Chapter 20
We spent New Year Eve alone, toasting it with glasses of sparkling cider as we sat in bed with the patio lights on and the bedroom lights off. It was lightly snowing, and we watched the flakes hit the pavers as soft jazz played in the background. It was better than any party we could attend because we were together alone.
Oliver went back to the office full time after the New Year. He was itching to get back into the swing of things. I reluctantly followed him even though I loved the setup we had working from home. I knew he loved rolling his sleeves up and paging through negotiations and contracts. He could do that at home but interaction with his staff would be limited.
My husband liked to gauge moods and reactions by standing face to face with the person. On the first Friday of the year toward the end of the day, I heard yelling coming from Oliver’s office. I’d been nodding off at my desk but now I was wide awake and jumped up, worried that it was something serious.
I found my husband standing at the entrance to his office being held back by security while Tim Stoddard was being restrained back by Henri. Apparently, today was Tim’s termination. They screamed at each other and when Tim saw me, he pointed and said words that threw Oliver into a rage.
“You fucking cunt. This is your fault.”
Oliver ripped free of the security guard, got around Henri and punched Tim so hard in the jaw I could swear I heard his bones crunch together. He slumped to the floor in a heap, and I put my hand over my mouth before Henri ushered me into my office and closed the door behind him.
“Oh my God. Let me out,” I cried, trying to get around him.
“Mrs. Fox, I must insist you stay inside,” he said calmly.
I knew Henri was right and I wondered if Oliver had told him to limit my stress because I was pregnant. It didn’t matter, I saw what I saw, and I found it hard to breathe as I heard talking and movement in the hall.
Henri sat me down on the couch and tried to soothe me but the only one that could was Oliver. Fifteen long minutes later, my husband knocked on the door and came inside. His eyes were wild and face beet red.
I looked up at him as fear gnawed at my belly. “You shouldn’t have hit him.”
“I wouldn’t allow him to speak to you that way. He’s lucky I didn’t kill him.”
“And what would be the purpose of that?”
Henri excused himself, his footsteps fading as he left Oliver and me alone in my office. The door clicked shut, sealing us in a bubble of tense silence. My husband settled into the chair beside me, his arm snaking around my shoulders. The familiar weight of it should have been comforting, but I could feel the anger radiating off him in waves.
"I won't stand for that kind of disrespect," Oliver growled, his jaw clenched tight.
I turned to face him, searching his eyes. "He's a piece of shit. Firing him is what he deserves, but you hit him, Oliver. Now he can sue." I paused, a realization dawning. "What made you so angry before he even called me names?"
Oliver's laugh was cold, humorless. "He won't be suing unless he wants to go to jail." He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I caught him trying to pass our proprietary accounting software to a competitor. If Zane Butler wasn't a friend, he would've copied it for himself, and Stoddard would've been a very rich man."
My eyes widened in shock. "What? He was trying to cheat you?"
"Apparently," Oliver spat, "Tim Stoddard has a mistress with very expensive taste. His credit cards are almost maxed out and he's in debt up to his ears. His six-figure salary wasn't enough to keep his little tart in the lap of luxury, so he decided to shop around our software."
A chill ran down my spine. "How long have you known this?"
Oliver's fingers drummed against my shoulder. "Weeks. The minute Zane got the information, he contacted me. It was before Thanksgiving."
The implications hit me like a freight train. "I was running the company at that time."
Tears welled up in my eyes, and Oliver pulled me close. "Don't," he murmured, his anger softening. "It's not your fault. This could've happened even if I was at the helm."
I pushed away from him, anger and frustration boiling over. "What the fuck were you thinking by putting me in charge?"
Oliver's expression turned serious. "I was thinking my company would be safe. Think about what would have happened if I put Tim in charge, or Todd? They might've gotten their hooks in the company and had me deemed unfit by the board. At least with you, I knew you were capable and safe."
"But I wasn't capable," I choked out. "Tim was screwing us right under my nose."
Oliver's eyes softened, a sad smile playing on his lips. "Now you see why I treat business associates with the utmost respect? Because I get the respect back." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I did collaborations with Zane before. He's a stand-up guy, and I owe him for this."
The weight of everything settled over us like a heavy blanket, leaving us both silent, contemplating the betrayal and the uncertain future ahead.
