Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Oliver
Two days. It has been two days since Sloane Pierce completely shattered my entire world.
Two days since I’ve seen Robbie. Two days since I found myself wondering how I’m going to continue with this damn charade.
I have to tell Sloane the truth. I have to. I can’t continue to do this. I can’t hurt him.
Every day spent with him feels like an absolute dream.
It’s not about the money or the gifts—company benefits, he calls them—or even about how utterly sexy and dreamy he is, which he is those things and so much more, but it’s this feeling.
This buzzing, vibrant feeling that makes me feel like the sky is the limit and there’s nothing I can’t have that’s not in my reach.
Being in the same room with him is so comfortable.
Even though he sits at his desk most of the time and I’m at the table in front of the window, it never feels like he’s far away.
Even now as I sit at this conference table with Sloane at the other end, he feels closer than ever.
Ericson grins as he turns the projector on. Chicora swivels in her chair next to me as I set up my docs for note taking, and I catch her grin.
“What?”
“Has that man told you you’re doing a good job yet?” she asks. Her voice is low, and I note Sloane engrossed in his phone. Maria and Bill tidy up their papers as everyone gets set up for this meeting Ericson called rather promptly.
“Um…” I think of how to answer her, because I’m not sure. I don’t know if he’s said it in words, but… there’s a sense of knowing. A sense of understanding. I’m still here, for one. I’ve been here almost a week.
The party is tomorrow, and suddenly my stomach drops, realizing it could all possibly end.
And I don’t want it to…
My phone goes off, the light catching my attention. A text from Missy.
Missy
Come over tonight.
It’s three words. Three simple words. But yet it feels like so much more.
I haven’t spoken much to Robbie since the other night.
Since he apologized. I’ve stayed late the past couple nights to help Sloane with the details for the gala, and get everything sorted with Chicora regarding my paperwork and my company benefits, which include a company car among a very generous 401k and the best insurance I’ve ever had.
Guilt festers within me that I could lose this. I could lose this job and it would be more than devastating considering how hard the last few months have been, but it’s more than just the benefits that I am terrified of losing.
I like this job. I like that things are not always the same and that Sloane and Chicora throw a number of things at me, and I have to figure out how to fix problems and schedule events, and I get to sit in on meetings and learn about technology that I might not understand but am seriously impressed with.
I like the environment, too. The people are chill, the building is beautiful… and of course, there’s Sloane. Mr. Pierce.
The man at the helm of this ship. The self-made billionaire who defies all my expectations.
I look forward to seeing his BMW pull into my parking lot.
I look forward to his little sarcastic remarks about my food choices.
I look forward to those little hidden moments—the brush of his shoulder when we pass each other in the hallway.
Those stolen moments in the morning when we kiss, or the way we taunt each other, edging one another all day until one of us breaks.
That moment when we get in the car at the end of the day is the best part of the day, hands down.
Yesterday, I nearly set the car horn off trying to get his dick out of his pants so I could jerk us both off after he’d been pushing my buttons all day with a catered lunch—for the whole building—and a delivery of a very expensive Stone Timeworks watch he said I needed for the party.
I refused it, of course, but when Sloane backed me into his locked office and kissed me until I couldn’t breathe, I felt him latch it on me.
And before I could take it off, he grabbed both my wrists and held them behind my back and told me if I wanted to come, I’d have to bite my tongue.
And suddenly I forgot how to speak, so all I could do was squeeze his hand once in submission.
I don’t want to lose this. I don’t want to lose this job or him.
Which is why I know what I need to do, but I also know it’s going to be difficult.
I look up from my phone at Sloane, hoping to find the courage I need because I’ve made my choice. I just hope it’s the right one…
Ericson presents not one, but two Phantom prototypes he is happy to announce have successfully bonded with the tech.
“Are you saying Oliver’s reader idea worked?” Sloane asks, his lips curling up into a bright grin.
“Yes,” Maria says with a smile. “It more than worked. The Phantom software is thriving inside the host. Compared to its competitors, Phantom’s response time is two times faster and almost completely undetectable.”
Sloane smiles at me as Chicora squeezes my shoulder.
“You hear that, sweetheart? I think you just saved the bloody company," she says with pride.
Sloane nods. “Yes. Good job, Oliver.”
