31. Byron
31
BYRON
M y love for good food started at an early age, and I quickly learned the difference between a great meal that euphorically satisfied all of my senses and a meal that merely filled an empty spot.
I’d always gotten along with every chef who worked at Belmont Manor over the years, and I treasured fond memories of the special meals I had as a child.
Only now did I realize it probably had something to do with eating my feelings, too.
So, here I was, my love for tasty food never more evident as I was scarfing down my second serving of lasagna for lunch, trying to forget what happened in the kitchen ten minutes before.
Erectiongate , as I aptly came to think of it now.
But let me give you my side because I can only imagine the one-sided, twisted version you got.
So, it was basically a shitstorm.
I was trying to figure out the espresso machine when Meg toddled into the kitchen. And I could hear her hesitate at the door when she saw me standing there.
But lo and behold, I hit the wrong button on the machine, and Miss Bossy marched over to fix my mistake like it was her only mission in life.
She brushed past me to make a drink, and just like that, sparks were flying. And I could feel things below my navel tightening up, as in my dick happily reacting to her very close proximity.
Sweat was running down my back, and all I could do was try to wrestle my thoughts into keeping it chaste.
It could have been my imagination, but Meg seemed a little flustered herself. And those pebbled nipples poking that satin blouse of hers were telling a tale of their own. So, maybe it was chilly in the kitchen. Maybe it was not.
Anyway.
Then, in what I genuinely hoped was a completely innocent move, she stepped back…and right into me. (How could she forget I was right there, literally breathing down her neck?)
I went from semi to steel in less than a second when her perfect ass brushed my thighs. Then, her body shifted just enough, as if allowing her curves to fold into me.
Like a key fitting into a lock.
And yes, she had to feel this rager, I’m sure. Not to blow my own horn, but I was way above average. (For anyone wondering.)
But instead of jumping away in a panic, she stayed there, not a sliver of air between her body and mine. Which made things infinitely worse because I was too scared to move.
The last thing I needed was more friction of any kind, especially where Meg Belfiore was involved.
Time slowed to a crawl, every second stretching into an eternity. I was trapped in the sweet misery of her lingering, never wanting it to end.
Meg was the first to return to life, muttering something about cappuccinos and how the leftover lunch was all mine. Then, she pulled away like I was Byron the Impaler, and she was the next unfortunate victim on my list.
I felt my soul practically pack its bags and flee my body.
If there was one thing I could control, it was my dick. In fact, it was a little scary how much control I had over the damn thing. It did not twitch unless I allowed it to.
But ever since Meg stepped into my world, it’s been twitching like it’s playing whack-a-mole with my sanity. Let alone standing at full salute as it did just then.
And now, here I was in my office, overanalyzing every little detail as if I could change the outcome. So, I continued soothing my wounded spirit, sipping my cappuccino between delectable bites of tiramisu.
Embarrassment was a foreign concept to me in my new life. I mean, seriously. When was the last time you saw an asshole get embarrassed? If they did, they wouldn’t be assholes.
And now, here I was, this strange sensation of mortification worming its way through me, looking for somewhere to land, to settle in and make itself at home .
And oh boy, did it ever. Every time I thought of Erectiongate, I mentally shriveled up.
One question hounded me relentlessly. What on earth was Meg thinking? There was a tiny chance she wasn’t even paying attention to me in the kitchen, and that I was just making a mountain out of a molehill.
In which case, apologizing would be awkward. As in, there wasn’t a planet far enough away to escape the discomfort that would follow if Meg didn’t care or know what I was begging her forgiveness for.
Imagine that conversation. The little I knew about Meg, it would probably go like this:
“I’m sorry I almost impaled you in the kitchen with my impressive hard-on.”
“Not sure what you’re talking about. I didn’t feel a thing.”
I decided to play dead and pretend I hadn’t gone into the kitchen to get a cappuccino and come out with the Leaning Tower of Pisa in my pants.
