Chapter Fourteen
Seraphine
The second the words leave my lips, I regret them.
I just invited Elliot Caldwell, my ex-boyfriend’s father and new boss, to my apartment.
The apartment he owns. That he is allowing me to live in.
What in the world was I thinking?
I wasn’t thinking. I was giving in to my loneliness and desperation—the need to be with someone because being alone sucks.
I’ve been cooped up in this apartment for a week and haven’t talked to a single person other than the man who delivered my food yesterday. Even then, it was nothing more than a, “Hey, how are you?”
Harrison calls multiple times a day, but I don’t answer.
My old phone still sits on the kitchen counter.
I only moved it enough to plug it in, so it doesn’t die, but I haven’t touched it otherwise.
I’m not sure why I don’t want to answer the phone when I know Harrison is calling.
I guess I’m still not ready to hear what he has to say.
I’m scared he’s going to offer something I shouldn’t give him, but will, because I’m desperate for familiarity and comfort.
Why did Elliot call? Why did he have to catch me at such a weak moment? When I was lying on my couch, watching Sweet Home Alabama, and completely miserable. Sad. Lonely.
This is the exact reason I won’t answer the phone when Harrison calls. So why is his father different?
Maybe him coming here won’t be so bad. Maybe speaking to a human will be nice. Unless he’s expecting something to happen while he’s here. That can’t happen. It won’t.
So then why did I invite him here? He doesn’t give off the emotional support vibe I could use right now. He seems like more of the physical support type of guy. Like the apartment and new phone.
As if my brain is finally catching up, I realize that Elliot Caldwell is on his way here.
I jump up from the couch and rush to my bedroom to change out of the clothes I’ve been in for the last few days.
After putting on fresh sweatpants and a t-shirt, I brush my hair and teeth.
Normally, I wouldn’t be seen in this outfit in front of him, but this isn’t a freaking date and I’m not trying to show off.
This is fitting for the circumstances. Besides, I don’t own the type of clothing he likes women in—no dress suits or blouses.
I look like crap as I stare at myself in the mirror.
I haven’t been eating great, and I’ve been sleeping too much.
My skin is pale and my eyes are bloodshot.
Caring about what I look like is stupid.
Why should I care? My appearance isn’t something I put stock into before, outside of looking presentable, but I never went overboard.
With all I’m dealing with, it’s a reason to look like trash. So, screw it.
I spend the next twenty minutes pacing the kitchen, waiting for the knock on the door. I know it’s coming, and each minute that passes, my stomach gets tied up into more knots, knowing he’ll be here any second.
I should have called him back and told him not to come—apologized for being stupid and weak. But the thought of having someone here is comforting, so I don’t do either of those things.
Then it happens. I stop dead in my tracks, my heart pounding my chest as three gentle raps sound against the door. Closing my eyes and taking a slow inhale, I let it out and step forward to open the door.
I open my mouth to speak, but the moment I see him, the words don’t come out. Dressed in an expensive suit, but messily. His tie is undone, hanging around his neck. The top few buttons of his shirt are open, and it’s wrinkled to hell.
“What happened to you?” I ask, worried he got mugged on the way here.
He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as he runs a hand through his thick, dark hair. For a man his age, he has luscious dark hair.
“Just out celebrating.”
“Celebrating what?” I ask.
“We got a project we’ve been after for months.”
“Oh.” The smile comes easily. “Congratulations.”
But my happiness quickly fades as I realize I took this man away from a celebration with friends and people he works with—and for what?
Because I can’t think before I say things?
Because I’m a young, immature woman who can’t take care of her own crap?
These are the exact reasons why men like him aren’t into women like me.
“I’m so sorry I asked you here,” I blurt. “I shouldn’t have, and I don’t know why I did.”
“You needed someone here. That’s okay.”
Yeah… I do.
His tone is sincere, and maybe this is more of a dad thing than a man thing.
Meaning, maybe he’s being sympathetic to what I’m going through rather than trying to get laid.
I don’t want to look at him as a father-figure, not that I’m sure I’d know what that even looks like considering I didn’t have much of one.
“If you’d prefer to take my cock over the job, Miss Sinclair, all you have to do is say so.”
My cheeks flush and I realize we’re still in the doorway, my hand gripping the doorknob as if it’s holding me to this very earth.
“Do you want to come in?”
Of course he wants to come in, Sera. He came all the way here.
“Only if you want me to. I can go back to the bar.”
I blink a few times, unsure of what to do. Why am I acting like such a fool in front of this man?
“You should come in. You came this far.” I step aside and once he’s in, I shut the door.