I can’t help but beam with pride of my own.
“No need to thank me, Sir.” I hold his gaze with my own. “I’m happy to serve.”
I type as Ericson explains tech things I don’t understand, smiling the whole time. Sloane’s voice is tinged with happiness as he and Chicora hash out when the final product will be ready for the market, everyone visibly excited at this advancement.
When the meeting is over, Chicora collects her things and Sloane shakes everyone’s hands.
I’m just tucking my Chromebook away into my backpack—the one Sloane gifted me with the other day after our visit to the tailor.
He’d joked that if I was to eat like a child, perhaps I needed a backpack like one so I wouldn’t forget my homework.
I told him just how I felt about his little quip by sucking him off under his desk during a conference call, which I more than paid for later when we got in the car.
He locks the door, and I freeze.
“Sloane, what—” I catch myself. “I mean, Mr. Pierce—”
He doesn’t waste a second as he saunters over to me, a deep look of seduction in his eyes.
Grabbing my backpack, he drops it to the ground and holds my hips. He lifts me like a sack of fucking potatoes and sets my ass right on the table with a thud.
“What are you—”
When he grabs me by my throat and kisses me, my entire body melts like ice on a sidewalk in the middle of July.
“Thank you,” he breathes against my lips, his voice full of awe.
“I didn’t do anything,” I say as my cheeks flush with heat. He slides in between my legs, his thumb brushing over the column of my throat. His free hand settles on my hip, slowly sliding to the side of my thigh.
“Yes, you did," he says, his gaze holding mine with praise. “You are so fucking perfect, Oliver.” He kisses me again. I wrap my arms around his neck and relish in the perfection of how it feels. To be praised like this. It’s not the words that leave me breathless, but the utter truth in them. Like he really believes I am perfect.
And that is what ricochets through me like poison as he pulls away. I’m not perfect. Not by a long shot.
But I want to be. For him.
I want to be the man he thinks I am…
“We should celebrate," he says, taking a step back and giving me space to move. Yet I can’t seem to find the will to move my legs. They suddenly feel like dead weight.
“I—”
“We can head to my place. After work," he says, taking a long look at me.
“We can have a drink or two. Hell, I’ll even make you all the chicken nuggets you want, and you can have Pop-Tarts for dessert.” He smirks.
My eyes fill with tears as he grins.
Robbie’s text hangs in my psyche like an intruder. I hadn’t had the chance to answer him, and I know we need to talk. Well, more or less I need to talk, and Robbie needs to listen, but he’s not going to like what I have to say one bit.
Telling him I’m done with this revenge fantasy of his, with him…
it makes me want to throw up just thinking about it, but it’s the right thing to do.
I thought for the longest time that I didn’t have a choice.
That shouldering my boyfriend’s burdens and problems just meant I was a good boyfriend.
That if I took care of him, he’d love me.
That if I just stayed the course, things would get better.
He’d get a job again, and we would go out again, and he would stop drinking so much, and maybe we’d even find a way to get back to how things were at the beginning, but…
Five days with Sloane Pierce has lifted the veil from my eyes and now I see the truth. I feel it every time he rests his hand on my neck and doesn’t choke me. I hear it every time his voice switches from stern and commanding to softness in the blink of an eye when he asks if I’m okay.
“Hey…” Sloane’s eyes narrow as he pulls me up and into his arms with so much gentleness, so much fucking care, the tears rush out of me.
I bury my face against his shoulder as he holds me close, his arms tight as his hands rub up and down my back.
“Oliver, what’s wrong?”
I open my mouth but the words won’t come out. They’re stuck in my throat.
“Look at me…” he says, grasping my jaw, bending just enough to put himself on the same level as me. His icy blue eyes glisten, like diamonds in velvet.
So pure, so bright. So perfect.
But everything around me is breaking. Like glass, the pieces cut me harder, deeper than they should because I realize at this moment, the truth is so much worse than I thought it was.
I think I’m falling in love with Sloane Pierce. And I think I’m going to fuck up the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
“Jabberwocky," I say, my throat getting tight. I watch the light shift from his eyes. It’s a second. Barely a flash, but that switch flips.
He drops his hands from my face, and I hate it. I hate how cold my skin feels without his warm touch.