13. Lauren
Lauren
M ike is incredibly pleasant—easy to talk to, with a genuine smile that reaches his eyes. There’s a certain lightness in the air whenever he’s around, like a soft breeze. It’s the exact opposite of the tension that coils tight whenever Silas is anywhere near me.
“Thanks for everything, and again, I’m really sorry for bothering you at this hour,” I say, tucking a stray hair behind my ear.
Mike slips his hand into the pocket of his pleated trousers and gives me a soft, reassuring smile. “It’s my job, Lauren. Don’t worry about it.” His voice lowers slightly, as if sharing a secret. “Besides, it’s a price I’m willing to pay.”
I smile back, but then I notice something shift in his expression, something that makes my stomach flutter with a tinge of anxiety.
“I wonder,” he says, his tone a little more careful now, “if, when all this is over, you’d be free to grab a coffee with me sometime.”
My brain starts whirring, analyzing his words. These are the kinds of moments I never seem to read right. Is he asking me out? Or is this just him being polite? I’ve been burned before—like that one time in college when a guy “invited” me for coffee, and I spent hours getting ready, painting my nails, picking out a cute summer dress, only for him to show up drenched in sweat, still in his gym clothes. That humiliation is burned into my memory, and now I doubt every invitation like this. What should I say? What does he mean?
I force a shy smile. “I’ll see you in a month?”
His smile falters for a split second, but he recovers quickly, his eyes studying me with an intensity I don’t quite understand. “You’re clever. You didn’t answer my question, but you didn’t say no either. I’ll take it.” He steps back, giving me a small wave. “See you in a month.”
I watch him go, feeling like I’ve somehow managed to complicate things again. My hand feels awkward as I shake his, my own smile plastered to my face in what must look like a mixture of nerves and confusion.
As I step into Silas’s apartment, I’m greeted by the sight of him standing in the doorway of his guest room, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes are sharp, scanning me with an intensity that immediately makes me feel unsettled.
“What happens in a month?” His voice is low, and there's something accusatory in the way he asks, as if he’s caught me doing something wrong.
I freeze, my heart racing. “Your appointment with him,” I say quickly, far quicker than I mean to, already busying myself with tidying up things I don’t even need to touch—rearranging books, smoothing out cushions, doing anything to avoid looking directly at him .
“Lauren …” His tone softens, but there’s an edge to it. I glance at him for barely a second, but that brief look is enough to make my stomach twist. The way he’s staring at me, like he’s trying to see through me, makes me feel like I’m standing on a cliff’s edge. “Come here,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, but the command in it pulls at something deep inside me.
“You need to rest,” I say, pretending I didn’t hear his command. “You’ve got to take care of that heart if you want to keep being CEO of Property Group and?—”
“Lauren.” His voice cuts through my words like a blade. “You know I don’t like repeating myself. Come here.”
I take a deep breath, walking toward him but stopping just short of where he wants me—keeping a safe distance between us.
“We still have things to finish,” he says, uncrossing his arms and taking a step closer, erasing the space I’d carefully created.
“No.” My voice wavers slightly, but I force strength into it. “Clearly, your heart can’t handle something like this. Besides, it’s not right. You’re my boss, and if there’s anything good to come out of this, it’s that we stopped in time.”
His eyebrows lift, a slight smile playing on his lips. “Your boss? Now I’m your boss ? Lauren, I have more authority over a pencil than I do over you.”
“Yes, boss. And we can’t cross that line again. I can’t ...” I search for words strong enough to make him stop. “I can’t afford to lose this job. I need it.”
That, at least, seems to land. His movements are still, his expression hardening. “Why would you lose your job?” He looks genuinely confused, and that infuriates me more than anything.
I throw my hands in the air, exasperated. “Let’s see. Maybe because it’s unprofessional? That’s one. Secondly, I know your reputation, and it doesn’t match mine, at all . And third, I’m not willing to be humiliated when women start coming in and out of your office while I’m just …”
“Wait, wait.” His voice rises, his eyes darkening. “What women? What reputation?” He steps closer again, and despite the casual sweatpants, Silas commands the room. He’s taller than me, broader too, and the sheer force of his presence makes my chest tighten with intimidation.
Don’t back down, Lauren.
