22. Drake
CHAPTER 22
Drake
I stare at the pictures of sex toys on my computer monitor, scrolling through them and dismissing each and every one. She won’t agree to be tied up. She won’t agree to the spreader bar. She won’t agree to any of this.
She won’t agree to my feelings.
Fuck.
I angrily close the window, which is lucky because Caroline enters without even fucking knocking.
“Sir, you’re late for the meeting in 502,” she says. “They’re waiting for you.”
Of course I’m late. Of course they are.
I get up with a grunt, making sure to lock my computer down, and stalk toward the door. I pause there, though, wracking my brain and unable to come up with the information about this meeting. “What meeting is this?”
“It’s with one of the development teams,” Caroline says. “They’re presenting the user metrics for the past three months.”
Fuck, right. I’d asked for that information, too, because a few months ago I’d wanted to pinpoint… something. User experience, retention, something that I would have been in charge of ten years ago and has now been delegated to someone I don’t trust to do it right.
Except now I don’t even remember what the point of the meeting was.
I almost tell Caroline to cancel the meeting, except then I’ll be left sitting alone in my office again. Despite whatever I’m supposed to be doing, I know I’d just browse more adult stores and fantasize about all the things I’m not currently doing with Mimosa.
My limbs feel like lead as I trudge my way to the elevator for the meeting.
Of course all conversation stops as soon as I enter the meeting room.
“Sorry about the wait,” I say, trying for cheerful. “Was on a call with… eh, doesn’t matter.” I take my seat at the head of the large oval meeting table.
The two juniors who lucked their way into being presenters stand taller and start the presentation.
Patrick is sitting two seats away from me.
Fucker.
I fight the urge to glower at him. I have to at least pretend to be professional, after all, and that smug asshole would love it if I humiliated myself in front of some of the most influential people in the company.
Right.
Which leads my attention back to the junior members who are speaking, trying to suck up and get noticed so they can climb the corporate ladder.
Their presentation doesn’t even start out interesting.
Normally, I’d be fine listening to numbers and the way an app is functioning, but I just can’t focus. My mind is back home, on Mimosa.
On the way she rebuffed me so thoroughly, on the way she’s gotten so deep into my head that it’s like I’ll never get her out after such a short period of time.
I pretend to pay attention to the meeting even as my thoughts focus on her, but the truth is, I barely even know what’s going on.
This is a joke.
I used to love my job, but now I feel like I’m just playing pretend. I’m so out of touch with everything that’s happening, and the vacation Caroline had told me to take suddenly feels like it had been a bad idea. It’s only distancing me further from everything that’s going on.
When Patri ck gets up to speak, I stare at him.
What he’s saying is no more memorable than the rest of the meeting, but I have the strong urge to fire him on the spot. It would never work, of course; he does his job. He probably has evidence of selling shit to me, too, and even if I got him ousted for dealing drugs, I’d be fucked too.
And it’s a long, long way to fall.
Patrick says something, numbers that are probably important, but my eyes are drawn to his jaw, where I’d once bitten him while we were both cock-deep in one woman.
Mimosa asked me if I’d ever fucked a guy. Once, when we’d both been high, Patrick had seemed like he was suggesting it. I’m glad I never took him up on that offer.
His voice is grating against my ears, like he’s purposefully speaking in a tone designed to piss me off.
“Any questions?” Patrick asks, his eyes squarely on me.
I should have questions. I should want to know what they’d been talking about, or to pick apart whatever bullshit they’d just presented.
I look at my phone and say, “No. You all can finish up without me. I’ve got another meeting I need to rush to.”
I head out, not giving a fuck what this looks like. Instead of returning to my office, though, I duck into the nearby bathroom and splash water on my face.
My hands are shaking.
I’d been able to drum up a few of the pills Patrick used to give me when I’d first returned to work, but they’re all gone now. Withdrawal is hitting me hard, and I don’t even know what the fuck I’m withdrawing from to try to find another supplier. I’m sure someone would love to blackmail me by saying they dealt me drugs.
