Chapter 31 Good?
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
good?
REY
The sounds from downstairs are not the regular clanging of Xander making his coffee.
This sounds like a bear is loose in the kitchen, and he’s not a happy one.
Fuck, it must have been the door I heard last night, and I completely forgot.
I just went back to Mark without checking.
Oh my God, did Xander hear us having sex?
I don’t know if I can look him in the eye if he heard all that.
The slapping of skin, the wetness, the grunts, and Jesus Christ, my screams—it all echoes in my head. But it was so fucking good I don’t have space to worry about Xander right now.
My fingers trace the pillow where Mark fell asleep last night. The most beautiful man I’ve ever met. Not just his looks, but all of him. He’s incredible.
There’s a crash and shouting in the kitchen, which startles me. I throw on a robe and put my hair into a clip before rushing down the stairs.
“Xander, are you okay?” I yell and stop in the kitchen doorway when I see him crouching on the tiled floor, picking up pieces of white ceramic.
He looks up at me, his brow drawn together, then he squeezes his eyes shut and blows out a breath.
So he heard.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t hear you coming home.”
The laugh that comes out of my big brother is not one I recognise. It’s hollow and fake.
“Are you mad at me?” I pick at a small crack in the door frame, not daring to look at him until I hear the tender Xander-voice I know and love.
There’s just the clinking of the pieces he’s picking up and dropping into the bin with the rest of the broken crockery. I stand still, feeling him seething while he gets up, walks past me to the cupboard, gets a broom and comes back again.
“No,” he says finally, sweeping up the last pieces on the floor.
“Well, a bit actually.” He turns around now, facing me.
“This is my house, and I should be able to come home with a friend without having to excuse my extremely loud sister and her—” He waves a hand towards the door.
“—shag muppet, or whatever he is to you.”
“Shag muppet?” I laugh, and there’s a crinkle forming next to Xander’s eyes, and I hope I can coax a smile out of him, but it disappears fast. “Did you see him?” I ask. Why else is he pointing at the door?
Xander nods, his cheeks turning red the way mine do when I’m embarrassed.
Fuck, why is he embarrassed? “What did you say to him?”
He looks at me now, brows knitted again. “How the hell did your CEO end up here, Rey? What did he tell you?”
I gape at him. He knows who he is? “What did he tell me? What do you mean?”
“You just started as an intern there, and before that you were an HR assistant. How did you even come across the CEO? Did he single you out? What happened?”
I get it now. How did I not recognise it? Xander is concerned, not angry. He’s my protective big brother. This is the same face he had when I fell apart all those years ago, after I failed completely at finishing the collection for the exhibition my mum pushed me to enter. It was the ultimate nail.
I’ve never before or since seen Xander so angry with our parents.
“Xander, I met him in my other job. He didn’t know who I was.”
I lead him to the kitchen island, and tell him everything (except the saucy parts) while I make coffee for both of us. He listens intently, the worry crease on his forehead slowly smoothing out, the look in his eyes softening.
“So you think he’s good for you?” he asks, sipping his hot espresso.
“Good? I think he’s extraordinary.”
“No, I asked if he’s good for you.”
“I’m scared, because… Yes, I do.”
He shakes his head, then downs the rest of his drink. “I was hoping you’d rebuild your life around your art, not a man. It was always your creativity that brought out your spark, and I was just seeing it come back to how I remember it. That light in your eyes. And you have your new friends, right?”
I nod, knowing where this is going. After I stopped painting and started flailing in life, I lost touch with my old group. One by one, I pushed them away.
It was easier to isolate myself.
They wouldn’t understand that I didn’t feel like I fit in anywhere. Not in the art world, in their world, nor with my family’s expectations. And it’s been hard to make proper friends in all my random jobs since.
Yes, I have many acquaintances through K-Models, and Nia, but no one knows all of me.
Right now, the one who knows me best … is Mark.
“How are you going to develop those friendships when you’re lying to their faces?”
“I’m not lying, as much as … not telling them,” I mutter into my cup of coffee, trying to hide the guilt I have for lying to him about the atmosphere modelling as well.
He raises his eyebrows at me, hopefully attributing my blushing cheeks to the conversation at hand.
“It won’t be forever,” I protest, but I’m not sure if it’s Xander or me I’m trying to convince.
I’m staring at my computer screen, but I can’t really see anything. It’s late morning, and I know Mark should be in by now. I’m nervous as hell wondering what it’ll feel like to see him again. How will he look at me? What happens next?
After having had multiple orgasms with a godlike man, I should be giddy, and buzzing and tingling with excitement.
But the same man has also been on repeat in my head.
