3. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
I hate sweating.
No one likes it, I know. But I hate it with every fibre of my soul. Ten minutes in the Florida heat has left me sweating as if I’d just completed a half-marathon. My fingers curl through the ends of my damp hair as I run it between my hands. Over and over. And squirm.
The intensity of the sun nearly blinded us as we walked across the runway to my waiting car. It took only ten minutes, but I was still drenched, the air conditioning in the car doing nothing to help me.
How can people live like this, day in and day out, practically wincing every time they take a breath? I can’t do it, and I’m questioning why I’m submitting myself to it now. But tradition is tradition, and I can’t break our yearly routine. I knew it was a mistake to wear a thick, cotton polo shirt from the moment I put it on this morning because the material adheres to my chest, and I’m itching to get it off me.
We come to a stop—finally—and clamber out of the town car. I leave my group behind, rushing past the valet to check-in, sighing in relief at the cool air conditioning. But it isn’t enough. I still feel sticky and miserable, and the last thing I want to do is interact with other people. So, I stop and wait for Wendell to catch up to me.
“Check us in?” The dry air has left my voice hoarse.
Wendell gives me a look, but he doesn’t protest, walking past me to the massive wooden check-in counter. Ours is a friendship that doesn’t need many words, at least from my end.
He’s the only company I keep these days, and his presence is a respite on these business vacations. We don’t technically work together anymore; we haven’t in years, each picking opposing fields to work in. But I’ll be damned if I have to suffer through this vacation alone. As CEO of AOVD Wealth Group, I can break the employee-only rule if I so choose. And roping my best friend along is a no-brainer.
For as much as this business retreat is a relaxing way for everyone on my team to unwind as a collective, it also does a great job of spiking my blood pressure. Every person on my team is capable, or else I wouldn’t have hired them, but sometimes, it’s like trying to teach a dog how to read.
“Alden?” A high-pitched voice makes my hair stand on end. I had almost forgotten that she was here. Almost. Charlotte, from human resources, bounds beside me, pressing into my side like a thorn. “There you are.”
In this heat, I want nothing more than to peel her off me, but she is an employee and sometimes a friendly acquaintance, so I don’t want to offend her. Her arm snakes through mine with a pointed squeeze to my bicep. I can see right through her little act, and I roll my eyes when she looks away.
She has the stones to feel like I owe her something, owe her a piece of me when I had been straightforward with her from the beginning. We only ever slept together a handful of times, but to Charlotte, I’m the prize she doesn’t want to let slip away. Something she’s told me many times over.
All I see when I look at Charlotte is regret. From the first time we slept together, I knew it was a bad idea—it was up there with cliff diving in Ibiza, which also didn’t end well. But, like the masochist I am, I just couldn’t stop myself from seeking comfort in her repeatedly. I’ve never been good at breaking bad habits, and continuing to sleep with Charlotte, when I know it’s a bad look to get tangled up with an employee, might just be the cherry on top.
It’s been months since our last encounter, and yet, no matter how many times I tell her, she won’t let it go.
“I can’t wait to try on my new bikini…” Charlotte says, her voice forcing me out of my thoughts. I hum, pretending to listen to her. “I hope it covers everything okay…”
She looks up at me through her lashes and bats her eyes flirtatiously. It makes my stomach jolt. If that’s supposed to turn me on or get me to sleep with her again, it does a great job of enforcing the opposite reaction.
Forced laughter pushes past my lips as discomfort pricks at my skin. I run my hand through my hair again, a nervous tick I can’t stop. Suddenly, the heat, the growing crowd, and Charlotte’s small frame pressing against me are all too much.
No, not here. Not now.
The familiar tightness in my chest feels overwhelming, like someone is trying to stretch it, to rip it in half. My heart is beating faster, uncontrollably, and I’m frozen in place. I close my eyes tightly, trying to head it off at the pass, but it’s no use. Everything is set in motion, and I can’t stop it. The hand Charlotte isn’t holding thrusts into my pocket to hide its intense shaking. My employees don’t need to witness me having one of my debilitating panic attacks. I don’t want that ammunition out in the world for anybody to use against me.
She attempts to get my attention, her voice edged with annoyance. “Alden.”
My eyes snap open to see her glaring ones. I untangle myself from her strategically, which is no easy feat, and put some much-needed distance between us. My lungs strain with every breath—every gasp—not that Charlotte would care to notice. Too self-involved to pay attention to anyone but herself.
“I should go check on Wendell…” I get out, my ears ringing from the blood rushing to them. “S-see if our room situation is sorted out.” My attempt at an even tone fails when Charlotte’s refined features crease momentarily.
“But—”
As I walk away, the mask I wear so often that it feels like a second skin slips back into place, and I force a tight-lined smile on my lips. My strides are long and quick as I practically run to Wendell. He leans against the check-in desk, laughing boisterously at something the concierge said, hand gripping his chest like it’s the funniest joke he’s ever heard.
