Chapter 23 Violet
Chapter Twenty-Three
VIOLET
It’s been days since that phone call, and I still haven’t forgiven The Ghost.
I don’t mind him dropping in and out of my life. It sort of keeps things spicy. I don’t even mind him watching me.
But stopping short in the middle of a filthy close-to-my-heart fantasy is unforgivable.
Especially, one like that, one where he made me a sexy star.
It was perfection. Not one part real but the pervy pleasure of it. And then he took it all away.
I hate him.
At least work has been a pleasure, even though I’m juggling a lot of balls, but Isaac has been nowhere near the office.
Until today.
I huff to myself as he walks in to the office, and my heart sinks.
He walks past my little room but doesn’t even look my way.
I want to relax, convince myself all will be better now, but it’s Isaac. He’ll be back at his weird games in no time, I’m sure.
I keep checking my phone, hoping The Ghost will send me a message, but he’s still silent.
It doesn’t matter I’m mad at him. I still want him to text me, taunt me.
Isaac stalks into my office and hands me a folder. “Violet, can you get copies of this?”
“How many—”
He’s already left.
With a sigh, I flick open the cover.
Of course, he’s written a note on how many copies of each thing he needs.
I get up and head to the copy room.
I don’t mind doing tasks I’m not meant to, everyone pitches in. Besides, it gives me something to do.
When they’re all done, Miriam collects them and takes them to Isaac, and a slither of unease passes through me.
Yes, he’s keeping his distance, but why did he get me to do the copies?
I shake my head to myself. “Don’t think about it. Just don’t.”
I trudge back to my desk and sit down. And of course, I give into the urge to look at my phone, but it’s resolutely silent. No messages from The Ghost. Still.
I really wish he didn’t affect me like he does. But I’m also thrilled by it. Everything about it is so wrong it somehow is perfectly right.
All I want is the tiniest thing, a single missed call, a text with nothing in it but an emoji or hi. Or fuck, I’ll take an empty text. At least then I’d know I was on his mind enough that he was thinking about texting and accidentally—or purposefully—hit the send button.
I’m so turned on by this complete stranger that I can’t take it. I want him with a desperation I’m not sure I understand. It threatens to consume me.
I want to know him, who he is, what he looks like, what his name is. I want to know what he likes and doesn’t like. I want to know if he likes coffee or just drinks tea. Is he a Pepsi or Coke man or just sparkling water in a can?
Does he have a pet? Siblings?
I get it, I do. He wants to stay mysterious, anonymous. Anonymity is his thing.
But he must know people, and he lives in this city, so he can’t be a recluse. He doesn’t sound or feel like one. He came into my home. A recluse wouldn’t, would they?
But if I do see him, get to know him, will this need wane? Will the excitement fade, even if I am attracted to him? Isn’t part of this whole fantasy the fact he’s a stranger?
I drop my head to my desk. It pulls me in different directions and turns me inside out.
My phone buzzes, and I sit up fast.
It’s not The Ghost. It’s Cade.
And he makes my heart thump as hard as The Ghost, but in a different way.
Cade’s a good guy.
Cade: Hey, Vi. Just checking in on you, making sure you’re okay. I read that your creepy boss just returned from DC. Is he leaving you alone? Do I need to beat him up?
I laugh, suddenly giddy.
Cade is so damn thoughtful. He’s the opposite of Jack, who, now I think about it, hasn’t contacted me since he claimed he was the hacker.
I’m a little intrigued to why he’s backed off, but not enough to look into it. Not enough to reach out to him. That would be opening a potential can of worms. Because the last thing I want to do is encourage him.
Me: I’m okay. He’s keeping away, and he gave me a bottom feeder job. He could barely even stay in the same space as me. I think him thinking you’re my boyfriend seems to have made him back off. At least for now.
Cade: Great! Though you shouldn’t need to ever invent a boyfriend for your boss to respect your boundaries.
Me: Agreed, but if I remember correctly, you invented you as Cade, Super Boyfriend.
Cade: Hilarious. I rescued you, it’s all I could think of.
Me: I appreciate it. Honestly. You’ve no idea. I couldn’t think of anyone else to call.
Not even Jack.
He doesn’t say it, but he’s got to be thinking it, and I grin at his being a super boyfriend.
I bet he is. I’ve never met any of his girlfriends, but he’s got to have them. Hell, maybe there’s one now, and I’ve been reading things wrong.
Cade: Pretending to be a boyfriend is my thing. It keeps the loneliness at bay.
My heart leaps.
Is he letting me know he’s single?
Me: And I’ll take whatever I can to keep Isaac at bay.
I take a breath.
Me: But I hate to think of you lonely.
Cade: The curse of the IT guy.
Me: I’m sure you’re in a female company drought.
I pause, thinking. And I text him something jokingly, something I’d never have dared do with Jack because Jack…well, he’d take offense. Maybe Cade will, too, but I doubt it.
Cade’s older, more secure in himself.
Me: Or maybe you prefer men?
Cade: That’s how I ended up in this drought. Have you tried dating men? The worst.
Me: I have. Totally the worst.