I shifted uneasily in my chair, one hand resting on my growing belly. "Maybe I should stay home after the baby's born," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
Oliver's eyebrows shot up, surprise etched across his face. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Would you want that? Could you handle being home all the time?"
I chewed my lower lip, considering. "I don't know. Sadie seems to enjoy spending time with Teagan, but I also know there are times she's going stir crazy, especially when Finley is busy."
"You can always work from home," Oliver suggested, his tone gentle. "You did it for a while."
I nodded, exhaling slowly. "I know. We have months to decide."
A soft smile played on Oliver's lips as he reached out to caress my stomach. "I'm sure our son will appreciate his mama being home all the time."
I couldn't help but laugh. "You still believe we're having a boy?"
"I do," he said, his eyes twinkling. "I want a son, but I'll take a little girl just the same."
The stress of the day suddenly felt overwhelming. I closed my eyes, fighting back a wave of exhaustion. "Do you mind if I go home?"
Oliver frowned, concern etching lines across his forehead. He scratched at his scruff, studying me. "You're not feeling well?"
"This is very stressful," I admitted, my voice cracking slightly.
Oliver checked his watch, then glanced at the clock on the wall. It was just after 4 p.m., and I knew he had a conference call at 5. I had planned to stay until he was done, but the confrontation with Tim had left me rattled and unable to calm down.
"I can hold the conference call from home," Oliver said, his decision seemingly made. "We can leave together."
I blinked, surprised. "Are you sure?"
He stood, already gathering his things. "I can do anything from home, you know that."
A smile tugged at my lips. "Yes, you can. Many things."
Oliver's eyes darkened, a familiar heat in his gaze. "Are you in the mood, Mrs. Fox?"
I bit my lip, feeling a blush creep up my neck. "Maybe I am."
He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low, seductive rumble. "Why don't we do this. I'll take my call, and we can have a nice bath together, then order pizza and snuggle in bed."
"Just snuggle?" I teased, my heart racing.
Oliver's grin was wolfish. "The choice is yours. I'm putty in your hands."
I stood, pressing myself against him. My fingers trailed down his chest as I whispered, "As I remember correctly, you're anything but putty."
Oliver's sharp intake of breath was all the response I needed. He grabbed his coat, and we hurried out of the office, the promise of the evening ahead making us both forget, at least for now, the stresses of the day.
“Oh yes, yes, make me come.” I was hanging onto Oliver’s hand for dear life as he rubbed between my legs. We had slipped into the lavender scented bath water a few minutes ago and he was getting me primed for the main event, not that I needed it.
“Give it to me Ryleigh. Come.”
I came on his command, spiraling up and then down a few seconds later. Oliver continued to rub me, barely applying pressure. I was sensitive and tried to pull his hand away.
“It hurts,” I whined.
He pressed a soft kiss to my lips. “Shh, it won’t in a few seconds.”
“I don’t want your fingers,” I whispered.
“I know what you want but let me do it my way.”
I let his wrist go and he latched on to my shoulder with his lips and swirled his tongue against my skin. Just this small gesture had my belly tightening with want. Since Christmas, my sexual appetite had ramped up with my hormonal shift. I wanted Oliver all the time. I hated to admit it, but I got myself off in my personal bathroom at the office.
I couldn’t take the throbbing between my legs any longer and I knew Oliver was busy. However, I had a feeling if I came into his office with a request, he would have moved his schedule around to accommodate me. I was once again deeply in love with my husband. More than likely, I let my anger cloud how I really felt. He was my soulmate and my forever love.
“I think I’d like to take you to bed,” Oliver said.
“Why not here,” I gasped as he applied more pressure to my engorged tissue.
“Because we have more room and I’d like to do a few things this tub does not allow.”
“This tub is as big as a small swimming pool,” I stated.
“Stop being difficult.”
My belly clenched as I grew closer to my second orgasm. I once again latched my hand around Oliver’s wrist in a claw like grip as got ready to come. He gently rubbed me, coaxing it out of me until I completed. After I finished, he slipped out of the tub leaving me to lean against the smooth porcelain as I caught my breath.
