12. Serena
Serena
Travis’s phone chimes thirty seconds after we finish.
He pulls me up from the desk, sets his hands on my waist, and kisses me softly, as I feel what he left behind start to run down my leg.
“Shit,” Travis mutters. “That’s my breakfast.”
When I come back from the bathroom, Travis is taking container after container out of a tall brown paper bag.
“What’s all this?” I ask, stopping and raising an eyebrow at him. Somehow, I feel comfortable here with him, even after what we just did. Even after wiping him off my skin in the bathroom, and with us both wearing our clothes from the night before.
“You should know that I don’t normally eat like this,” he says, eyes darting up to mine. For a second, he looks like the same Travis I know, then a smile unfurls over his face as he shakes his head. “I can’t eat all this—I don’t know what I was thinking. Sleep deprivation.”
“Your mistake is my reward.” I laugh, sitting down and pulling a container of potatoes O’Brien toward me. “Let me guess, you normally have some sort of smoothie for breakfast? Cucumber juice? Prebiotics? Maybe even kale?”
Travis slices into a Denver omelet while he shoots me a look. It makes me laugh.
“I knew it.”
In the bathroom, some of my worries returned. I thought that when I came out, Travis might actually put a stop to this. Might actually tell me to leave, explain that continuing on as a photographer for Onyx isn’t the best idea.
When I meet with my therapist this week, and if I tell her about all this, I know she’s going to have a lot to say.
It occurs to me, with a flash of annoyance, that I would be in couples therapy with Alex tomorrow, if he hadn’t decided he was done with me. What would she have to say about him throwing my shit on the lawn? And why bother going to therapy with me if he was planning to end things that way, anyway?
“What are you thinking about?”
I startle at the sound of Travis’s voice, realize I’ve been stabbing my fork into the potatoes, but never actually taking a bite. Swallowing down the anger and resentment, I try to plaster a smile on my face, try to hide the anger. “Nothing. Are you planning on working all day?”
Travis frowns and sets the foil container with his omelet down on his desk, studying me. “You don’t have to pretend, Serena.”
Fear flutters in my chest. “What are you talking about?”
“Whatever was on your mind just now, it looked like it was pissing you off.”
“Did the potato massacre give it away?”
He glances at my food, laughs. “No, the wrinkle between your eyebrows. But the potato thing was way more obvious, now that you mention it.”
Without thinking, I raise a hand and press a finger between my eyebrows. Sure enough, when I relax, I feel a spot of tension dissipate there. When I look at Travis again, his face is unreadable.
His jaw ticks, then he shrugs, “I’m just saying—this obviously isn’t serious, Serena. We can’t… date. So you don’t have to worry about… you can tell me about what’s pissing you off. In fact, I kind of figured you’d be doing that anyway.”
That makes me smile. He’s right—so far, I’ve done a lot of barging into his office. At first, I figured I had nothing to lose. But now, with the way he’s looking at me, it almost makes me think he likes it when I’m angry.
“I was thinking about your brother,” I admit, looking down at the potatoes, knowing this is not the most sexy post-sex talk. “And why he didn’t just tell me that he was done. Why he had to go through the dramatics of ruining my stuff.”
I still can’t believe he did that. I shared the dark details of my past with him, about being a kid that nobody wanted. I don’t want to think it could be true, but it’s almost like Alex did all that—throwing my shit on the lawn—as a targeted attack. A way to hurt me. He must have known it would.
When I look back at Travis, his face has darkened. I blink, realizing this might be the first time I’ve really seen him truly angry. It’s a little scary.
“Alex is selfish, unfortunately,” Travis says, taking a slow, measured bite of his omelet.
“By the time he was born, our father had lost his edge. For me, everything was about perfection. There was no room for mistakes. But for Alex… it was enough just for him to be there. It’s not like Stephen ever showed him he was proud of him, but he didn’t put him through hell for every imperfection. ”
It’s odd to talk about Alex to Travis like this, but it also feels good. A sort of closure…
For a long moment, we sit in silence together, enjoying the takeout. Then, Travis clears his throat and sits up in his seat, lacing his fingers together.
Just like that, he’s gone from Travis to Mr. Oakley. A thrill of excitement runs through my body, pooling between my legs. I like having both sides of him. Mr. Oakley takes control. Travis lies in bed and asks me questions about which ice cream shop in Manhattan I like the best.
“You and I both know this is a stupid idea,” he says after studying me for a long moment. “But we also don’t want to stop. Or, at least, I assume that’s the case?”
Copying him, I sit up taller, lace my fingers together, and meet his eyes. When he realizes what I’m doing, I watch him resist the urge to roll his eyes.
“We should follow some guidelines here,” he says, holding my gaze. “We keep it casual, and we do our best to stay out of the public eye. Is that fair?”
I nod primly and adopt a businesslike tone: “Perfectly.”
“And, as long as we’re keeping this up, you might as well be a photographer at the Onyx Embassy opening event next week.”
That surprises me. “Do you think my work is good enough?”
Again, Travis holds my stare. Time slows. Somehow, just looking at one another, with the desk separating us, makes things feel charged. Like at any moment, he could reach for me, pull me into him again. I want it, want him bad enough that it must show on my face.
Christ. I’ve never been like this before. Never been so needy. Never felt the wanting like a physical thing.
“Serena,” Travis finally speaks. I think he might say something about how good I am or what I’ve accomplished so far shooting for Onyx.
Or that he wants me there just so he can take me to the penthouse floor and fuck me in the shower. But then, with a spark of pleasure in his eyes at the control he wields, he simply says, “Just say yes.”
And so I do.