Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Chad
Istare at the email offering overtime, eyes blinking against the dryness. Ever since Bailey and I had our moment, I’ve been trying to make up my mind. Trying to figure out what I need out of life.
It’s killing me to know he’s not happy and that I’m the reason why.
If I’m doing all of this because I want to be worthy of him and it’s not enough, what then?
If I quit because he says it’s what he wants and then it isn’t, I’m not going to walk into a job like this again.
Even years in, I’m not convinced that getting the original internship didn’t have anything to do with my future father-in-law.
My fingers hover over the keyboard, ready to reply with my usual “yes, I’m free,” but I can’t bring myself to type it.
Robbie, my psychologist, Bailey … they’re all telling me this job isn’t healthy for me.
And, like, yeah, I’m not an idiot. I know that.
But I’m also so fucking terrified of what happens if I quit. What if I can’t find another job?
Bailey’s right, I’ll be bored as fuck. Not only that, but I’m scared of feeling worthless.
In my eyes, Bailey is the ultimate ten. So good-looking, so quick-witted, full of love, great in bed, and a driven fucking powerhouse at that job of his.
He commands a room because he’s been trained for it. I can barely do up a goddamn tie.
Unless it’s to fasten him to the bed.
I stare at the email some more, go back and forth and back and forth. Then I pick up my phone.
It kills me to see how impersonal our messages have gotten, and it’s even worse that I didn’t notice it happening. Bailey bringing up that he might leave me, that I might not have a future with him, that stung. No, worse than stung. That was un-fucking-bearable.
My teeth bite down hard into my lip as I start to text him.
I’m scared, princess.
And of course, he messages me immediately.
Bailey:
Need me to call you? What’s going on? I’m in a meeting, but I can step out.
Me:
No, don’t do that.
Bailey:
Why are you scared? You’re freaking me out.
Me:
I need you to tell me I’m doing the right thing.
Bailey:
You’re doing the right thing. I don’t know what the thing is, but I get the feeling you’ve already decided and you just need my support.
The message soothes everything in my soul. We might be having a rocky moment, we have had some stressful times over the past few years, but there’s been so much good in there too. Even though we’ve drifted apart lately, and Bailey still knows everything about me, helps solidify my decision.
Bailey and I are it. And I’ll do anything I can to make us endgame.
Me:
I’m quitting.
His response isn’t as immediate as I’m expecting, and I assume he’s had to get back into the meeting. I’m about to put my phone down when another text comes through.
Bailey:
There’ll be a surprise waiting for you when you get home.
A surprise? I perk up, picturing a very naked Bailey in front of a very pretty view. The fact I can’t even say when the last time we had sex was depresses me. I love sex. I love Bailey. I love when he’s all frisky and ties me up and teases me.
And shit. Now I’m having very horny issues at work.
The risk of my colleagues seeing me with a boner is a fast way to ensure I resign, I guess.
I click back onto the email and send what might be my first-ever decline, then ask if my supervisor has a minute.
Instead of getting a response from him, his assistant emails me back instead, with a calendar invite to pick a time over the next week.
The next week.
Bailey can text me back instantly, even though he’s in a meeting, but my own supervisor, who I’ve worked under for years, can’t spare me a couple of minutes today.
I’m nobody here.
No one.
No matter how much I do or how hard I work, this is it. Another faceless suit in a too-large company.
I glance at the people in cubicles around me, noting for the first time how gray everything is. The carpets, the off-white petitions, the pinboards. Fuck, even the weather outside is being a shithead.
Hell, I feel gray. That’s not even a real feeling, but somehow, I manage it.
With a flicker of the fun I was always so good at, I open my emails and type.
Hey, boss man.
Thanks for clearing your schedule for me. It really helped validate the crummy vibes I was getting over working here. Love this path for you, but it’s so not frat, so I’m giving my notice. Though, truthfully, if I just stopped showing up one day, I doubt anyone would notice.