Somehow, I get to him and push past my mental blockage long enough for my feet to carry me along. Wendell notices me immediately, his eyes raking over me and his expression changing on a dime. From my appearance alone, he knows that I’m having an episode. This long into our friendship, and he always knows. The blank look in my eyes, the paleness of my skin, the way I don’t speak or even react to things said to me.
His eyes drop to my trembling hand, and his head snaps up with a sense of urgency. Wendell looks past me, to Karim, one of my employees, who is openly flirting with Lucy, my newest hire. I would have scolded him publicly about it had I not been a little preoccupied.
“Hey, lover boy,” Wendell hollers, and Karim’s embarrassment is clear. “Come over here and grab our room keys, will you?” Nothing in his tone suggests he’s asking.
There is a weight behind Wendell’s words that I’m sure Karim picks up on, and if he does, he doesn’t comment on it. He wastes no time jogging up to us, casting me a sidelong glance that I don’t appreciate. But Wendell doesn’t stand around longer than he has to, gripping my arm tightly, his dull nails pressing into my arm as he drags me away.
I nearly forgot how monstrous The Cerulean really is, the expansive and long twisting hallways the only thing I can concentrate on right now. He stops us when we are far enough away from the prying eyes of my employees, or anyone really, and I slink back against the nearest wall, my body heavy as I drop onto the floor.
“Breathe…” Wendell instructs, but his voice is distant, nonexistent, through the sound of the pounding organ inside my chest.
I feel numb and hollow as I haphazardly pull my knees against my chest. A strangled groan leaves my mouth when my head falls. Slowly, the fog lifts. With intentional, rhythmic breaths, I fight to hold on to what little sanity I have left. Wendell pats my back, and I know it’s his wordless way of offering me some sort of comfort.
It helps a little, to ground me in the moment and tell me I am not alone. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? I am alone, and I want it this way. I wanted it this way. I repeat it in my mind like a mantra.
I deserve to be alone. I don’t deserve to be happy, not after what I did.
For as much as I appreciate Wendell right now and him as a friend, that is where the extent of my relationships end. Because someone like me, someone who is incapable of giving out pieces of themselves, deserves to be alone. The blockage of emotions that clog in my throat makes it difficult to swallow. My voice sounds hoarse and unnatural when I try to speak.
Tilting my head up, I see Wendell staring at me, where he has joined me on the ground. His chin rests on his knee, patiently waiting as I come out of my episode. It’s then that I realize that my panic attack has gone on for too long. I stumble to my feet, Wendell close behind, his hand out and ready to help if I need it. But I don’t take it.
Wetness coats my cheeks, and I rub my face harshly, trying to purge the awful episode from my mind. Until the next time it happens.
I lean my head against the wall, laughing to myself. “Starting this year off with a bang, huh?”
Wendell shakes his head, apparently not finding my joke very amusing. His face is taut with pity. My laughter floats away just as quickly as I allowed it to fester. My throat bobs, feeling as if it is closing up. I hate this part. The talk. And I know it’s coming.
It’s the talk that involves Wendell preaching to me how I should seek someone out to talk about everything I have been through and telling me how beneficial it could be for me. Each time he brings it up, I shut it down immediately. I don’t want or need help, and I sure as hell don’t need to be lectured by him like I am a child. I’m dealing with everything perfectly. A little anxiety and some panic attacks never hurt anyone. Frustration unfurls in my gut, burrowing in my veins. Anger is my safe space. It allows me the freedom to distance myself from him, from everyone.
“Alden…” Wendell starts, but I cut him off, not wanting to hear his speech for the millionth time.
“I don’t want to hear it, Wendell. We’re here to have fun, and that’s exactly what we’re going to do.” My jaw aches from how hard I’m clamping down on it. “A little hiccup at the start isn’t going to change that. Got it? Don’t ruin things by bringing up shit that I have no interest in entertaining.”
My fists clench at my sides, the pressure equally calming and destabilizing me as I scold my best friend. He eyes me suspiciously, no doubt seeing the raging war behind my eyes, not fully trusting my outburst. With a heavy sigh, Wendell nods, accepting my terms. I’m not a total jackass, contrary to popular belief. I feel a twinge of guilt as Wendell flinches at my words, his eyes downcast.
And if he hadn’t known me all these years and come to expect the same crap out of me, he would’ve ditched my ass a long time ago. I’m not so sure he still won’t. But for some reason, Wendell has never abandoned me, still hoping that one day, I will wake up and go back to being the person I used to be. The person I was before my whole world changed.
But that person is gone; that version of myself died that night. All that’s left now is the tainted man who is riddled with panic attacks and crippling anxiety.
“I won’t bring it up again, I promise. But are you sure you’re okay? Really?”
I debate his words for half a second. Am I okay? Not really. But I can’t take any more questions and sympathy and you’ll be okays. Because this is who I am, the twisted and ugly shadow that darkens everyone around him, and it’s time people got used to it.
