Chapter 11 Margot
Margot
If waking up in my boss’s spare bedroom was bad, waking up practically smothering him is catastrophic.
I’m not sure how we got like this, but one thing is clear: it was me who traversed the sacred, invisible line in the middle of the bed and decided to maul Ethan in the night.
Unfortunately, when I try to gently pry my body away from his, Ethan stirs.
Before he realizes what’s happening or who is attached to his side like a sucker fish, he lets out a low, satisfied groan and pulls me closer.
His hand travels up and down my back in slow, rhythmic strokes. I can’t lie—it feels nice.
When he shifts, his thigh nudges a spot between my legs that also feels nice.
Very nice.
Too nice.
The temptation to melt into him is strong, but this is my last chance to spare myself the embarrassment before Ethan fully wakes up and realizes what’s happening.
Slowly, I lift my hand from his chest and begin untangling our legs.
But it’s too late. Ethan’s eyelids crack open, recognition dawning on him.
Through heavily hooded eyes, he looks down at me.
“Margot?” he asks in a groggy voice.
Sheepishly, I reply, “Hi.”
Ethan shifts beside me, his muscles tensing. The hand on my back stills, but his fingertips linger for a second longer.
“Guess I never made it to the couch,” he says.
I lay there stiffly, unsure of what to say. I wonder if waking up with a woman is an unusual experience for Ethan. Do his dates stay the night, or does he call them an Uber as soon as the sex is over? Does he cuddle with them? Rub their backs in soft, lazy strokes like he did to mine a minute ago?
It takes me a few seconds to realize that Ethan is still looking down at me.
His eyes roam over my face then drift to where my chest presses against his ribs.
Up close, I can see him clearly even without my glasses, and what I see makes my breath catch in my throat.
His expression has shifted, surprise replaced by something else. Something that looks a lot like desire.
“I’ve never seen you without your glasses,” he says quietly.
Ethan’s hand moves to my face, his fingers gently brushing away a strand of hair. My stomach flutters at his touch.
That’s new.
It’s not like Ethan and I have never touched before, but he doesn’t routinely caress my face either.
Yeah, I’m blind without them is all I can think of to say, but I swallow down the words, along with the lump in my throat, so I don’t ruin the moment.
I don’t know what’s more surprising: this fleeting thought that Ethan might kiss me, or the fact that I think I want him to.
Our faces are suddenly closer. His breath skates along my lips, and I inhale it in a shaky, quiet gasp. Ethan’s eyes stay locked on mine, searching for any sign of objection.
He won’t find any.
Against all of my better judgement, I’m suddenly very receptive to the idea of kissing my boss.
His hand flattens against my back, fingers flexing against my skin as his lips tentatively brush mine. It’s so soft, so tender, more of a question than a kiss. My nerves spark under my skin and the fluttering in my stomach amplifies by a million. I’m strung tight, waiting and hoping for more.
Then the doorbell rings.
I practically jump right out of my skin.
We pull apart like we’ve just been caught doing something wrong.
Maybe we have. Ethan’s head lands on the pillow with a thud, and he curses under his breath.
I’m not sure if he’s cursing the fact that we were interrupted, or the fact that there was anything to interrupt in the first place.
Running a hand slowly over his face, Ethan sits up and mumbles, “I should get that.”
When Ethan stands up and strides out of the bedroom, I roll onto my back and try to catch my breath. The ghost of Ethan’s touch lingers on my skin, the taste of him fresh on my lips. Just when I think my pulse can’t race any faster, I hear muffled voices in the living room.
“I didn’t think you’d be here until later this afternoon,” Ethan says.
A woman replies, “We got an early start.” She hesitates, her voice growing quieter when she adds, “I hope that’s okay.”
Crap.
Ethan’s sister-in-law is here, and I’m lying in her bed, still a little hot and bothered from our almost-kiss. The only thing more awkward than walking out of this room right now would be getting caught still lying here.
Welcome to your new house. Don’t mind me, I’ve just been kissing your brother-in-law in your bed.
I spring off the mattress and slide into my shoes while finger combing my rumpled hair. Scurrying out of the room and down the hall, I’m greeted in the living room by two wide sets of eyes. That’s when it occurs to me that I should have climbed out a window or hid in a closet instead.
Ethan’s head swings back to the other woman.
In a voice he usually reserves for the boardroom, he explains, “This is my assistant, Margot. She offered to come over this morning and help me set up some furniture.” I don’t miss the way he emphasizes the words this morning or the way he barely glances in my direction when he adds, “Margot, this is Rachel.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say, giving her an awkward wave from across the room.
The smile she gives me in return is hard to read, an unusual mix of friendliness and weariness.
Then I remember what Ethan said last night.
Maybe Rachel isn’t here under the best of circumstances.
Maybe something happened with Ethan’s brother, like a relapse or jail.
I don’t know the whole story about Silas, and it’s clear that Ethan doesn’t like to talk about it. I can respect that.
The air in the room feels stiff and awkward. Ethan is typically easygoing and charming, but there’s none of that now—just a tightness around his mouth and a silence that hums with something unspoken.
Whatever’s happening, I’m positive that I wasn’t meant to witness it. And every second that ticks by makes it harder to discern if it’s more awkward to announce that I’m leaving or just keep standing here pretending I don’t notice.