I’m not sure the risk wouldn’t be worth it, but at the same time… It would be just one more thing for Mimosa to judge me for.
I look about as bad as I feel, I discover when I look in the mirror, and I wonder if everyone can see it. Can they just glance at me and tell that I’m fucking coming apart at the seams?
I hear footsteps, and I don’t want to deal with whoever it is. I go into the closest stall and sit down on the toilet, willing my breathing to calm down.
“Christ, did you see Drake?” a voice asks. “If he’s going to get high at work, he could do it more subtly.”
I roll my eyes. Right, like the day wasn’t shitty enough, of course I get to overhear the lackeys badmouthing me.
“You gonna tell him that? Your job isn’t that secure. Doesn’t matter who your daddy is.”
“Fuck off, I worked my way into the company.” He doesn’t sound mad about the accusation though.
It’s one of the juniors from earlier, I realize. Fuck, I’ve already forgotten his name.
“Look at it this way: if he shows up looking like that to the board meeting, they’ll have the power to ditch him.”
Ditch him.
Ditch me .
My blood runs cold, and I stay as still as I can, not wanting to draw attention to myself while Fuckwad A and Fuckwad B talk about me.
“What do you know about the board meeting?”
“You just whined about nepotism, man. My dad’s on the board. He’s tight with George Browning, and they were saying they’ve got the shares to do it.” He pauses for a few seconds, then adds, “Which is why I’m selling my few piddly shares now. You know the stock price will plummet when they kick him out.”
I can’t breathe.
I can’t fucking breathe, and as the two of them walk out of the bathroom — still gossiping about me like fucking teenagers — I let my head fall back so that I’m staring at the ceiling.
I’d forgotten about the board meeting, which had been the whole reason I could only take two weeks off. I’d deserved a lengthy vacation, which I’ve more than earned in my time working here building this company from the goddamned, motherfucking ground up.
I pull out my phone and check my calendar. My brows furrow as I flick through it, going ahead a week, then back, then slowing down to look at it more closely.
The only t hing I see is a few evenings blocked out for “date night.” Had I put those there?
I don’t know, but I do notice one glaring thing — or rather, the lack of something important.
There’s no board meeting listed.
I distinctly remember Caroline saying I needed to be back in time for it, and after this little water cooler chat, I know it’s coming up soon. If the douchebags think they have time to sell their shares, I have a little bit of time, but…
I don’t know how much time.
I don’t know when it is.
Rage howls through me, and no matter how hard I try to tamp it down, I can’t. I barge out of the bathroom, startling the two juniors who are still standing outside. I ignore them and their alarmed expressions, heading to the elevator and going straight back to my office.
I go through my phone while I wait for the elevator to slowly take me back to my floor.
I don’t like what I see at all, and it only makes that anger escalate even more.
I half-heartedly try to hide what I’m feeling, but Caroline actually pales when she sees me.
“Hey, Caroline,” I say, trying for casual. “What am I paying you for again?”
She sits up straight. “To be your executive assistant, sir.”
I nod and sit down at the corner of her desk. I pick up the photo of her and her husband and what I assume is her daughter. “Right, right. That includes… what? Emails, scheduling, doing menial shit?”
“I wouldn’t put it quite like that, sir,” Caroline answers. She tries to take the photo back, but I pull it out of her grasp.
I’m just itching to tear into pieces and throw it at her, but instead, I stare at it. “You have a beautiful family, Caroline,” I say. “How do they feel about all the nights and weekends you work?”
Her smile is strained. “Oh, they’re used to it.”
“I see,” I say. “I probably shouldn’t work you so hard.” If it wasn’t for the fact that I’d be utterly fucked without her, I’d fire her right here and now. It’s so close, though, the urge to just do it — fuck the consequences — that I can barely stand i t. “Maybe you were projecting a little when you suggested I was burning out, huh?”
I laugh.
She laughs nervously with me. “No, I don’t think so.”