“Silas, you know what I’m talking about.” I turn sharply, trying to end the conversation, but he follows close behind like a shadow—relentless.
“What women did you see coming in and out of my office?” His voice is mocking now, his eyes sharp. “Because if you're seeing things I’m not, I might need to call security—or maybe a psychiatrist.”
I dart to the other side of the kitchen island, needing the physical barrier between us to think. This is so typical of Silas—scrambling my brain, clouding it with confusing thoughts, making every nerve in my body come alive. He did it in high school, and he’s doing it now. The only difference is, this time, he’s my boss. Avoiding him is no longer an option.
“That doesn’t mean it won’t happen. I know myself, Silas—I don’t handle uncertainty well. I need clarity, and you’re like a damn hummingbird, flitting from flower to flower.”
“Hummingbird?” He blinks, taken aback. His voice rises again, heated. “What the hell? Less than an hour ago, I wasn’t a hummingbird—I was yours! ” he shouts, the frustration evident in his clenched jaw, his blue eyes blazing with anger.
His heart. I shouldn’t let him get this worked up. His heart can’t take this.
A cold, uncomfortable silence fills the room, suffocating the air between us.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to talk about this right now,” I murmur, looking down at my feet. “You need to recover.”
Silas doesn’t respond, and I don’t dare look at him—though I already know the expression on his face. Disappointment. I’ve only ever seen it once before, and I wish I could forget the memory. But then there’s the other memory. The one I can’t shake—the phrases of Hades and Persephone on the wall in his guest room, the room where we almost ... How can something so personal—something connected to both of us—be hanging in his ninety-million-dollar apartment? What does it mean? Did he think about me all these years, or is this just Silas, the artist, in love with his own creation? Emma would know. She’s always been better at figuring out what men really mean. When I tell her I kissed him, she’s going to be pissed.
Night has fallen now, and with it, a strange, heavy silence. I don’t know why I’m still here. Something in me won’t let me leave. Silas is proud, stubborn, and utterly alone. I’m the only person he’s allowed into this moment of vulnerability, the only one who knows how fragile his heart is. Walking away feels wrong—heartless. And yet, I’m not his girlfriend. I’m not his mother. I’m his assistant. This is not my place. But I can’t stop myself.
More than once, I creep down the hallway to check on him, to see if his chest is rising and falling with each breath. I return to my room, confused and angry at myself.
What am I doing?
Movement stirs me awake.
The room is bathed in soft orange hues; dawn is creeping in again, and so is Silas. I barely open my eyes as I watch him quietly slide into bed beside me, carefully keeping his distance, as if not wanting to invade my space. He settles in, and almost immediately, his steady, rhythmic snoring fills the air. I guess this is his way of making peace—an unspoken truce after last night.
I decide to work from bed. It’s Friday, and that feels like reason enough to take charge of the company while Silas catches up on much-needed rest. I scroll through his emails, handling the usual matters—contracts, inquiries, business minutiae. Then I stumble across an email from Stella. Her message is brief, asking how I’ve been and casually dropping a bombshell: she’s having a baby soon.
She also says she’d like Silas to meet her daughter, at least once .
The wording catches me off guard. It feels more like a plea to a lover than a friendly invitation from a colleague. But then again, Stella and Silas have worked together for years. She probably knows him better than most, and surely she’s aware that Silas has no interest in babies or family life. Right?
By the time eleven rolls around, Silas stirs beside me, his body stretching languidly, arms above his head. His eyes, still glazed with sleep, land on me. He doesn’t smile, but his gaze lingers a moment longer than usual, as though he’s trying to read me—or maybe read the room.
“Morning,” I say, half-expecting him to acknowledge the weirdness of this situation—him crawling into bed with me, me working in his bed like it’s nothing. But he just rubs his eyes and sits up slightly, still silent, still unreadable. “How are you feeling?” I ask, setting the laptop aside on the bedside table.
“Like I’ve slept for an eternity,” Silas says, his eyes still heavy with sleep. He glances at his watch, and his brows shoot up when he realizes the time.
He starts to sit up abruptly, but I press a hand gently to his chest. “Relax,” I say, easing him back down. “There’s nothing for you to do today. I moved your meetings, took care of your brothers, and wished all your employees a Merry Christmas on your behalf.”
“But Christmas is a week away,” he grumbles.
