Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
He arrives the same time he always does, carrying some shit from his van to the backyard.
As soon as I see him, nerves start up in my stomach.
Something happens a little lower, too. I guess some of my body parts are only remembering the good parts, not the part where I felt shame and guilt afterwards.
With a long sip of coffee and a deep breath, I steel myself for the conversation that needs to happen. This time, I put on a real bra, unwilling to risk the nipple uprising that typically happens when he’s around.
And good thing I did because his biceps are flexing as I exit the house, making the little traitors rebel. I’m carrying another coffee in my hand, a peace offering.
“Hhm,” I clear my throat. “Do you have a second?”
“Yeah, sure.” His eyes have that gleam in them, the one I find hard to resist.
“Look, I’m sorry…” I say, but he waves me off.
“Don’t worry. You got scared. I get it.”
My brows furrow as I finish what I wanted to say, “What happened was a mistake. One that can’t happen again. ”
His expression changes in a second. Instead of a playful smirk, his lips press tight into a grimace.
“You’re my employee. It was a horrible idea,” I continue. His eyebrows rise slightly, and his head dips, but the tight-lipped smile he’s wearing doesn’t look agreeable. “Right?” All the courage I gained from that one deep breath is leaking out.
“Yup.” He pops the p. “Sure thing, boss.” He does a fake salute and turns around to his workstation. The workstation.
I stand there dumbfounded for a few seconds before gathering my wits to head back inside. That was … rude. And why the sudden mood shift?
He almost looked disappointed when he realized what I was apologizing for. What did he think when I first came outside?
He has to know this is the right decision. Maybe it’s easy for him to think with his dick. He’s carefree and uncommitted, but I’m a parent. I can’t afford any complications with my fling.
Sitting my ass down in my office chair, I pull up the manuscript, determined to focus on writing.
And the words flow right out. Whether it’s dirty scenes, pure tension, or drama, everything comes natural today.
I have no trouble identifying with a character overcome with lust, nor a character wanting something but knowing they shouldn’t have it.
I’m nearing the end of the first draft, and even with all the writer blocks I had while writing it, I feel like it has a ton of potential.
My phone vibrates while I’m rereading what I wrote today.
Abby.
My lips curl with a smile because, finally, I don’t have to lie to her about meeting my writing goals.
“H-hi, Sadie.” Her voice is nervous as usual. She never knows what’s she’s going to get with me.
“Hi, Abbs.” Hopefully, she can hear my smile through the phone. I don’t want her to be afraid of me.
“I wanted to check how you’re doing. And give you the weekly update.”
“Matter of fact, I’m doing great. I’m keeping up with my word count and everything’s going according to plan.” I’m still a couple thousand words behind, but that’s nothing, and judging by her relieved sigh, she needed to hear everything was ok.
“Good. I’m glad to hear that. So…” she starts off, listing everything she did as my PA the previous week.
Most of it, I don’t care about. Sandy wouldn’t bother me with 90% of it.
But Abby isn’t my sister, so she feels the duty to let me know all about it.
“…and last, but not least, you’ve been nominated for the Best Reads Romance Book of the Year,” she says on an excited squeal.
“What? Which book?” Sandy would have led with that.
“Troubled Hearts.”
“That book just came out.”
“I know, but it became a Booktok hit right away.” Her excitement is palpable, even through the phone.
“Wow. I can’t believe it.” My voice still hasn’t caught up with the whole thing, but I’m honestly shocked. To receive this nomination, it means more than I can comprehend at this very moment.
“Aren’t you excited?”
“Umm, sure. Yeah. Thanks.”
“Ook.” Her voice turns wary. I probably scared the poor thing. “I will email you the info about the ceremony, along with other things I need your thoughts on.”
“Sure.”
“Well … have a good rest of the day.”
“Yeah, you too.”
Poor girl will probably spend her day overthinking how she managed to annoy me. I guess all my employees are mad at me today. I won’t be getting the best boss nomination anytime soon, but this nomination I got is still a shock.
It’s the book where I realized I was a fake.
The book where I realized I had no idea what I was writing about because romance hadn’t been in my life for a while.
Finishing that book was the final nail in my marriage’s coffin.
Even though it had a mandatory happy ending, it was laced with insecurities, laced with me , making it the most vulnerable thing I ever wrote.
To have that book nominated for an award feels weird.
I remember thinking, was I so good at faking love? Will I be able to feel it again, for real?
Maybe my heart lived one too many love stories already. Maybe it’s all romanced out. On fake, superficial storylines where real-world problems never happen.
You can find horrible trauma in romance books, characters enduring things that a living person couldn’t.
But you won’t find the scariest things. Like falling out of love.
Or the person you love losing interest in you.
You’ll have a hard time finding a romance book where the main couple divorces two thirds in and it still ends up on a happy end.
Would we even consider it a happily ever after, if one happily ever after ended so unceremoniously?
Sandy arrives on Wednesday, bouncing a crying Stella on her hip.
“Can’t get her to sleep?” I wince.
“Yup. Now, if you’ll excuse me; I’m here to see a man about a saw.” She walks right by me, heading straight to the backyard.