Cade: Luckily for me, I like women. If you’re in a drought, at least they’re prettier than men, and better.
Me: You speak the truth.
Cade: Or I’m talking out my ass. On a serious note, you’ll be happy to know I’m enjoying the single life, and with the brightness of your texts, there’s not even a whiff of loneliness on the wind.
Cade: Also, work keeps me busy.
Cade: Maybe not exciting, but busy. Don’t worry about me, Vi. I’ll be fine…sitting here, playing the world’s smallest electric violin.
Me: Electric?
Cade: Kinda. Computerized.
Me: Is the violin tiny or the computer?
Cade: You got me. Curse these technicalities. Do you feel sorry for me or what?
I laugh.
Damn it, I do like him. He’s not cocky when he’s got every right to be. He’s secure in himself and likes to sprinkle in self-deprecation.
And he’s not opposed to jumping on a white horse or in a black car to rescue me from my sexual predator of a boss.
Cade’s familiar and thrillingly new, like a favorite sweater first worn for the season. That comfort of something loved mixed with the rediscovery.
Of course, this isn’t that at all.
He was never mine to rediscover, and this isn’t love. But he is familiar to me. And the newness of seeing him outside of just being Jack’s brother is a sweet little thrill.
Me: Or what.
Cade: That’s fair. I’ve got to get back to work, but let me know if he bugs you again, even if it’s small. Be good. Or careful. Or whatever it is they say. And don’t be a stranger.
His comment is the perfect place to leave this, but I don’t want to.
Suddenly, I’m hit with a burst of rashness. Because I really don’t want this to end.
I read over his text again and pick the one thing that can keep up the banter.
Me: But you know what they say about work…
He doesn’t respond immediately, but I’m anxious because this is fun, and I really, really don’t want it to end. It’s almost the same feeling of breathless anticipation I get when waiting to see if The Ghost’s going to respond.
Except this is Cade.
He will.
I hope.
Shit, maybe I’m just addicted to texting.
My pulse leaps as my phone buzzes.
Cade: Are you calling me a dull boy?
Me: Lol, no, but now you say it…
Cade: I have been working a lot, but dull? I don’t think so. Unless you’ve got an ulterior motive?
Me: How about I remedy that work/fun imbalance? Do you want to meet for a drink?
Cade: Continue the charade?
Me: And fend off your terrible loneliness affliction. Lol.
Cade: I like the way you think, Vi. Efficient.
Me: Be still my heart.
Cade: ha and ha. I can go for a drink.
Me: Tonight?
Cade: You tell me where and when, and I’ll be there.
I do and suddenly, there’s a bounciness inside me, like I can do no wrong.
I like Cade. A lot. I’m attracted to him. Who wouldn’t be? Smart, handsome, funny. Decent. He’s a total catch.
It’s confusing, though, to be attracted to him when I shouldn’t be. I’m not a multitasker outside of work, and especially not with men.
But I take a breath. Multitasking men?
I don’t think I can call anything I might be doing with The Ghost dating. It’s not even romantic. It’s erotic sex games.
As for Cade? I’m not dating him either. Not even close, even if I do like how he makes me feel.
Cade: Or I can meet you at your work, really cement the fact you’ve got a boyfriend.
A thrill ripples beneath my skin. One for his offer, and another for his mention of The Ghost’s safe word.
Cement.
Is it odd? I’m not sure. I remember reading safe words should be easy but not something you might commonly use, and cement certainly fits the bill.
The other night when The Ghost broke in and had his way with me, I never once felt the serious need to use the safe word. It was there, and a few times it surged up, but not ever because I seriously wanted him to stop.
It surged because it was so real, my fantasy, so real and perfect, and that’s also terrifying. I could feel myself ripping away from the reality of my life and spinning into the erotic place he created.
I suck in air.
If anything, looking back, he didn’t push things far enough.
I wanted to be scared and erotically charged.
I needed him to be rougher, more punishing in his forcing pleasure on me.
That soft kiss on my neck…it should have been teeth.
He should have gagged me, shoved his hand over my mouth and pushed me into the pillow, giving me no option but to take whatever he handed out.
Whoa.
I go still.
What?
If he did that, then how could I say the safe word?
Do I want to make it even riskier?
A dark part of me whispers, “Yes.”
And it sort of scares me. Because how far do I want things to go?
I look at my phone, I’ve got half a text written, and I don’t even know what I was going to say. So as heat burns my cheeks, I delete it all.
What the hell would Cade think if he knew I was doing crazy things with a stranger?
Maybe I shouldn’t have asked him out for a drink. It’s opening up all sorts of trouble.
But I can’t back out, and I don’t really want to.
What even does that make me?
Cade: We don’t need to do that if you don’t want to.
Shit, now he sounds like he’s about to gracefully back out.
I swallow and start typing.
Me: I can meet you here, or at the bar. Of course, I can go into Manhattan if you like.
Cade: No, I’ll meet you. I’ve been wanting to see the Orlo Park project for a while, and according to Google, we walk that way from your work.
Me: Sounds good. See you at six.
I press send and lean back in my seat as an email pops up on my computer that I open.
Nope, definitely can’t back out now.