Chapter 8
Ash
My mother was kind enough to sound relieved as she said, "That's not Millie."
I appreciated that as much as I could appreciate anything that invited my mother and sister into my bedroom at this unholy hour.
I didn't bother separating my lips from Zelda's hair or loosening my hold on her shoulders as I fired an irritable look at them. I'd hoped it would keep my mother in the doorway, one hand flat on her chest and the other gripping the doorjamb as if she needed its support during this difficult time.
My sister blinked away, her lips folded together and her cheeks pink with amusement as she said, "Nope. It's not."
And that was the final push my mother required to march across the room and introduce herself to my—my—
What the fuck was Zelda?
Oh. Right. She was my assistant.
The one who let me use her as a pillow last night. The one who held my hand while doctors manipulated my bones. The one who produced an egg sandwich from her purse and insisted I hire her at thirty thousand feet.
"Ash," my mother prompted with that wide-eyed, unblinking falcon glare.
The special edition mother glare known to beat the truth out of children—even the grown ones—without lifting a finger.
"Please explain to me how you came to be bruised up and down and in a sling, right after introducing me to your lovely friend. "
"We're not friends." I said this with my cheek on her head.
I said this with my arm around her shoulders like she was my life preserver.
I said this with a sharp edge in my voice as if I found the suggestion more offensive than the truth.
As for the truth, I didn't know what the fuck that was. "We're—I mean, we're—"
"Zelda," she said, meeting my mother's outstretched hand. "I'm Zelda and it's very nice to meet you, Mrs. Santillian."
"Please call me Diana," she replied. My mother met my eyes with a smile that could power the entire city of Boston for a week.
I held Zelda closer. I didn't want to share her. Which was ridiculous. Fucking ridiculous. It was probably a result of the pills. And Jesus Christ, the whiskey. Pills and whiskey and had I eaten in the past twenty-four hours? Probably not.
"Now, Zelda," my mother continued, her glee as restrained as my rising panic, "tell me your last name. I need to get it over to the calligrapher. They're working on place cards this week and—"
"Everybody get out," I yelled. I could not deal with calligraphers and place cards right now. "Out. Now."
My sister laughed as she stepped into the hall. "This lasted significantly longer than I'd expected."
My mother backed away but continued lavishing Zelda with her adoring gaze. "We'll wait for you to get dressed, honey. I'm still waiting to hear about your injuries though it does seem Zelda has you well in hand."
If you only knew.
I was too busy scowling at my mother and begging her with my eyes to shut the hell up to realize Zelda was sliding out of my hold. "I should really"—she waved at her wrinkled clothes and ran a hand through her dark hair—"yeah, Ashville. I should really."
With more audience than I wanted for anything in my life, I reached out and twisted her t-shirt around my hand, yanking her back where I wanted her. "No, you shouldn't."
"She definitely isn't Millie," my mother loud-whispered to Magnolia.
Zelda cut a glance to the side, at my family. "Who is Millie?"
"No, not at all," my sister agreed.
"I told you," I replied, my knuckles brushing Zelda's belly, "no one."
"So happy to be rid of her," my mother said, no longer troubling herself to lower her voice. "She was such a cold girl."
"Someone," Zelda countered, tipping her head toward the onlookers.
"Oh, yeah, very cold," Magnolia replied. "Pretty sure her vagina doubles as an icebox. There's a half-empty pint of Phish Food in there. Some freezer-burned chicken breasts and a sack of peas too."
"Not anymore. Not to me," I promised, shifting us to block the commentary with my back. "Ignore them."
"Okay," she conceded, glancing down at my grip on her shirt. "If she's no one, then who am I?"
I opened my mouth to respond but I didn't have the words. They weren't there. All I had was her shirt in my fist and my fingers on her skin and this moment where she was here with me and I didn't have to quantify anything.
And how irrational was that? All I wanted in this world was to assign values to every second, every little thing, but if I did that right now—if I made a definitive statement about who and what Zelda was—this would end. It would have to end.
It would end because the other option was irrational, intangible, subjective. None of the things I understood. Nothing I could control.
"I thought it was going to be Linden," my mother said to Magnolia. "I thought he was next."