I inhale deeply, expelling the lasting effects of my panic attack. “I’m a big boy, Wendell. I’ll be fine.”
He looks like he doesn’t believe me, and half the time, I don’t believe myself, but he drops the topic, as promised. I sling an arm around his shoulders and lead us back to the group. With my mind still in a haze, I force a smile and try to ignore how every one of my limbs ache.
By the time we rejoin my employees, Karim is handing out room keys, and everyone is laughing amongst themselves. I squeeze Wendell’s shoulder and go to Karim to get my room key.
He notices me immediately, already fumbling with the stack of cards in his hands, trying to find mine. “Everything okay?”
I give a sharp nod, keeping my features neutral when all I want to do is wince at the question. There’s suspicion written all over his face, but he won’t ever get close to the answer. None of them will if I can help it. How does that headline sound? Billionaire CEO Alden Van Doren Battles Debilitating Panic Attacks and Anxiety, Board Deems Him Unfit?
Because that’s exactly how it will go. The board, hell, the whole finance community would be in an uproar, and we would lose clients left and right. Nobody would trust me to handle their portfolio when I’m dwindling with mental health issues, ready to snap at a moment’s notice. Even though that doesn’t come close to painting the whole picture, it’s what would get out. The rumours would destroy me faster than I could get a handle on them.
I can’t and won’t allow my personal pitfalls to be my undoing, for the cutthroat finance world to tear me to shreds and exploit a weakness that I can’t even control. So, all my employees will see on this vacation is the cold, detached, and untouchable boss they expect me to be. I’ll give them and the board my best performance yet because we have more important things to worry about.
Narrowly missing another ambush from Charlotte, I bypass her—bypass all of them—and head straight for the elevator.
But everything around me comes screeching to a halt when I hear a melodic laugh drifting through the air. One that flickers and sings in my chest. The feeling is too faint to put a name to it, but it happens nonetheless. I turn toward the sound and become a perfectly still statue. I hold my breath as if any sudden movement might make her disappear.
Monroe is standing outside, just beyond the infinity pool, hands on her hips in a commanding way, as she laughs at something the woman standing next to her says. My eyes, out of habit, rake over her form.
She’s wearing a tight, black low-cut top, the material melding to her like it’s a second skin. Khaki pants that look worn in, comfortable even, and hideous purple and bright blue sneakers that I no doubt have to ridicule when I speak to her. Her raven hair is pulled back, miscellaneous strands poking out in all directions that I discern are on account of the humid air, and I know just by looking at it that she has let it grow out since last summer.
“Who is that?” A voice startles me from behind.
It’s Charlotte. She crosses her arms over her chest, her face pinched with distaste.
“What?”
She tilts her head, staring at me for a long time, before she repeats herself, “Who are you looking at?”
“Nothing. No one…” I say, scratching at my chin absentmindedly. “No one important, I mean.”
A ghastly sound comes from outside, and both Charlotte and I turn our heads. Monroe’s friend turns her so that she is facing me, and I think my heart skips a beat, which is absurd. Is that look on her face for me? The one filled with curiosity and lust. Then, as if just noticing me, her face drops. And I can’t even blame her one bit. So, the mask goes back on, tight and as fitting as ever.
My hand drifts to Charlotte’s lower back as I give Monroe a smirk, raising my brows in acknowledgement. I wait for her to scoff, to dismiss me, but she doesn’t. She only continues to hold my eyes, almost in a challenge. I don’t plan on looking away, and she knows it. I won’t look away until she does first.
Fine. Let the games begin.
She doesn’t break eye contact as she says something else to her friend, no doubt about me, and that lights a fire low in my belly. One that is rife with satisfaction and an unfamiliar eagerness for my name to always be on her lips. I want to be the only thing she has on her mind, not whoever had her attention before. And that doesn’t sit right with me. This desperate need for her thoughts to be filled only with me.
Every year is the same. The looks, the words said to each other in anger. It’s so ingrained in my makeup that I look forward to it—begrudgingly. Some sick part of me seeks out her insults, like an addict.
I’m the one who looks away first, my mind swirling with uncertainty over how captivated I am by that woman. I stuff those ridiculous thoughts into the farthest part of my mind, convincing myself that the heat is making me insane. My jaw tightens as I glare back at her smug expression and dismissive wave.
With a last look, I turn away, leading Charlotte out of the main lobby, the lasting reels of contempt burning underneath my skin. Charlotte grunts in irritation as my hand leaves her back. I don’t dare look back, quickening my pace until she is lagging so far behind me.
There is a small, imperceptible crack in my defence, and if I allow Monroe to push on it, even feather-lightly, I know it will break open and expose me. Something about her strikes something deep inside me, like a hot knife searing through butter, knocking down any and all protection I might have put up.
That settles it, then. Keep Monroe away by any means.