Once he was dry and wrapped a towel around his waist which did nothing to hide his erection, he helped me out. He dried me before he led me to the bedroom after he discarded his towel on the vanity. Oliver’s penis was just as hard as it had been a few minutes ago.
“I wish I could carry you,” Oliver sighed, looking at me with a mix of longing and determination.
“Soon,” I assured him, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. “When will you start working out again?”
“Maybe this week. I need to call Bronson to see if he can fit me in. You could still go to Brad, you know.”
“I know, but I’ve been working out downstairs. Of course, you’ve thrown me off my game. You’re a bad influence.”
Oliver smirked, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “We need to get back into rhythm again. I plan to start tonight.”
“There is nothing wrong with that part of our lives,” I said, raising an eyebrow.
Oliver took a step closer, backing me toward the bed. When I felt it against my legs, I dropped down, anticipation coursing through me. He pulled me to the edge, his hands firm yet gentle, and began to assault my swollen tissue with his tongue, lapping at me with long, deliberate strokes. I moaned his name, my fingers tangling in his hair.
“Say it again,” he whispered against me, his breath hot.
“Oliver.”
“Again, Ryleigh.”
“Oliver, Oliver, Oliver,” I chanted, lost in the sensation.
Without warning, I felt him enter me with his cock, filling me completely. He leaned over, placing his hands on either side of my head, and began to pump into me with a steady rhythm. Our eyes locked, and we just stared at each other, the connection between us deep and intense. I reached up and touched his face, scratching at the scruff that had grown thicker since the morning.
“I love you, Oliver,” I breathed, my voice trembling with emotion.
“I know,” he panted, his strokes growing more urgent.
“Arrogant asshole,” I choked out.
His gaze darkened. “You know you’ll need to stop saying those things when our son is born,” he teased, a grin playing on his lips.
“I have at least a few months after before he starts talking,” I replied, biting my lip as Oliver drew me closer to the edge.
My body tightened around him, and I dug my nails into his biceps, moving my hand from his face. I threw my head back, moaning his name as I came, my body exploding into flame. Oliver stilled, pulling out of me after I finished.
“What are you doing?” I asked, breathless and confused.
“I want you in my arms when I come,” he said, climbing onto the bed.
I knew he would be positioning himself against the headboard so we could rock together. I moved to straddle him, sinking down onto his length, and wrapped my arms around his neck. We moved together, a slow and intimate rhythm that built with every thrust. Oliver’s hands roamed my back, pulling me closer as his breath quickened.
“I love you, Ryleigh,” he whispered, his voice strained.
“I love you too, Oliver,” I replied, our foreheads touching.
I couldn’t stop saying it. I truly loved him with all my heart. With one final thrust, he came, his body trembling against mine. We stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, our hearts beating in sync.
“This is so good.” I took a large bite of my pepperoni and sausage pizza, throwing a piece of sausage to Trouble. We were sitting on the bed with the box on top of newspapers as we indulged in the delectable slices. I knew I would sleep like a baby after this. My appetite had picked up as my hormones did and I was sure I gained at least a pound.
I seemed to always be snacking while I sat at my desk. I tried to keep it to healthy snacks, fruit, yogurt and nuts but sometimes I gave in to my cravings and ate something sweeter like a candy bar. I knew chocolate wasn’t good for me but occasionally wouldn’t hurt.
By the time we were finished, Oliver had eaten four hearty slices to my two. Trouble, who had his fill of cheese, sausage and crust was quietly napping in his bed near the closet. After Oliver cleaned up, I removed my pink robe and slipped under the covers naked. It was only 8:30, but I was exhausted as sex, loads of carbs, fat and pregnancy could do.
I was half asleep when Oliver slipped into bed next to me, turning on the television and pulling me over to put my head on his chest.
“How are you, Mrs. Fox?”
I yawned. “Ready for bed.”
“Sleep, my sweet girl. I just want to watch the hockey game.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Yuck, sports.”
“You might hate them, but I plan to dress our little one in my team’s colors.”
“Whatever you want,” I yawned again.
I don’t remember anything after that until I woke up from a disturbing dream while it was still dark out. Oliver was curled around my body and his normal early morning erection pressed into my back. If I had the energy, I would have woke him up, but I decided to try to go back to sleep.
