to throw away?
I should go back, apologize, put my actions and feelings into words, ask her how she’d like to proceed. If she needs time, I’m happy to give it to her. I’m happy to give her absolutely anything.
What am I doing?
I need to go back into that tiny room with her and use my words . I’m an author. You’d think this would come easily to me. You’d think—
To my left, a car in the dirt lot starts up, so I fix my attention on the noise and watch Crisis’s light blue Camry peel out of its spot. It hits the winding road without pausing to check for traffic. A second passes, and it’s gone. She’s gone.
Just like that.
So. Yeah.
Okay…
Never mind.
I return to my search for that lake.