Turning, I look up at him, noting how small he makes this space seem. I’ve been nearly agoraphobic in this place with all the space. It’s so empty. But Elliot Caldwell has a big presence about him, and he makes this apartment feel different.
I don’t hate it.
“Do you want something to drink?” I ask, moving toward the fridge.
“Do you have alcohol?”
“Uh…” I look around. “No.”
He chuckles. “It’s fine. I should take a break, anyway. Water is fine.”
I grab two bottles of Fiji from the fridge, handing him one and walking into the living room to sit on the couch. He removes his jacket, hanging it on the coat stand by the door, then takes his tie from around his neck and puts it there too.
When he turns to me, the air leaves my lungs.
There is something about the way he looks right this very minute.
Dressed in expensive clothes, but disheveled.
Tight blue slacks, a tucked in white shirt that’s wrinkled and opened at the top.
He rolls his sleeves up as he walks deeper into the room, and I have to look away.
My cheeks are so hot I swear they could cook an egg.
“What are you watching?” he asks, his attention on the TV.
“Oh, um… I’m not sure what this is,” I say, grateful the movie I was watching is over. I don’t need him knowing I am sitting here, indulging in sappy love movies.
He sits beside me, and I don’t even feel the couch dip as he does, thanks to how soft it is. He leans back, owning the place as if we’re at his and not mine. Though, it may as well be—he owns it, and I’m not paying rent.
“Thank you for all of this,” I say quietly.
“There’s no need to thank me.”
“I guess…” I turn to face him, leaning my back against the tall arm of the chair. “I guess I just don’t understand why you’re doing it.”
“Does that matter?” he asks.
Does it? I don’t know.
“Your intentions matter to me.” And I guess that’s the truth.
He frowns, staying quiet for a moment before saying, “If you think I expect something in return for this, something that isn’t you working for me, then you’re wrong. I’m not that kind of man.”
His words from the bar the other night would suggest otherwise… but I don’t say that.
“I wasn’t—I didn’t mean—”
“Taking advantage of people isn’t how I do things, Miss Sinclair. Yes, I am a businessman, and yes, I use many means to get what I want, but you are a young woman lost in a big, cruel world. I merely want to help.”
“But why?” I urge, hating that my eyes are stinging with tears.
He holds my gaze, his hands sliding over his thighs, bringing my attention to them.
Thick, strong. And my attention glides to the area between his legs, where his pants hug his cock and balls.
I see the outline of everything and my god, that’s making me feel things I shouldn’t.
Remembering how he felt in my hand, thickening and pulsing as he released all over his stomach.
The guttural sounds that left him as he gave in to pleasure.
The desperation in his eyes as he begged me to move my hand faster…
I clear my throat and flick my gaze back to his. If he notices me staring at his genitals, he doesn’t say anything.
“If I knew, I would tell you.”
“There has to be a reason. Something you do know. You don’t do this for everyone off the street. Why me?”
I want to know. I need to know that whatever this is I feel toward him isn’t one sided, that he feels this connection too, and that he understands that it doesn’t make any sense. He’s hinted towards it, but I need to hear him say it. I need the words.
"I can’t explain it, not in a way that makes sense.
But from the moment I saw you, something inside me just..
. clicked. There’s something about you that pulls me in, makes me want to be near you,” he says, licking his lips.
His gaze holds mine steadily. “Make you happy, see that breathtaking smile of yours.”
So, I’m not crazy. It is there. He does feel this, too. And it doesn’t make sense.
“What are we supposed to do about that?” I respond breathlessly.
His nails subtly dig into his thighs, and it’s the only indication he’s feeling something.
“Whatever you want, Seraphine,” he rasps out, sounding almost pained.
My body leans toward him, and I swear I’m not doing it. I’m not making myself move closer to him, but it’s happening. And I think he’s moving toward me too, but I can’t be sure. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking.
Then my phone rings from the other room, startling me and I jerk away, jumping to my feet. I rush into the kitchen to pick it up, only to get some space between us.
Harrison’s name scrolls across my phone screen, which I would have known if I weren’t a mess from his father being so close to me.
This ringtone has not only been playing for days, but it’s been the same since we started dating.
I press the button to send it to voicemail where he’ll add to all the others he’s left that I haven’t listened to.
When I put the phone back down, I catch Mr. Caldwell moving toward the coat rack and grabbing his tie and jacket.
“I should go.”
“Yeah,” I agree, knowing he should but not wanting him to. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him to stay, not wanting to go back to the emptiness of this place. Not wanting his presence gone…
“I’ll check in with you in another week. See about your start date?”
I nod, chewing on my bottom lip. He lets himself out, and I stand there staring at the door for far too long after he leaves.