Chapter 13
RYAN
It’s Wednesday, and we leave for Austin in less than a week. I’m on my way to the lounge to meet Cooper. We were supposed to meet the last two nights, but both days I had meetings and things to catch up on. By the time I got out here, she’d already left. Feels like she left early on purpose—avoiding me. She’s been nothing short of hostile since the Christmas party, and I have no idea why.
Maybe someone said something, or maybe it’s Brad. He seems like a conceited asshole—the possessive, jealous type. Who knows? But something changed, and now she won’t speak to me unless she absolutely has to, and when she does, it’s always with an edge in her voice—like she’s pissed at me.
I called her into my office yesterday to ask if something was wrong. She just looked at me tight-lipped, and said, “Nope. Can I get back to work now?”
Either way, I need to figure out what’s going on, and today’s my chance. She’s already in our booth, waiting for me. I set my things down across from her, ready to get to work. We have a lot to get through before our trip.
“Do you mind working somewhere else?” she asks, not bothering to look away from her computer.
“I do mind, actually. We need to do this together, so whatever your problem is, you’re going to have to bury it for a few hours. We have work to do.”
“Fine,” she says, snapping her laptop shut. “Then I’ll move.” She starts gathering her things, standing to leave.
I chuckle despite myself, even though it’s not funny. Not even a little. “Cooper, sit down. I don’t like pulling rank, but I’m still your superior. We have a project to finish, and that means working together. So, please… sit.”
She exhales loudly. “Sure, you don’t,” she mutters under her breath.
My patience is wearing thin, but I try to keep my voice steady. “You’re walking a fine line right now. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but let’s keep work and personal separate, alright? Can you do that?”
“Oh, God, please.” She laughs, a harsh, bitter sound. “It’s not like we have some kind of personal relationship at stake. I fucked you one time to get back at my boyfriend. Period. Let’s not pretend there’s something more here.” She glares at me. “What do you want to work on first, Mr. Vice President?”
I feel a mix of irritation and something else I can’t quite name—a pang of… what? Resentment? Regret? I push it down, trying to regain control. If I don’t get a handle on this, we’ll never get anything done.
What’s even more infuriating is that ever since the Christmas party, I can’t help but picture her naked—and often. That dress she wore had me imagining things no one in the workplace should. And since I’ve seen her naked—felt her body pressed up against mine, those incredible tits in my hands, the way she rode me—it’s damn near impossible to get the images out of my head. It bothers me that she has this hold on me—sexual, physical, whatever it is. If I didn’t want to push her up against a wall every time I saw her, I’d have a lot less patience for her attitude.
I snap back to the present as she sits down with an annoyed exhale, but at least she’s staying. I cut straight to business; there’s no time for tiptoeing around whatever’s going on with her.
“Alright, we’ve got a lot to get through,” I say, pulling out the project file. “First up, we need to finalize the site visit itinerary for Austin. I don’t want to waste any time traveling between properties.”
She doesn’t look at me, but I notice her eyes narrow slightly as she stares at her screen. “I already sent over a draft itinerary this morning. Did you not see it?”
I didn’t, but I’m not about to admit that. “I glanced at it. I think we need to reorder the site visits. Start with the downtown properties before heading to the outskirts. We want to hit the most competitive locations first.”
“Fine,” she says, her tone clipped. “I’ll adjust it. What about the budget breakdown? Have you reviewed the cost comparisons I pulled together?”
She’s trying to be all business, and maybe I should be grateful for that. But the way she’s ignoring me—like I’m just a voice in the background—is grating.
“Yeah, about that. I noticed some inconsistencies with the construction cost estimates for a couple of the sites. We need to get those nailed down before we go, or we risk looking like idiots in front of the executive team.”
Her lips tighten, and I see her back straighten. “There are no inconsistencies. Those are estimates directly from the contractors we’re meeting with. If you want different numbers, maybe you should talk to them yourself.”
I take a deep breath, trying to reel in my frustration. “Look, Cooper, I’m not questioning your work. I’m saying we need to have all our facts straight. We can’t afford to have errors in our presentation.”
She finally looks up at me, her eyes cold but focused. “Then why don’t you tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it?”
“How about we go through it together? Start with the sites that need the most attention.”
“Fine.”
“Do you want to come sit over here so it’s easier to see?”
“No. I can see just fine from here.”
Jesus Christ. How can someone so beautiful be such a pain in the ass?