My smile turns into a nasty sneer. I can feel it, and I can see from the way she’s looking at me that she’s figured out I’m on to her fucking game.
“When’s the board meeting, Caroline?” I reach down, closing the lid of her laptop.
Caroline startles, and says, “It got rescheduled. Too many people had conflicts, so?—”
“Bullshit,” I say, smiling widely. “You think I started a fucking IT-based company without knowing how to check deleted files? You fucking deleted it from the calendar, Caroline.”
Her lip wibbles. “Then you know when the meeting is.”
“I do,” I agree. “I was just waiting to see if you would fess up.”
She stares at me, and I see it when the desperation tips her hand completely. “I didn’t want to do it, Mr. Brutal. I swear. I?—”
I shove the picture at her. “Go home to your family, Caroline. And don’t bother coming back.”
Caroline continues to gawp at me. “What? You can’t?—”
“It’s my company!” I shout, unable to keep the anger at bay any longer. “I started it, I own it, and I will not let some secretary on a power trip jeopardize my entire life’s work.” I stand up, looming over her, and she quickly stands and backs away. “You could’ve come to me,” I snarl. “I’d have paid you twice what those weasels were paying you.”
Maybe.
Or maybe I’d have fired her anyway.
Caroline grabs her purse and slides her chair away from the desk. “I’m sorry, Mr. Brutal. They said?—”
I walk around the desk and grab the chair, shoving it toward the door. “Get the fuck out of here!”
She runs. She’s in some stiletto heels, but she fucking runs to the elevator.
I don’t feel better as I watch her go.
After an hour of revoking Caroline’s access to every fucking thing in the company — and putting her digital fingerprints everywhere they shouldn’t be — I roll my shoulders and stand up.
Fuck her.
Fuck them.
Fuck all of them.
I ignore the security guard on my way out, and he must see the thunderclouds on my expression because he doesn’t even try to wish me a good night like he normally does.
I get into my car, slamming my fists onto the steering wheel, and for a moment, I debate not even going home. I could just go to a bar and get smashed; I could go to a club and find something to take, anything, that would get my mind off of all of this.
In the end, I decide to break every single traffic law on my way back to the condo, only surprised to find that I didn’t cause any accidents and that I didn’t have a single instance of sirens and flashing lights behind me by the time I get there.
I almost wish I had, even though I know that’s stupid as fuck. I don’t need to get into it with a cop. I may have friends on the force, but that would change real quick if I got into an altercation with one of their own.
I dread going upstairs and seeing Mimosa, hearing her voice and having her attitude grate on my nerves.
I don’t really trust myself with her right now.
I don’t trust myself with anyone, but with her, it’s somehow worse.
I ignore the clerk at the front desk, continuing to the elevator and heading up to my penthouse. There are no boxes of toys this time, no gifts for Mimosa that make my heart beat harder and leave me wondering if I’m really that adventurous.
All I can think about is her refusal to be what I want her to be… And the fact that she wouldn’t let me say three little words I’d never uttered before in my life.
Maybe they were too soon, and maybe I don’t know if this is lust or love or something else, but she could’ve at least humored me.
She hadn ’t.
I’m fuming again by the time I turn the key in the lock, and I storm inside.
Mimosa is sitting on the couch again, wearing a pair of shorts and a loose t-shirt. She looks casual, no effort made at all for my sake.
She’s still sexy as fuck, and that pisses me off even more.
She looks up from her laptop and says, “Bad day at work, huh.”
“Fuck off,” I mutter to her, continuing into the kitchen to see what I have in my liquor cabinet.
I rummage around until I find the whiskey, and I’ve got a glass half-poured before I look across the condo at her again.
She’s typing away on her laptop again, ignoring me.
I want to take it away and throw it against the fucking wall.
How dare she.
She can tell I had a bad day. The least she could do is pretend to care, pretend to pay attention. I’ve been plenty caring about her issues!
Haven’t I?
Fuck, I don’t even know.