After the second helping of tiramisu, I felt much better, sufficiently stuffed, with all my bad feelings buried under a hearty pile of food. Sure, there was a long jog in my future to burn off the calories. But even more urgent was the frigid shower I’d have to brave to handle my other ...problem.
Thankfully, my afternoon was filled with a four-hour board meeting that kept me busy and on my toes.
Roman introduced me as the future CEO without bothering to mention how exactly I’d landed the role despite my complete lack of experience. Classic Roman. It was his rules, his world, and everybody else was just living in it.
It struck me as a little odd that Roman was so determined to throw me into the deep end, testing me to see if I’d swim to the top. The pressure was on, and I had a lot riding on my ability to succeed.
By the time I made it back to my office from his, it was almost dark outside. I had enough work to keep me in the office the rest of the night. But I figured it was time to check in on Meg. Maybe she’d spill the beans on why I’d been crowned Enemy Number One today, and perhaps the whole kitchen fiasco wasn’t as catastrophic as I thought.
Slipping through the secret passage, I found Meg’s office door wide open. Inside, Nelson was packing up her photos and a few mementos into a fancy box.
My heart sank. “What’s going on?”
Nelson shot me a quick, almost accusatory glance. “Meg will be working from home from now on. She doesn’t think it necessary to come to Belmont Manor except for meetings. That’s all she said.”
I was stumped. “When did she decide this?”
“Earlier this afternoon.”
“And she didn’t think to maybe, I don’t know, let Roman and me in on that decision?”
Nelson sighed. “For some reason, I don’t think Meg gives a damn about getting anyone’s permission, Byron.”
I pressed on, not ready to let this go. “Did you try to reason with her at all?”
“No, I didn’t. Not my circus, not my monkeys. What would you like me to order for dinner tonight?”
For once, food was the last thing on my mind. “Nothing for me, thank you. Lunch was enough.”
Nelson clasped his hands together, ready to wrap this conversation up. “All right then. I’ll have someone pick up Meg’s things and take them to her. And if there’s nothing else, I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight.”
Before I could even form a response, he was gone, leaving a trail of resignation behind. Nelson was holding me responsible for Meg leaving Belmont Manor, and he wanted me to know that.
The Belmont brothers, it seemed, had perfected the art of ruining relationships with amazing women. Whether we meant to or not.
Standing alone in Meg’s empty office, the strangest, most unsettling feeling washed over me…that of utter misery. I wasn’t just responsible for making her experience at Belmont Manor miserable, I also had no clue what it was I’d done.
My gaze drifted to the box of framed pictures on her desk. I flipped through them absently, trying to make sense of everything. One picture caught my eye, of Meg and her dog. She was the epitome of joy, and the dog was adorable.
It hit me all at once. Two days ago, she was a complete stranger. Now she consumed my thoughts and turned my emotions into a complicated mess.
There had to be a way to get her back to Belmont Manor. If I could figure out what I’d done, that would be a good start.
I swiped the picture of her and the dog. Once I had it scanned, I’d return it to her, pretending it was accidentally left behind.
Never had I been happier about a mountain of work to keep my mind occupied. I poured myself a neat whiskey and got busy.
While I was grinding through one of the Belmont Trust’s intricate merger and acquisition deals, a little seed blossomed into an intriguing if not a batshit crazy idea.
What if I could find a way to talk to Meg without her knowing it was me? The very thought of this idea succeeding filled me with a strange, almost intoxicating sense of pleasure. That was to say, it worked.
Of course, that meant going through her social media…basically stalking her online.
Not that I’d ever wanted to do it before, but I was pretty sure this was how people learned more about the one person who suddenly had their attention. Wasn’t it?
With that tantalizing thought in mind, I buried myself in work.
There was something oddly comforting about having that pic of Meg and her dog on my desk. I just had to hide it before anyone saw it. No way I could explain that one away.