Chapter 5
OLIVIA
Itried to blink through the fog that took over my head, but my eyelids were heavier than what I expected them to be. My throat was dry. I worked to swallow down the little bit of saliva that was in my mouth to offer it something.
My eyes cracked open a breath later, and this achy sensation blossomed in my hip. It spread over my skin to my outer thigh, but I couldn’t focus on that right then. First, I had to figure out what the hell happened. Why I fainted and—
A dull throb echoed in from behind the background noise in my head. My headache was back. Or maybe it hadn’t entirely gone away. Either way, my body felt heavy and lethargic. The way it always did after bearing the stress of a migraine for too long.
A groan worked up my throat as my eyelids opened wider to make sense of the room.
In the lack of light, a face glared down at me from above with one wrinkled brow drawing close to the other.
Weston. His gaze flitted over my face, bouncing from my lips to my cheeks before finally looking directly at me.
Those eyes—steely, hard, and unrelenting—stared down at me. They were right there, making it hard to focus on anything else. The expression on his face was worse than what I remembered. He almost looked…pained. Like he was hurt. Not physically but emotionally.
My vision blurred when another ache streaked across my skull. I squeezed my eyelids shut.
“Oh no, you don’t,” Weston murmured, his rough palm coming up to my cheek. He ran it over my smooth skin until his fingers tickled the top of my ear and teased the strands of my chestnut hair.
I forced myself to swallow again, but it only reminded me of how uneasy my stomach felt. It was as if it was a waterbed and someone plopped down on it without knowing there was liquid inside of it.
“Olivia,” came Weston’s stern voice. “Open your eyes.”
I couldn’t.
“I-I can’t,” I stuttered out, barely shaking my head.
“Yes, you can.”
“No, I—”
“Stop making excuses and just do it,” he ordered.
Jesus, did he always have to be so brash?
If I could have rolled my eyes with them shut, I would have. My stomach swooped in discomfort again. “Sometimes I get these headaches, and they make me woozy. Occasionally, they make me faint,” I admitted.
It had been a long time since I shared that with someone, but the truth was that I suffered from chronic migraines since going through puberty as a teenager. Back then, they held me hostage even more than they did now.
I forced myself to focus on anything other than how that made me feel. Like the solid surface below me. My back was pressed against something hard, but I knew it wasn’t the floor because my feet were limp and hanging off the end of something.
“I’m not on the floor, am I?”
“No.” Weston cleared his throat. “I carried you over to one of the tables. The last place you should be lying is on the dirty ground.”
The irritation that came from his sharp words simmered out a tiny bit.
Because that—what Weston did—was kind. Thoughtful.
I couldn’t help but notice that and hang onto it.
I was stuck in a game of tug of war over being angry with him while also being so dangerously attracted to the man.
Knowing he moved me caused a spiral of tingles through my chest. Caused this anguish to fill me in the best, and worst, of ways—because I still had his brother to contend with outside of this room.
I sucked in a breath and inhaled deeply, letting it go as Weston’s fingers trailed over my forehead and brushed my bangs to the side. How horrible was it that I enjoyed his touch? That it made my heart crave a little more of it?
The pain in my side reared its ugly head again, aching in a way that a fresh bruise did. My eyes remained shut. I started to wonder if that was for the best, considering how close Weston was to me. I could feel his body heat radiating off him and blanketing me like a cozy knitted throw.
“Did I hit my head?”
“It took me a minute to realize you were going down. Most of your weight landed on one side, but I moved fast enough to ensure your head was safe.”
I dipped my chin a little. To let him know I heard him but also as a wordless thank you. But then he spoke, his words so damn soft compared to every other one he had given me tonight.
“Olivia, I really, really need you to open your eyes.”
“I don’t know…” I trailed off. The thought of the room spinning the tiniest bit made me want to roll over and heave. I hated that I fainted at all, that weakness consumed my body when I was in front of none other than him. Broody, ruthless, thoughtful Weston Taylors.
“So, what, you’re going to lie there all night with your eyes closed and not move?
You need to eat something. Drink some water.
Take something that’ll get rid of that headache so you don’t pass out on me again,” Weston said, that stone-like tone returning.
It wasn’t as bad as before, but it teased the shape of his words, promising me that it’d only be a matter of time before it was back for good.
It was for the best my eyelids were still shut because I knew I wouldn’t have been able to look him in the eyes. “I did take something for it.”
“So then why didn’t it work?”
“Because that’s how it is sometimes. Once the symptoms start, it’s hard to stop them, especially when stress exacerbates them. I have to…ride them out.”
My mind went back to Weston’s accusations, and this fury flared inside of me all over again. I told myself to let it go because it wasn’t going to help me. If anything, it was only going to make me feel worse.
Dread climbed its way up my legs as if they were ladders and clung to the hem of my cornflower blue dress that rose up to my thighs.
Weston’s words were a low murmur and brushed along my skin like a knuckle trailing over my cheek. “Just…tell me what I need to do to help you. You scared me half to death when you dropped like you did. I don’t want to see that happen again.”
Emotion. His voice was full of it. Shame. Fear. Guilt. They coated him with an array of bright colors, like when you went to one of those paint parties and the neon colors glimmered on your white clothing under blue lights.