It wasn’t to be. The dream about the dead thing was back and I kept seeing it behind my closed eyes. Even in death, Raphael Caruso haunted me. I thought back to the night my father was killed. I remember it so vividly, even the details before. I went to dance class and my father stopped to get me ice cream.
He seemed so jumpy, but I really wasn’t paying attention as I enjoyed my strawberry ice cream in a sugar cone with colored sprinkles. It was my favorite. I sometimes wonder if we hadn’t stopped at the ice cream shop, would my father still be alive? Probably not. The Carusos would’ve gotten to him somehow but maybe when I wasn’t with him.
I turned in Oliver’s arms and pressed a kiss to his pec, inhaling the lingering scent of his cologne into my nose. He didn’t stir and I did it again and again. I wanted him to keep me company.
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” he mumbled.
I burrowed against him. “Nothing. I just wanted to kiss you.”
“I like your kisses. Are you interested in more?”
“Not now. Just hold me.”
He answered me, the fog of sleep gone from his voice. “Something is wrong. What is it?”
I sighed. “Bad dream.”
Oliver pulled away from me, the sheets rustling as he turned on the bedside lamp on his side. His face was creased with concern as I squinted from the intrusion of light.
He met my gaze. “About?”
I turned on my back and closed my eyes. “The usual.”
“Your father or the shit from our honeymoon?”
“The second one,” I said softly, opening my eyes to meet his.
His face screwed up in pain. “This is my fault.”
I propped my head up with my pillow. “How exactly is it your fault? Did you make the decision for my father to get involved with Antonio Caruso?”
“No, but….”
“But nothing. Once they knew the police were closing in, they acted. I was a witness, even though I really couldn’t identify Raphael. I didn’t remember him, or maybe I tried to push it out of my mind. I wish Ty never dug his heels in,” I said, my voice tinged with regret.
Oliver sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I could say I’m angry at him, but I know he did it because he liked your father.”
“That’s part of it, and the other part is that he thought once the case was solved, it would put my nightmares to rest. Turns out it made them worse,” I confessed, my eyes downcast.
Oliver reached out, taking my hand in his. “I still think you should see a therapist.”
I shook my head, my grip tightening on his. “No. I’m done with therapy.”
“I’m just making a suggestion,” he said softly, his eyes full of concern.
“I understand and appreciate your concern, but it’s closed,” I replied firmly, trying to convey my determination.
“Give me some latitude since I’m your husband. I need to know you’re okay,” Oliver insisted, his tone gentle but unwavering.
“I am okay. This shit probably came to the surface because of that nonsense with Tim,” I said, trying to reassure him.
“Don’t worry about him. He won’t do a thing,” Oliver said, his voice carrying a note of finality.
“I’m allowed to worry. You’re my husband, but I have to tell you, I’m glad you’re back at the helm of Fox. I don’t know how I would’ve handled this situation,” I admitted, my voice wavering slightly.
“I think you would’ve done fine. Don’t sell yourself short,” Oliver said, his hand cupping my cheek.
“I’m not you, Oliver. You have a lot more experience than I do,” I said, leaning into his touch.
“But in time, you’ll learn,” he assured me, his eyes steady on mine.
“I’m not sure I want to learn. I think I’d like to take some time off after the baby is born. Maybe go on some playdates with Sadie and Teagan,” I said, feeling a sense of relief wash over me at the thought.
“You can do whatever you like. I want you to be happy,” Oliver said, his voice full of love.
He kissed me on the top of my head, and I snuggled against his smooth chest, carefully avoiding the ugly scar that told of a time when his life could’ve ended. His arms wrapped around me, holding me close as if he could shield me from all the pain and fear that still lingered in the corners of my mind.
Oliver was gone from our bed when I woke up and next to my feet was Trouble. He was softly snoring. I looked out at the patio and saw that we had gotten a few inches of snow the night before. The white stuff blanketed the pavers and was dripping off the planters as the sun rose higher in the sky.
I stayed in bed, relishing the softness of the sheets and mattress. From the open door, I heard footsteps coming down the hall. Trouble raised his head then put it back down as Oliver walked into the bedroom, his gray shirt and sweatpants darkened with sweat.
“You worked out?” I asked, glancing up from my pillow.