I swear I heard him say, ‘what have you done to me’ or maybe I dreamt it, I don’t know, but it made my heart swell.
And then everything I felt for Robin before I knew it was Mark, everything that bubbled up in me that day I spent with him at the market, is all coming together into this hard ball sitting under my lungs.
For the millionth time I replay last night; all the compliments, the kisses, his touch, and the tender way he caressed me afterwards. The way he fell asleep in my arms as if he was this innocent creature and not a six-foot something muscular man that had just made me scream his name multiple times.
I’m about to explode with these feelings bunched up in my chest. This is new to me. And the need to see him right away is overwhelming.
As if I have conjured him up, his voice sounds across the office and I turn. He walks with a group of people in suits. He’s in another one of his navy three-piece suits, and the bubble in my chest ruptures.
Fuck, it hurts.
Why does it hurt? Because it’s unrequited? No, he feels something, I’m sure of it. I want him to tell me.
I follow him from a distance down the hall to the large meeting room in the corner, and watch him as he leads the group of people inside. Patrice, his PA, is there. He says something to her, and she walks into the room while he turns.
Away from the room?
He’s coming this way?
Fuck.
Did he see me stalking him? Oh my God, I’m the worst. Talk about being discreet.
I swivel on the spot and pretend I’m very busy looking at a plant and realise I’m right by one of the new vending machines and turn to it instead. That makes more sense as a thing I’d do.
His scent meets me before he does. Oh, that scent. I smelled it on my pillow this morning and it was the only thing I had that confirmed to me he’d been there. Well, that and a delightful ache between my legs.
“Good morning, Rey,” Mark says in a professional tone.
No underlying ‘I really enjoyed myself with you last night’ or ‘I love your cunt’ and my stomach sinks.
He enters a number on the vending machine.
Nonchalance incarnate. I don’t dare look at him for fear of actually falling apart in the middle of the office.
The heat from him radiates and I want to touch him so badly.
“Rey,” he rumbles with the intensity of last night, and finally I look up to meet those hazel eyes.
My heart lurches in my chest, and I stifle a gasp.
“Check your phone,” he says as he dips down, grabs the protein bar from the machine, and then strides back to the meeting room with that formidable straight-backed walk of his.
The suit looks sculpted onto his broad shoulders, and I’m struggling not to melt on the spot.
I need to pull myself together. I’m being way too obvious.
What did he say? Check my phone? Isn’t that all I did this morning?
I return to my desk and get my phone out.
There’s a message from Robin, and a tingle erupts in me. Robin. Should I change the contact name to Mark? It feels strange to put Robin away.
I open it, not sure what to expect.
You need to stop looking at me like that. I can’t get a hard-on in front of potential investors
I burst out laughing. Okay, so he is telling me to stop, but in a fun way.
Three dots appear on the screen. Is he typing while in the meeting?
Another message appears from Robin.
Stay with me tomorrow. Neil will pick you up at 8pm at your place.
Oh my God, he meant it? Is this really happening?
Ping.
Please say yes so I can focus on this meeting
Yes yes yes I’d love to
“Who’s Robin?” a small voice comes from behind me. I gasp and swivel in my chair to find Kaia standing too close. “Is it your man-friend texting you back finally?”
“Jesus, you scared me,” I breathe, clutching the phone to my chest. “Um, yes, he did.” Did she see what he wrote? Surely she wouldn’t make the assumption it’s Mark? That’s too far-fetched.
“You look happier. Glowing sort of.”
Jesus Christ, do I have sex face? Is that a thing?
“Thank you,” I say, smiling in a way I hope is normal and not screaming, ‘yes, I just got absolutely railed by our delicious CEO, thank you very much’.
“Tolu, Noor, and I were talking over breakfast this morning,” she says in her classic monotone voice, which means I never know what she’s about to come out with next (but I find it endearing now).
“We want to have new starter drinks in the office, and Nia said it’s okay as long as we tidy up and leave before ten. What do you think?”
“Oh? That sounds good, I guess. Are we really allowed to drink here? When?”
She shrugs. “Nia said it’s okay. Most of us don’t drink alcohol, but we want to have some fun together. Play some games. And we could always go back to our house share afterwards, seeing as the three of us already have to.”
This must be the closest to excited I’ve seen her in the weeks we’ve worked together, except one of our lunch-breaks when she found out there’s a sweet matcha latte place up the road. There’s almost a smile on her normally stoic face.
“Are you available next Friday?”
“Sure, yes,” I say. Hiding the fact that, for the first time in my life, I might have a man’s house to go to. Although, I’m sure I can swing both. Am I getting ahead of myself? Let’s take one weekend at a time, shall we?