“I don’t think there’s anything—”
“Don’t say that. There’s always something that can be done, so tell me what it is.”
My stomach fluttered, doing a cartwheel before landing perfectly on its feet.
My eyelids loosened a little, but I kept them shut.
“If you don’t give me something, Olivia, I’ll be half inclined to fire you or force you into resignation.”
My eyes flung open at that. I loved working for Taylors Security. I might’ve only been a secretary and handled most of the clerical work, but he couldn’t do that, could he? I didn’t want to move too quickly in fear I’d actually get sick.
“Fucking finally.” He huffed out an exasperated breath. “I don’t appreciate you not acknowledging me, especially when I’m standing here making sure you’re okay and not about to drop to the floor again.”
I was fully conscious, which meant I wouldn’t be falling off the table like some newborn who just learned how to roll to their belly the day before. I chose to keep that to myself because there was something about him caring for me that made my heart stumble over itself.
“I’m holding a conversation with you, Weston. That’s the literal definition of acknowledgement the last time I checked.”
“It’s not the same,” he muttered. His actual hand, not his words, trailed down my cheek until it disappeared from my body. It would have been cliché to say I immediately missed it, but I didn’t get the chance because it landed on my side above my hip bone next. The one that didn’t hurt.
My breath caught in my throat, my lungs barely able to work as his fingers gently curved around my side in a firm grasp. And then, he stole whatever remaining breath I had in my lungs when he squeezed me.
At that point, I couldn’t do anything but look at him. I needed air, but I couldn’t say that through words. Instead, I had to plead for oxygen using my other senses.
He was a lot closer than what I anticipated when I couldn’t see more than the backs of my eyelids. He was practically on top of the table, and that hand of his—God, that hand—didn’t waver as we focused on one another.
I could have sworn it tightened. That his fingertips bit into my flesh a little harder.
My heart turned to mush, and this funny feeling settled into my lower abdomen. The same one that would antagonize me whenever Lennon swooned me off my feet. Whenever he kissed that spot on my neck that drove me crazy.
Knowing Weston was the one turning my insides all gooey was the reason I blurted out my truth the very next second. “Your brother and I are breaking up.”
It was enough of a truth bomb for him to rip his hand away. He scrubbed it over his chin. “Jesus, is that why you left the party? Were you planning on breaking up with him on his birthday?”
I slowly sat up to my elbows, everything coming back into focus. The nausea in my stomach even seemed to dissipate some, and that was while seeing Weston’s face. That damn dull ache was still mocking me, though. Swinging back and forth in my head as it kicked its feet up high.
Weston turned on his heel. Almost like he was done giving a shit about my well-being. And I guessed that he was, because in a moment of unbridled connection, I tore him away from that and brought him back to reality.
“No, that’s not what I was planning on doing,” I hissed.
“You know, you’re turning out to be exactly who I said earlier.
” Those mean words and that angry tone were back.
I hated it. That he was able to flip so quickly instead of wanting to hear me out.
That he never once questioned Lennon more deeply—which was good for him, but it definitely wasn’t doing me any favors.
I mean, Weston had to know me better than that. Maybe he just didn’t want to see me as the good person I was. Maybe someone hurt him. Tore his heart from his chest and replaced it with a rock. A jagged, cold stone from the top of Mount McKinley, the coldest mountain top in the world.
A humorless laugh worked itself out of me as I sat up farther and swung my legs over the side of the table.
I rested my feet on a chair that was tucked under it and held on to the edge of the wooden surface to keep steady.
“I tell you that your brother and I are going nowhere fast, and I’m immediately the one responsible for it? ”
“Who else would be the cause?”
That time I really did laugh, tossing my head back before settling back on him and tossing him one freshly manicured finger. “Fuck you, Weston.”
“I already tol—”
“I don’t give a shit what you’ve already said.” I carefully hopped off the table, knowing that I had to be careful and take it slow considering my fainting spell. If I wasn’t careful, my headache would come back in full force, returning with a vengeance, and possibly be even worse.
So much for that medicine.
I should have left the office entirely, foregoing those small orange pills and taking them at Lennon’s instead.
A mistake I’d never make again if I had any control of the matter.
“And for the record, it’s not on me that we’re practically over,” I said as I slowly stepped toward the bathroom. It wasn’t that far away, maybe a solid ten steps, but I needed space and distance from my boss, who was also a total and complete asshole.
I would never allow my body to feel an iota of warmth from him again. Even if it tried to push in, I’d tell it to stand down. And it’d listen, damn it.
“That’s on him. It’s on him and his inability to commit to one woman.
It’s on him for his lack of conscience. It’s on him for flirting and getting handsy and making himself available to women who aren’t me.
It’s on him”—I fisted my hands at my sides because I was barely holding on—“for letting me catch him in not one questionable situation but many—most of which happened under this very goddamn roof. Your roof. So, the next time you want to accuse me of being unfaithful and looking at other men, why don’t you ask your brother how many conversations we’ve had regarding his inability to give me his attention, his commitment, his honesty. ”
I stomped into the bathroom before he could respond, slammed the door, and twisted the lock.