Much love and fun times,
Chad
I hit Send without rereading, then figure I might as well take the rest of the day sick. It’ll be the first time since starting here that I’ve taken personal time, and even that decision is one that plain pisses me off. All that time I could have spent with Bailey, and for what?
I’m almost out the door when Myers cuts me off.
“Holy shit, did you hear?” he asks.
“Hear what?”
“I just got promoted! Senior role. I’m fucking pumped.”
Instead of being pissed about it, I tip my head back and thank the universe for this one last sign that I’m making the right choice. Then, I cuff Myers on the shoulder.
“Congratulations, man. I say this with full sincerity: I’m so glad you got that role.
” Given we’ve always kept a sort of frenemies thing going, I know that response is the last one he’s expecting, but I mean it so fucking genuinely.
If I’d been the one to get that promotion, I never would have left.
And now … I’m free.
It’s sort of hard to know how I feel about that. On the one hand, it’s scary as shit, and my brain doesn’t know what to do with no direction; on the other hand, the relief is so fucking immense and overwhelming it’s a surprise I went for so long without realizing that place was suffocating me.
I grab a ride home, trying not to focus on where my money is going to come from once my meager savings are depleted.
Bailey’s never said anything to me about our separate bank accounts, and while we’ve got linked credit cards, the only time I’ve ever used mine is for emergencies.
I don’t understand the whole points thing.
It’s one of an endless list of things that always has me questioning how I ended up here. How Bailey thought I’d fit in his world.
I take the elevator once I’m home, wishing we didn’t live on the billionth floor and I could have run the stairs instead. The excess energy is burning me, and it’s been a really long time since I had a chance to let it all out.
I reach the penthouse and step into our hall, where I ditch every damn thing—
—and freeze at a noise inside.
It’s still early in the day; there’s no way Bailey would be home yet, so who the hell is here? We have a damn doorman; it’s not like people can just break in, but he normally gives me the heads-up when we have visitors.
I creep further into the apartment, and when I reach the doorway to the living room, I peer around the frame and blink Bailey into focus.
“What are you doing home early?” I ask, grin splitting my face. He’s not naked, but I can work with this.
“Had to make sure I was home in time to give you your present. Wasn’t expecting you to be home so fast though, so, uh …”
A small yip splits the silence.
My eyes go wide. “What was that?”
And from behind his back, Bailey pulls a teeny tiny little puppy with a bow tied badly around his collar.
“P-p-puppy.”
Bailey holds the little thing out, and I latch onto it. It’s tan with short fur and a squashed face, and I’m instantly in love.
“Look at her little paws …”
“He,” Bailey corrects. “One of the people at work was talking about their dog giving birth a few months ago. They didn’t even know she was pregnant.
Anyway, they have a French bulldog, and the pups had a whole range of different features, so they think some other dog got into their yard.
” When Bailey looks up at me, his eyes are soft.
“I asked about them the other day. I know you always wanted a dog when we moved in, but it was never the right time with us both working. When you texted me today, I immediately hunted down Rochelle, and she said they were ready to go.”
“You got us a dog?” I squeak, still freaking floating at the wriggly little thing in my arms.
“Yep.”
“We have a baby.”
“We do.”
I tug Bailey toward me so I can kiss him. A proper one. One like we haven’t shared in years. Having his mouth on mine is somehow comforting but also reminds me of why we fit. Why I love him.
“What should we call him?” Bailey asks when I finally let him free. “Frankie is cute …”
I quickly shake my head. “Frankie? Come on. This little guy is frat as fuck and needs a name as cool as he is. Gotta be Greek …”
“Of course it does.”
“Hercules.”
Bailey looks at our baby doubtfully. “He’s tiny.”
“Exactly. It’s perfect.”
He lets out a long, exaggerated sigh. “Thank god we’re dog dads, that’s all I’m saying.”
I snicker and kiss his forehead again. “Fuck, I love you.”
“Fine. Hercules, it is.”