I couldn't let myself fall for a woman right now, regardless of whether she'd nursed me through the worst day ever or we'd argued about statistics and pocket eggs in the most spectacular ways.
I wanted to. I really fucking wanted to. But I couldn't.
"Mom, Lin is literally lost in a forest every day of his life," Magnolia replied. "He's not next."
I needed Zelda. I needed the woman who knew how to handle me. The one who understood my tics better than I did. The one who sparred with math.
"That is an exaggeration," my mother said. "He's not lost."
I needed her in my office. I wanted her in my bed, even if only to sleep beside her, but I needed her organizing my work and running my office.
I'd spent more nights alone than with someone and I knew I could do that again.
But I sincerely doubted I could keep my career—and sanity—alive without a serious infusion of support.
"It's not an exaggeration at all," my sister argued. "He's gonna need to stumble upon an actual Snow White for that to occur and she's gonna need to be a boss bitch Snow White too. No one who waits for the huntsman to take charge because that's not his gig."
"You're both wrong. Lin sees more tail than a dogwalker. Now, leave. Out you go," I yelled, still staring into Zelda's eyes. Still fisting her shirt. "Both of you."
When the door snicked shut behind them, Zelda repeated, "Who am I, Ash?"
My gaze dropped to her lips and I was gone. I was done. This was over, just fucking over. I moved my fist up, between her breasts. I allowed myself that moment, that fleeting, final moment before releasing her shirt. And then, "You're my assistant, Zelda."
She glanced down, nodding as she ran her tongue over her teeth. "Do all of your assistants help you out of your clothes?"
"I believe the job description said something along the lines of 'other duties as assigned.'"
She tipped her head back, grinning at me. "Taking your clothes off, finding eggs and home fries, getting you out of a suit fitting," she said. "Those are the other duties you have in mind? That's what you want, Ashville?"
Fuck no.
"Yes," I replied.
Here I was, thinking this was irrational when it was prime all along.
The home fries did it. If not them, the eggs. Or the coffee.
Yeah, the coffee. That'd had a hand in this, I was certain.
Regardless of remedy, I came to my senses on Berkeley Street, somewhere between Stuart Street and St. James Avenue, while Zelda and I walked several paces behind my mother and sister.
Right there, in the middle of the Back Bay, everything caught up with me like an overextended rubber band finally snapping back and whapping the shit out of me.
First, there was shock. What the fuck had I done?
No, really, what the fuck had I done? If hazy memories served, I'd yelled at Zelda about her résumé, among other things, fallen asleep on her shoulder, and then hired her as my assistant.
And that was only the start. I mean, for fuck's sake, I'd slept with her.
What. The. Fuck. Had. I. Done.
After the shock came embarrassment like I hadn't felt in years.
The truth was, I fell the fuck apart yesterday.
I was human roadkill, the kind too insolent to notice my state but not wise enough to stop myself from making that state someone else's problem.
And not just someone else but a woman I didn't know and whose life I didn't have any business invading.
I'd monopolized her time and damn near held her captive last night.
Now, I was dragging her to this fitting when I had two perfectly good someone elses to stitch me back together.
But…I didn't want her to leave. Not yet.
Right behind the embarrassment that stuck to me like honey on my fingers was worry.
As we walked down the busy street, my mother hooking glances over her shoulder every few minutes and Zelda's body brushing against mine as we weaved through crowds, I found myself spiraling into all-out anxiety.
I'd crossed every line in the book, then found the sequel and crossed those lines too.
What did I do and how do I fix it?
The itchy reality was I couldn't run the office on my own anymore and if Zelda was even half as proficient at management as she was at riding herd on me, I'd survive until I could get someone with an accounting background in there.
And then, maybe we could… No, probably not. Anything I might've interpreted as attraction was an illusion. Chemistry was a product of whiskey for breakfast and muscle relaxers for supper. This wasn't real. Zelda was a kind, affectionate woman who needed to get better at establishing boundaries.
Actually, yes—that was the issue. Zelda should not have done any of this.
Just because I was a mess didn't require her to clean me up.
She wasn't my mother or my siblings. There was no earthly reason for her to take me to the doctor, bring me home, and then get into bed with me.
Jesus, no. That was on her. That was her inserting herself into my problems and it was completely unnecessary.