Rachel looks around the room. It’s a wreck. There’s assembled furniture pushed at odd angles, cardboard boxes sagging in corners, and heaps of crumpled plastic catching the light. We didn’t make it to the cleanup phase before crashing last night.
“You two must have gotten an early start,” Rachel says more to Ethan than me. He doesn’t even attempt to reply. She motions over her shoulder to the front door. “I’m just going to get Sophia out of the car.”
Ethan nods stiffly.
I try to think of something to say. Some combination of words that simultaneously acknowledges and dismisses what happened between us moments ago, but that also conveys “I’ll be fleeing now.
” Then I realize that Ethan’s shoulders are absolutely rigid.
He doesn’t even look like he’s breathing.
Whatever this is, it’s far more complicated than our accidental almost-kiss in bed.
In fact, I don’t think it has anything to do with me at all, judging by the fact that he doesn’t even seem to be aware that I’m still in the room.
I stand there evaluating the situation but come up short of an explanation.
A moment later, a little girl with light brown pigtails appears in the doorway.
She looks around, unsure if she should enter the living room.
But when she spots Ethan, the uncertainty fades from her face and her eyes light up.
“Daddy!” she yells, rushing toward him.
Um, what?
Tension swells inside the small room. Rachel stops in the doorway, her eyes wide and her jaw hanging open. Ethan is as stiff as a board, right up until the little girl’s body collides with his leg and her little arms wrap around this thigh.
Looking mortified, Rachel rushes toward her daughter like she might pull her away but stops short. There’s a careful edge to her voice when she says, “Sophia, that’s your uncle Ethan. Do you remember him?”
Ethan squats down, putting himself eye level with his niece. I can’t see his face, but I can see the tension in his posture. When Sophia realizes that he’s not her father, she springs away from him, looking uncertain and embarrassed by her mistake.
Slowly, she drifts toward the safety of her mother. Rachel rests her hand on Sophia’s back, rubbing a few soothing circles as she flashes Ethan an apologetic look.
“It’s okay,” he assures Rachel tensely. Dropping his gaze back to Sophia and softening his voice, Ethan greets her. “Hi Sophia, I’m your Uncle Ethan. It’s nice to see you again.”
Sophia folds into her mother, shying away from the greeting. “That’s not daddy,” she says.
Her mother strokes her hair. “No, honey, that’s Uncle Ethan. Can you say hi, please?”
The little girl peels her face away from her mother’s leg to glance at Ethan. “Hi,” she squeaks in a tiny voice.
“Hi,” Ethan repeats.
It feels like we’re all standing on a landmine, unable to move without risking an explosion.
“I need a minute,” Ethan mutters, standing abruptly and walking out the front door.
I have no idea what’s happening or what to do about it. All I know is that I’m now standing in the living room with Ethan’s sister-in-law and her daughter wishing for the ability to teleport anywhere else.
“He looks like daddy,” Sophia tells her mother.
“I know, baby.”
Our eyes connect from across the room. Because I can’t think of a single thing to say, I mumble something about checking on Ethan and motion towards the door. Rachel nods, watching me as I cross the room and step outside.
Ethan is nowhere to be found. I walk to the end of the driveway, rubbing my arms to fight off the chill in the air. I look around and spot Ethan walking on the sidewalk a couple houses down. He stops abruptly and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Fuck!” he cusses just loud enough for me to hear. The word is gritty and desperate, catching me off guard.
I may know Ethan pretty well, but in two years of working with him, I’ve never seen him truly upset. Mildly perturbed is about the strongest emotion I’ve seen from the man, even after the most brutal of meetings.
He doesn’t know I’m here. I watch him for a moment before taking a few hesitant steps in his direction. Ethan was there for me when I needed someone, and I want to return the favor.
My voice is soft as I approach. “Ethan, is everything okay?”
When he straightens up and turns to look at me, I know that nothing is okay. He wasn’t pinching the bridge of his nose out of frustration; he was pinching his eyes shut trying to hold back tears.
“Yeah, it’s just…”
Cutting himself off, he shakes his head like he doesn’t know the words to finish that sentence.
“It’s okay,” I assure him, stopping a few feet away. “You don’t need to explain anything to me.”
Whatever this is about, it has nothing to do with us spending the night in the same bed or nearly kissing when we woke up.
I can’t say I understand what’s going on, but I sense that there is some serious underlying family drama that Ethan isn’t ready to talk about.
Maybe something happened to his brother.
Maybe he’s still too upset to talk about it.
Emma’s been tight-lipped about Garrett and Ethan’s oldest brother. I get it; it’s not her story to tell. And clearly, it’s more serious than I realized.
“Are you going to be okay?” I repeat.
Ethan nods, his jaw tense and his eyes glassy.
It seems like he doesn’t want me here, which is perfectly understandable.
Despite his outgoing personality, Ethan North is a very private man.
It’s hard to scratch beneath the surface of his friendly demeanor.
I’ve had glimpses of what’s underneath over the last two years, but whatever this is, it runs deep.
“Margot,” he says, “Thanks for your help last night.”
I shake my head dismissively. “It was no problem.”
Ethan’s jaw flexes as he looks at me, the pain in his eyes apparent. “I need to ask you one more favor.”
“Okay.”
“I need you to leave.”
The words sting a little after what happened earlier, but I try not to let it show. The last thing Ethan needs right now is another problem. I’ll do whatever I can to help him through this.
So, I do exactly what he asks: I leave.