Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Bailey
Getting to walk into the family business, being called Mr. Prince, having my own office, and shadowing Dad for ninety percent of my day is …
weird. This is what I’ve been working my college life toward, and I love spending the day with Dad.
Sure, nepotism got me here, but I plan to work damn hard to prove that I deserve the position anyway.
I’m not resting on my family name. I want to make my own impact on the business.
But it’s not easy work, and by the time I get home in the afternoons, I’m mentally and physically drained. All I want is to eat dinner, then crawl into Chad’s arms.
Only when I get back to our apartment, it’s empty.
I love it here. We have a view of Central Park, which almost made Chad faint the second he walked in here.
At our housewarming party, I could tell his parents were thrown as well.
It’s one thing to know your son has a rich boyfriend and another to be standing in their three-bedroom apartment with a private rooftop garden and a multimillion-dollar view of one of the most famous sights in one of the most famous cities in the world.
And of course, Chad wants to get a dog. In New York. To scramble all over our expensive leather couches.
Thankfully, his parents got past the shock reasonably well, probably helped by Robbie throwing me over his shoulder and loudly shouting across the room to Charles, “So, which of you is richer? This sneaky little shithead or Mr. Stick-up-his-ass Parameters?”
I sigh at the memory, feeling warm all over that not only do I love my job, but I get to live somewhere this incredible with the love of my life and our idiot friends always stopping by for the weekend.
Another hour goes past, so I head in for a shower, then debate ordering in. Again. Shit, I think we’ve done that every night this week.
We should hire someone to come in and cook us meals, but the only time I was stupid enough to suggest that, Chad got all funny, mumbling about how we couldn’t afford another expense, and I let it go. The last thing I want is to make him uncomfortable, but he’s been doing that more and more lately.
What’s the point in earning all this money if I don’t get to spoil him? I want to give Chad the world, but I know he’s struggling with earning such a shitty wage. And not even shitty in comparison to me. It’s just shitty.
The most frustrating part is that he doesn’t have to earn anything.
He could quit and stay home or, even better, go and follow his dreams. Chad isn’t the kind of man meant to be locked to a desk in a bullpen.
One of the first things that drew me to him is how he’s so full of life; his personality overflows from him.
I finish showering, heart sinking that he didn’t show up and join me. It’s still quiet, which means he’s still not home. Again.
He’s worked overtime every day this week, and every day, he hasn’t even earned as much as I do in an hour.
That thought makes me shift really fucking uncomfortably.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, forcing back the tears pricking at my eyes.
I don’t even know if they’re there because of how much it hurts me to see him pushing himself or because I want to shake him until it sinks in that he doesn’t have to push himself.
Maybe I need to get Robbie here to do it for me. They’ve always had the closest bond.
At nine, I decide fuck it and order in Chinese. At least Chad will be able to heat it up when he gets home—if he ever fucking gets home.
The TV is too loud, and the apartment is too big. I’m fighting off sleep from how busy and full my brain feels, but I refuse to let myself give in to the exhaustion pulling me under. All I wanted was a hug from my guy.
The elevator dings, letting me know it’s either the doorman bringing our food up or Chad getting home. And when he steps out, dinner in his arms, he looks dead on his feet. His jacket is in one hand, tie half-undone, sleeves pushed up his forearms. He blinks sleepy eyes at me and tries for a smile.
“Hey, baby. You got dinner?”
Every part of me melts as I’m swamped in a hug. Here, surrounded by his stale scent mixed with the Chinese food, under the weight of his exhaustion, is where I’m supposed to be. It helps settle some of the craving I’ve had all afternoon.
“Busy day?” I ask where my face is buried into his shoulder.
“Yeah. So many fucking files to organize.”
“Why did you have to stay back?” I try to keep the disappointment out of my voice, but I don’t think I do a good enough job.
Chad pulls away from me and stops me from taking dinner from him.
Even stressed and tired, he’s always putting me first. Fuck, I just wish he’d let me do the same for him for once.
“The faster I prove myself, the faster I’ll move into an entry-level position.
Myers already got a place last week, and I just think …
if I’d helped them more last month … if I’d made sure—”
“No.”
Chad’s jaw tightens. “Bails, it is what it is.”
“You already worked yourself into the ground last month.”
“Well, clearly, Myers did more.”
“Chad.”
He huffs and drops dinner on the table. “I know you don’t get it, but this is what it’s like for most people.”
Before I can say anything, he shakes his head.
“I need to shower.”
Then Chad leaves, and I stare at our dinner, still in little boxes, and wonder when what he’s doing will ever be enough.
Will he be happy when he has that entry-level role? What about when he secures a full-time junior role? Or a senior one? The thing is, I know what marketing pays, and it’s nothing on what I earn. Is that always going to be an issue with us?
College was all fun and games.
Our biggest concern was staying loyal to our frat brothers while we fell in love.
What if our relationship was all fun and games as well?
My heart aches at the thought of this being too much for us. But I want Chad to be happy, and as he joins me back at the table, eating one-handed while he holds mine with the other before passing out on the couch two minutes into our movie, I have to face the facts.
He’s not happy.
Reality is finally catching up with us.