We work for a good ninety minutes with no breaks, going over cost comparisons and each site listing. The tension is thick, but we manage. Now, we’re on our itinerary.
“What time is our flight on Tuesday, and when do we land?” She looks to me for the answer.
“I don’t know. Didn’t you book the flights?” I ask.
“No,” she says, irritation clear in her voice. “You were supposed to book the flights. I booked the hotel.”
I scowl. “I thought you were booking all travel.”
She sighs, her frustration spilling over. “I was going to, but you wanted to book the flights on your card for the extra miles or whatever. You wanted to be reimbursed, remember?”
I press my hand to my forehead. “Fuck,” I mutter. I reluctantly make eye contact with her. “You’re right. I did say that… I forgot. Let’s hurry and do that now.”
She glances at her watch, clearly eager to get out of here. “Look, I need to get going soon. Just book the flights, okay? And let me know when it’s done.”
I watch her for a moment, noticing the tightness in her expression. “What’s the rush? Got somewhere more exciting to be?”
She rolls her eyes. “I’ve got to get home. Brad’s not exactly a fan of me spending all this time around you.” She shuts her laptop and starts packing up her things.
I lean back, smirking. “Ah, he doesn’t trust you with me? Or is it just me he doesn’t trust?”
She shoots me a glare, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Does it matter? Either way, it’s always the woman who gets the blame. Men can’t trust their girlfriends or wives to be alone with other men, and yet it’s usually the men who aren’t to be trusted.” She puts on her coat. “Fuckin’ creeps,” she mutters, just loud enough for me to hear.
I raise an eyebrow, caught slightly off guard. “You think all men are creeps?”
She shrugs, gathering her things. “If the shoe fits.”
I let out a low chuckle. “Someone’s bitter.”
She slings her bag over her shoulder. “Yeah, well, maybe I’m just tired of all the double standards. I’ll see you tomorrow. Text me the flight details when you have them.”
I watch her head toward the door. For a moment, I almost want to say something to break the tension—something to make her stay. But then she’s gone, leaving me alone with the weight of her words.
I sit back, thinking about my situation—the one I’m always avoiding going home to. I know it’s not all black and white, not just one person to blame for how things have turned out. But maybe there’s some truth to what Cooper said. Men can be creeps—we don’t always think with the right head. Did I miss something? Was there something more I could have done?
Hell, maybe there is a double standard. We’re quick to call a woman a slut, a whore. But what about the guy? Was I too quick to point fingers? Too hard on her? Maybe I bailed too soon. I didn’t exactly take my time getting my dick wet when things went south. My ring was still warm when I met Cooper in Newport.
I don’t know, maybe I’m overthinking this. Either way, the truth stings. Man or woman—a cheater’s a cheater.
* * * * * ? * * * * *
Mentally exhausted from the workday and all the crap with Cooper, the last thing I want is to face Beth. I just want to drop my shit by the door and crawl into bed.
I stayed at the office as late as I could, arriving home at ten-thirty.
Trying to sneak in, hoping to avoid Beth, I quietly open the door and slip inside. The house is dark, except for a soft light coming from the master bedroom upstairs. I remove my shoes and walk up the stairs. I stop at the bathroom in the hallway, shutting the door behind me softly. After brushing my teeth, I open the door to find Beth standing there waiting for me.
“You’re home late.”
“Yeah. Sorry if I kept you up,” I say, trying to sound apologetic, but I’m just spent.
“You didn’t keep me up.” She purses her lips, something that she does when she’s thinking. “Are you avoiding me? You know, you don’t have to stay at work until ten in hopes to not see me, right? I can always go stay with my mom.”
I sigh, my shoulders slumping. “God, no, Beth, I told you in the beginning… I’d never make you move out. I always planned to be the one to leave, at least until we sell the house.”
“Why shouldn’t I be the one to move out, Ryan?”
I steady my breath—my emotions, and the stress from the day, getting the best of me. “Beth…” The words don’t come—because I look at her, and I see how different she looks. The stress and guilt of everything weighing on her. She’s lost weight, and she looks so goddamn tired. But still, she’s the same beautiful Beth that I fell in love with and married. “You’ve suffered enough. I’ll look for a place soon.” I take a step toward her and cup her face in my hands. “We’ll get through this.” I say reassuringly.
She swallows hard, nodding her head as a steady stream of tears starts to fall.
I kiss her forehead. “Come here.” I pull her into a hug, and she sobs on my chest.
