Chapter 14 #2
It’s hard when the people you love—your husband and your mother—both blame you for all the wrong in the world.
That you’re responsible for everyone’s unhappiness.
If only you did a little better, were a little more, then you wouldn’t have handprints around your neck from being shoved against a wall.
That if you could love better, your husband wouldn’t be on the prowl and your mother could be proud of you.
But Oliver’s not suggesting I was responsible. He was angry on my behalf … for my mom’s behavior. And from the short amount of time I’ve known him and watched his interactions with others, my guess is he definitely wouldn’t blame me for Luca’s actions either.
Oliver takes a step and turns to stand directly in front of me. He stares into my eyes, fights silently with me so that I allow him to see me without the guard I struggle to keep up.
“I don’t know you that well, Shaye, but I know that you need to stop blaming yourself for whatever happened with your husband.”
How is that possible not to feel responsible?
As if Oliver’s pushed a button to disengage the guilt and feelings of responsibility for all the ways my life has been fucked up, my bottom lip trembles. My eyes wet with tears that I refuse to shed.
“Sometimes people get fucked up,” he says. “Sometimes people pretend to be one thing when they’re really another.”
I nod, a strand of my hair falling into my face.
Oliver reaches out, his eyes glued to mine, and brushes it away.
“My father is currently fucked up,” he tells me. “I don’t know why. I know it’s nothing that my family has done to him. But when you watch us and think we have it all together, just know that isn’t true. We’re all the same at the end of the day. We’re all just people trying to do their best.”
My heart squeezes in my chest. I wish I could wrap my arms around him and bury my head in his chest.
But I can’t.
“Thank you,” I say instead. “Honestly. That means a lot to me.”
He nods. “Of course.”
I clear my throat. “I better go. My boss wants me back here tomorrow morning at eight.”
He grins, taking a step back and giving me room to turn. I open my car door and climb in.
“Thank you again for the file and food and chair,” he says, gripping the top of the doorframe. “I really appreciate everything.”
I search his eyes. I should drive off and give him a little wave and get back into the role of his EA. But when I see the openness, the vulnerability staring back at me, I don’t.
“Thank you for saying all the things you did,” I tell him. “I think we’re going to be good friends.”
His lips twist at the words. “Yeah.” He dips his head in the car and surveys the interior.
“Don’t make a comment about the straw wrappers, okay?”
“I wasn’t going to say anything.” He grins. “It just looks like you collect little white strips of paper.”
I laugh. “Why is it never, ‘Oh, you don’t litter! What a nice person!’”
He laughs too, his attention landing back on me. Moment by moment, the laughter stops, and something else takes its place. It’s thick and hot and almost dizzying.
His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat.
“I better go now,” I whisper, starting the car.
I reach for the seat belt. As I turn to grab it, my hand touches his shoulder. The connection of our bodies is the spark that’s been missing.
His eyes zap to mine, the pupils wide. I open my mouth to apologize or make a joke, but neither thing happens.
Instead, Oliver leans in—almost as if he’s unable to stop himself—and cups my cheek in his hand. His palm is warm and smooth. I lean into it, my body already in overdrive.
Something inside me screams to stop—that he’s my boss and I can’t screw this up—but it’s overridden with the pounding of my heart and the desire pooling in my belly.
Oliver’s lips touch mine for a lingering, a touch-too-long but a touch-not-long-enough moment.
My eyes flutter shut. The contact isn’t enough to quell the surge of need rolling through me, but it’s enough to rocket me back to the present.
Oh, shit.
“Oliver …” I stumble around for words.
He hangs his head. “Fuck.”
“Look, that probably just—”
“Complicated things,” he says, cutting me off. His eyes shine with sincerity. “But I’m not sorry. I’ve wanted to do that since the day I met you.”
I half-laugh in a response riddled with shock. “Really?”
“Really.” He touches his mouth where my lips just graced. “I hope it doesn’t make things weird for you. If it does, I take full responsibility.”
I sit back in my seat and try not to burst at the seams with … happiness? Excitement? Lust?
“I just hope it doesn’t affect my job,” I tell him. “I really need this job.”
“I assure you that this won’t affect your job.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
I reach for the door handle. “I better go. You have work to do.”
He steps back. “Good night, Shaye.”
“Good night, Oliver.”
With a final grin, I tug the door shut.
I reverse carefully, ensuring not to hit anything in my haste to leave. It’s difficult, but I don’t look back as I pull away.
It’s even harder not to let my brain get the best of me.
Did I want that kiss? Absolutely.
Would I do it again? For sure.
Is it in my best interest?
Abso-freaking-lutely not.