“I know, Scrooge,” I tease, “but normal people spend these days with their families. You should do the same.”
He huffs like an old man tired of hearing the same advice, letting himself fall back onto the bed. “My family causes me more stress than work. Trust me.”
We don’t mention last night—the conversation that unraveled into something raw and unresolved. Nor do we acknowledge the fact that we began the night in separate beds, only to somehow end up in the same one by morning. The silence between us is charged, but we let it be as if agreeing not to prod the fragile peace. The day passes much like the one before it. I clear Silas’s schedule for the rest of the week so he has nothing to worry about but his recovery. He barely leaves the bed, but his eyes follow me as I work, moving through his emails, making sure everything is in order. By the time five o’clock rolls around, I’ve changed into my work clothes, gathering my things to head home. The rhythm feels familiar now—too familiar.
“Where are you going?” His voice catches me off guard, low and questioning behind me.
“To my place, Silas.” I keep my tone firm and distant, even though I don’t feel that way at all. “I have to go home at some point.”
I avoid looking at him because I know what will happen if I do. Two days is long enough. I’ve run out of excuses to stay. I want my own bed, my own space, my own life—away from the confusion that is Silas Walker.
“But—“
I turn to face him, cutting off whatever protest he’s about to make. “Call me if you need me. I’ll be working from home for the rest of the week.” I force a smile. My heels echo loudly against the marble floor as I walk toward the door, each step feeling heavier than the last. A part of me, deep down, waits—hopes—he’ll say something. That he’ll ask me to stay, tell me he’s not ready for me to leave yet. That my presence somehow makes this unbearable time a little more bearable. But the only thing I get is silence.
The door closes softly behind me, and I’m left alone with the weight of everything unsaid.
“LAUREN, you're not his mother!” Emma's voice practically echoes through the video call. “Or his wife! And he doesn’t pay you to take care of him like that.”
“I know, but I couldn’t leave him alone, Em. He was scared,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady.
“You’re too nice. We’re talking about Silas Walker here. You’d probably jump into a shark tank for him, and he’d be the one swimming out with the trophy.”
I laugh, though the truth in her words hits harder than I care to admit. On the screen, Emma sits at her kitchen table, sunlight pouring in through the window, palm trees swaying lazily in the Miami breeze. Meanwhile, I’m wrapped in a ridiculous number of layers—hat, gloves, and a blanket—inside my freezing apartment because the heating is broken, and the landlord doesn’t seem to think it's urgent enough to fix before the holidays.
“He’s my boss now,” I say, “so there’s not much I can do. Plus, he doesn’t have anyone else, and he asked me not to call his family.”
Emma narrows her eyes at me, shaking her head. “So that’s why you spent two nights at his place? Maybe you should just wear a dog collar with his phone number and a chip so he can track you after work hours.”
“Pfft.” I chuckle, rolling my eyes. “Don’t be mean, Em. I’m back home already. We’re just emailing now.”
“Emailing? Great, you’re a digital pet now,” she quips. “Come to Miami for Christmas. You can escape Silas and the icebox you’re living in.”
“No, I need to save every penny. If Stella comes back, she’ll want her job, and I’m sure Silas will give it to her.”
Emma groans so loudly I swear her neighbors must’ve heard it. “I hate that you work for him.”
“He’s not that bad,” I protest, leaning forward. “I don’t hate it. In fact, I really enjoy working there. He makes it fun.”
It’s true. This past week, I’ve been inside the most exclusive buildings in Manhattan, seen parts of the city that few ever get to experience, and I’ve learned so much that my brain feels like it's bursting at the seams. Silas has me running all over the place, but it’s different from any job I’ve had before. He explains things like a mentor, and honestly, it’s a side of him I never imagined.
“Don’t worry about me,” I say, giving her a reassuring smile. “I’m fine.”
Emma stares at me for a long moment, then sighs. “I believe you, and that’s what worries me. Silas always had a hold on you. Just don’t forget what he did to you in high school.”
“I won’t,” I murmur, the familiar weight of the past settling over me like a heavy blanket. My voice sounds small, like I’m talking to our mom after one of her lectures.
I tell myself it’s all in the past, but part of me knows that Emma’s right. Silas Walker has always had a way of getting under my skin. And that, more than anything, is what scares me.