“I’ve been wanting to start,” he replied, stretching his arms. “My physical therapist said there’s no reason why I shouldn’t. It’ll help me get back into shape. I have an appointment with Bronson during the week.”
“Just one?” I raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
“He wants to assess my ability first, and then we’ll move to a more regular schedule.”
“What did you do today?”
“The bike,” he said, a hint of frustration in his voice. “I was afraid to run. I’m not sure if my legs could take it.”
“You’re a marvel,” I said, shaking my head in admiration. “You almost died six months ago, and here you are, getting back into shape.”
“I want to be healthy for the baby and you,” he said, his voice softening. “I want our child to know me until I’m old and gray.”
“Your parents would still be living if not for the plane crash,” I said quietly, the weight of our shared losses hanging in the air.
“We both got a shit deal,” he said, his tone turning somber. “You lost your father, and I lost my parents to tragedy. Life isn’t fair, but you make the best of it.”
“I am making the best of it,” I said, reaching for his hand. “With you.”
“Why is the dog on the bed?” he asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he noticed Trouble sprawled out on the covers.
“Because you weren’t in bed,” I replied, grinning. “He’s your replacement when you leave me alone.”
“It’s not by choice. I want to be here with you,” he said, pulling me close.
“Yeah, yeah, Mr. Master of Industry,” I teased. “Do you have any trips planned?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Haruto Ito thought I would be making my quarterly trip now that I’m better, but I told him I would be sending a representative.”
“And who might that be?” I asked, curious.
“Henri,” he said, a satisfied look on his face. “I’ve promoted him to Tim’s position. He more than deserves it for being my eyes and ears during my recuperation. And because he watched out for you.”
"But Tim was sneaking around on my watch," I mumbled into my pillow, my voice muffled by the fabric. The weight of failure pressed down on me, heavier than the quilt draped over my body.
I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling with unseeing eyes. "Not only was he talking shit about me, but he was stealing from the company right under my nose." My fists clenched, bunching up the sheets. "It grates on me like salt in a wound. I feel so stupid and blind."
Oliver sat on the edge of the bed, his hand finding mine in a comforting gesture. "Ryleigh, it could've happened to anyone, even me. Stop blaming yourself."
I turned to face him, noticing the perspiration on his brow. "Maybe," I conceded reluctantly. "But it makes me wonder how many other employees were taking advantage who haven't been caught. Maybe not stealing our software, but things like time or supplies."
"That's not your concern anymore," Oliver reminded me gently. He stood, peeling off his soaked shirt to reveal his slightly softened physique. "What would you like to do today?"
I sighed, burrowing deeper into the warmth of the bed. "I'm not sure. I feel lazy." My gaze drifted to the window, where delicate snowflakes clung to the glass. "I see it snowed last night."
Oliver nodded, running a hand through his tousled hair. "But it's supposed to be in the forties today, so that will all melt."
"I want it to be spring," I groaned, pulling the quilt up to my chin.
A soft chuckle escaped Oliver's lips. "Soon enough, my sweet." He padded towards the bathroom, pausing at the doorway. "I'm going to shower. Would you like to join me?"
I smiled despite myself. "Sounds like fun, but I'm warm and cozy under this quilt." To emphasize my point, I snuggled deeper into the mattress.
Oliver's eyes sparkled with mischief as he grasped the edge of the blanket. "Don't you dare," I warned, my tone playful but firm.
His brow furrowed with concern. "It's very warm in here. Are you feeling okay?"
"Fine," I insisted, rolling my eyes. "Stop worrying about me."
"Why not?" Oliver countered, his voice softening. "I have two people to worry about now. You and the baby."
My hand instinctively moved to my stomach. "The baby is all nice and snug in my belly. He won't be ready to come out for a long while."
"That reminds me," Oliver said, his face lighting up. "We should think of some names. I like Reginald."
I snorted, unable to contain my amusement. "Are you trying to get our son beat up? That sounds like a historical name."
"I like it," Oliver defended, a hint of a pout on his lips. "We can call him Reggie for short."
"No," I said firmly, pointing towards the bathroom. "Go shower."
Oliver's lips quirked into a grin. "Your wish is my command." As he walked towards the bathroom, he shoved his sweatpants down his hips, giving me a tantalizing view of his backside.