I gulp down the whiskey and pour another, trying to calm my nerves. Right now, I want to grab her and shake her — or shove her against the wall and fuck her tight little ass until she screams.
I hadn’t been able to grab Caroline and wring her fucking neck, but I could hurt Mimosa.
I stare at her, thinking of just that.
Mimosa brushes some of her blue hair behind her ears, then closes her laptop. She takes it and stands up, moving toward one of the guest rooms.
“Where are you going?” I demand, my voice rough.
Mimosa stops and looks at me. “I’m fucking off. Like you told me to do.”
I let out an ugly laugh. In this moment, I fucking hate her all over again, just like I did in the beginning.
Hate .
“Not in the right direction, whore,” I snap at her.
Her shoulders tense, and she purses her lips. “Ah. All right.” She sets the laptop down, then pulls her shirt off. She wasn’t wearing a bra, so now she’s standing in front of me in just the shorts.
I stare at her, wishing I could just fuck her, but hating the fact that she thinks I’d just go back to this so fast when I’ve been putting everything into trying.
She doesn’t even seem like she appreciates it at all.
“I thought,” I say raggedly, “that you might give a fuck if I was having a bad day. That you might try to… I don’t know, talk to me. Not ignore me. Not do this shit.” I slam my fist into the wall, cracking the drywall and ignoring it when my knuckles start to bleed. “But then, I guess you don’t really care, do you? How could anyone ever care about me?” I sneer at her. “I know you sure as fuck don’t.”
Mimosa doesn’t look away. “I asked you about your day. You told me to fuck off. That sounded like you wanted to be alone.”
“If you knew the first thing about me, you might’ve learned—” I cut myself off. I sound pathetic. “You know what? Fuck it, and fuck you. Get your shirt on, get your shoes on, take your fucking brand-new clothes and laptop and whatever else gold-digging bitches buy, and get the fuck out of my condo.”
I want to hurt her. So badly, I want to hurt her as much as I’m hurting.
Why am I having to fight not to cry , like I’m some bitch?
Mimosa pulls her shirt on, and her expression remains as flat as ever. Of course it does. She doesn’t have a single fucking emotion inside of her.
She grabs the laptop again and puts it into a leather messenger bag, then she stops to look at me.
“Are you sure?” she asks, voice as toneless as always. “If you want me to leave, I’ll leave. If you want to talk, I can listen. But I’m not going to cater to your temper tantrum.”
Is it really a temper tantrum if I’m falling apart on the inside? I’m about to lose everything I worked for, and she’s treating me like I’m a child.
If she cared at all, she’d be showing something. Anything. But she doesn’t.
“I said, get the fuck out,” I snarl at her. “I don’t give a fuck about you, or what you do, or where you go.”
I care. I care so much. But if she stays any longer, she’s going to see me break down, and I can’t handle that in the face of her apathy.
Maybe if she at least hesitated, or tried to talk me down, or something …
But she doesn’t.
She really doesn’t care at all.
Why did I think she’d be any different from everyone else?
“Okay.” Mimosa hefts the leather bag and walks toward the elevator, stopping near the coat closet to put on a pair of brand-new sandals. She pushes the button, and after the elevator dings, she says, “Just remember later that you chose this. I’m—” Her voice catches, and for a split second, I think she’s going to show some kind of emotion. I will her to, to show me that she actually cares.
She doesn’t. Instead, she only pauses before she continues smoothly, “For a few days there, I thought we could have made it work.”
She steps into the elevator, the doors sliding shut behind her.
She’s wrong.
It never would’ve worked. No matter how much I wanted it to, she was just beyond me.
I scream, throwing the glass of whiskey, punching the fucking walls with my fists, letting myself break the fuck down now that I’m alone in my own condo — which has never felt more empty.
I stagger to the couch, burying my face in my hands, and for the first time in years, I realize just how fucking alone I am.
That’s never going to change.
Maybe it’s time to call Pavone up again, tell him I want someone broken enough to even pretend to care.
Or maybe it’s time to accept reality.
No one can love me.
No one.