“I’m so scared.”
“I know you are. I am too. But everything’s going to be fine… eventually.” I rub her back and kiss the top of her head.
She pulls back, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. “Right. Eventually.” Her voice is still shaky, but she looks up at me. “You seem tense. What’s going on?”
“Agh, just work shit. It’s been stressful making sure everything for this trip next week is ready to go. I’ve already got a lot on my plate during the day, and on top of that, I have a coworker who’s being difficult.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. Difficult how?”
I grip the back of my neck. “I don’t know. She just pushes back on a lot of things. It’s starting to piss me off.”
“You know you work too much. It’s too many hours—too much stress… You need a day off.”
“I’m fine. I like the distraction.” As soon as I say it she flinches, and I realize how it sounded. “Not from you… just… from everything.”
“Come here.” She takes my hand and leads me into the bedroom, sitting me on the bed. Standing between my legs she starts to rub my shoulders. “Your shoulders are really tight. Try to relax.”
“That’s just from my workout. You don’t have to do this Beth. I’m fine.”
“Stop. I want to.” Her fingers knead into the muscles of my shoulders and neck, easing the tension, and God, it feels good. She’s in her usual pajamas—a tank top and a pair of shorts. They never match, but that’s always been her style, and I never cared. It’s so Beth, and it showed just enough skin to keep things interesting. Tonight, it’s a gray tank top and red shorts, her breasts right at eye level. She’s never had big boobs, but they’ve always been perfect—perky, with great nipples.
Beth’s hands work their way up to my scalp, her fingers threading through my hair. I let my head fall forward, resting against her chest. Her skin is warm, and I breathe in her familiar scent—the same Dior perfume she asks for every year for Christmas. It’s comforting in a way I haven’t felt in a long time.
I haven’t been touched like this in months, and suddenly, every muscle in my body is aching for more, craving her touch. But I’m unsure if it’s Beth’s touch specifically that I’m longing for, or if it’s just the feeling of being touched at all.
Without thinking, my hands slide up her thighs, gripping her hips. I feel myself hardening, my body responding to the simple touch, the closeness. God, I’m tired. Tired of holding everything in, of feeling like shit every day. I press my face into the space between her breasts, breathing her in, feeling that old pull—the one that’s both familiar and frustrating.
She feels it too. I can tell. Her fingers still for a moment before she looks down at me. “Ryan,” she whispers. Her hands slide down from my hair to my shoulders, her breath shallow.
My fingers press into her skin, needing something—anything. I lift my head, brushing my lips against her chest, then her neck. She shivers, a reaction I haven’t seen in a long time.
“Wait,” she murmurs, her hands firm on my shoulders, stopping me. “Let me… do this for you,” she says softly, already starting to lower herself to her knees in front of me.
I blink, confused. “Beth, you don’t have to—”
“No, I want to,” she insists. Her eyes meet mine, earnest and a little desperate. “You’ve done so much for me, and I know things aren’t the same between us. But I want to do this… for you.”
I hesitate, torn between frustration and the way her fingers graze my thighs, already undoing my belt. She’s right; things aren’t the same. They never will be. But right now, with her looking up at me, offering something I haven’t felt in months—relief, release—I’m too far gone to care.
“Okay,” I murmur, my voice thick. “If you’re sure.”
Beth nods, giving me a small, sad smile. “I am.”
I lift a bit as she tugs at my pants and boxer briefs, pulling them off, and I can’t help but let out a sigh as her mouth wraps around me. Fuck. It feels so good—too good. I close my eyes, leaning back, trying to focus on the sensation and not everything else. Not how she’s trying to fix something that’s beyond repair. Not how I’m letting her, using her, even though I don’t want to be here. God, I’m a dick.
The tension from the day—the bullshit with Cooper, the stress of this trip, everything—starts to melt away. But as much as I want to just give in, I can’t shake it. The guilt. The frustration. Cooper’s voice in my head calling men creeps, and here I am, proving her right. My wife is down there, trying to please me, trying to make things right, and all I can think about is how much I’d rather be doing this with someone else. Someone who doesn’t look at me with sad, hopeful eyes… Someone like Cooper.
I’m just like the guys Cooper hates. And maybe she’s right to hate them. Maybe she’s right to hate me.
Beth’s rhythm picks up, and I push those thoughts away, focusing on the sensation, trying to lose myself in it, even if it’s just for a moment.