“Hiii,” she says to Logan in a saccharine voice. “When will you start the saw?”
His eyebrow lifts, confusion overwhelming his features. “I’m not planning on…” I point my thumb at the crying baby, doing my best to get his attention, while simultaneously avoiding Sandy noticing me. His mouth parts on a silent ‘oh’. “In a minute.”
I sigh, mouthing a ‘thank you,’ while he drops what he’s doing and starts the circular saw. I notice him looking around, not sure what he’s supposed to do. Finally, he grabs a piece of wood and starts cutting it, with no measuring or anything.
Sandy’s probably too desperate for Stella to sleep to notice it, but I’m positive he has nothing to cut. He’s just doing random shit for us.
My heart thumps in my chest, grateful for his help, but a part of me feels sorry for making him do this.
Seems like working for me is not a walk in the park.
Besides booking too late, screwing up all your plans, doing sexual favors, babysitting my kids, or driving me home from random dates, I can now also add ‘putting babies to sleep’ to the endless number of unprofessional things I’m obviously asking from my employee.
Stella is out cold in twenty seconds and Sandy releases a long breath. “Thank God.”
“I thought the naps were getting better.”
“They were, but it was short-lived.” She sighs.
“Come, let’s sit down.”
She drops onto a lounge chair, and I rush into the kitchen to bring us some lemonade. She downs half of her glass as soon as she takes it.
“Thank you.”
“Want to go take a nap?” I ask her.
“Nah, that’s ok. I want to chat with you for a second.”
“Sure.” I relax in my chair, trying not to stare at Logan. Since our encounter the other day, it has become increasingly harder to do that.
Still, I can’t help but notice he now fully abandoned the saw, letting it stay turned on while he works on other things. I release a relieved breath. At least we won’t make him fall behind.
“I brought the list.” Sandy brings my attention back to her, opening her backpack.
“What?”
“We haven’t updated the trope list after your little tsk-tsk,” she points her eyes toward Logan, “ adventure the other day.”
“I don’t think he fits any of the tropes,” I respond.
“What do you mean? He has to fit into something.” She lets out a chuckle. “Let me see.” She brings out the ridiculous paper, studying it carefully .
“We have small town…” she starts to say.
“Nope, he doesn’t live here. He’s actually based in Seattle.”
She mumbles the tropes under her breath. “Billionaire, military, friends to lovers, enemies to lovers, rivals, oh, maybe he has a secret identity?”
I check to see if Logan might be listening to us, but he looks focused on his work. And the saw is still on. “I doubt he has a secret identity.”
“Accidental pregnancy,” is the next one she says, giggling.
“Don’t even put that into the universe.” I point my finger at her.
“How old did you say he is? Maybe we could call it an age gap.”
“He’s 29,” I whisper. “And age gaps don’t work that way. It could pass as a reverse age gap, but it’s not really a popular trope.”
“Forbidden love? You are his employer, after all.”
“That’s way too mild for a forbidden love. He’d have to be my stepson or something for that.”
Sandy bursts out laughing and I join in.
“Ok, so no tropes,” she says. “But the only thing a romance story really needs is a HEA.”
“This is not a romance story,” I whisper-yell. “This was a one-time thing, the result of an involuntary drought.”
“Why wouldn’t it be a romance story? I know you need him for the deck, but he’ll be done with that in a month, tops. What’s stopping you?”
“Ugh,” I groan. “This isn’t an actual romance book.
It’s real life. And in real life, young guys with no commitments don’t plan their futures around significantly older,” she rolls her eyes, “single moms. I need to be realistic about this, and getting into another heartbreak would be the worst thing that could happen.”
She eyes me for a second, as if evaluating what she should say next. “Fine. No romance. But it could be just sex. You’re friends, right? So why not a friends with benefits thing?”
“We’re hardly friends,” I scoff. “We’re two polite people working close to each other.”
I never mentioned the dinner we had after my failed date with the morally gray grump.
Nor that he’s teaching Liv how to do things.
I guess one could describe us as friends.
He spends more time with us than David did in the last couple of years.
It’s not the same, of course, but he blended in perfectly.
Even though he’s not here of his own free will.
“Whatever.” She rolls her eyes. “But you’re crazy to have this at your disposal and not even use it.”
“He’s a person, not a thing to be used.”
“Yeah, I’m sure he would hate to be used.” Her voice drips sarcasm.
Stella wakes up, and Sandy feeds her before they leave. When Logan gets ready to leave, I intercept him.
“Hey, thank you for today.”
“No problem. Do you mind if I work in the afternoon until the end of the week? I have some other things to take care of.”
“Yeah, sure. But I have to warn you—Liv will probably want to work with you again.”
“That’s ok.” He chuckles. “I enjoy having her as my apprentice.”
“Either way, I feel like I’m always asking for something from you.” I fidget my fingers in front of me.
“Good thing I don’t mind doing things for you.” With a soft smile, he’s gone, and I’m left replaying his words.
He does look like a chill guy that has no problem being nice to others. But he added ‘for you.’ Good thing I don’t mind doing things for you .
I’m sure he meant it generally, but the words still settle low in my stomach, causing mayhem.