Chapter Ten

The only thing that’s sustaining me right now is the gum cleansing toothpaste I brought with me that has awoken my mouth, and the gift I slipped into Rath’s briefcase this morning when he wasn’t looking.

If it weren’t for those two things, the pilots and flight attendant would be scraping my dead-tired body off the tarmac with one of those giant pizza flippers right now.

I did not get one ounce of sleep last night, and I blame Rath Westin.

I’m going to get all girly for a second because, how could I not, but . . . OH MY GOD! He changed his schedule—for me—so I could go to my grandma’s birthday brunch. He declined a golf invite so I could personally hand deliver a card to my grandma that says, “Do your boobs hang low? They do.” in the prettiest handwriting I’ve ever created. And he didn’t give me grief about it. Even Mr. Danvers wasn’t that nice. He apologized profusely if schedules clashed, but business always came first, so he made sure I was at the event.

I tossed and turned in my bed, trying to wrap my head around the man I talked to last night. The man who didn’t believe money meant he could throw a pilot’s schedule. He believed he’d been an asshole all week, and perhaps on the surface he had been. Never once had he said thank you or showed appreciation for the many accomplishments I achieved. Never once has he asked nicely, but simply demanded his requests be actioned. Asshole? Perhaps. But he made a small gesture that wasn’t so small to me. Renita had been genuinely warm in her praise of Rath during orientation, and I’m finally understanding her sentiment. His friends are lucky. Julia is lucky. Because I think they’re the only ones who see how much the man can give in kindness. He’s a good guy, but he hides behind a tough front.

To say his confession hit me hard is an understatement because now, Rath Westin has a soft spot in my heart.

Lifting my feet onto the seat, I curl into it, strap myself in my seat belt, and lean against the side of the chair, my body begging for some sleep.

“There’s a bed in the back,” Rath says, catching my eye.

“Oh no, you go night-night back there, I’m just resting my eyes.”

He lifts his briefcase to the table and says, “I’m going to be working.” He rifles through his bag and then pauses. His brow pulls together and then he looks at me. He found it. I try to hold back my smile, but it’s impossible.

Pulling out a historical romance, he holds it up to me and says, “What the hell is this?”

I chuckle. “It’s your very first bodice ripper. I inscribed the front for you.”

He flips the front over and reads it out loud. “To Rath, the broody and tempered hero. Enjoy this riveting novel about how men like you can be taken down by a woman like me. Wink. Your assistant, Charlee Cox – like lots of penises, like a bag of them.”

He looks up at me and then shakes his head. He tosses the book at me. “Not going to happen.”

“Hey, I paid six dollars for that and spent a good amount of time at the drugstore between lunch and the event picking out the perfect book.” I toss it back at him. “You better read it and give me a report about your favorite parts.”

“I don’t read—”

“CEOs apparently read fifty-two books a year. At least the successful ones do.”

“I don’t read books like that,” he states.

“It might spice up your life. You said you were single.” I tap the book. “There are some good tips in there, some real from the earth type things.”

His brows sharpen even further. “I don’t need tips.”

“Oh, of course not.” I roll my eyes. “Let me guess. You’re a magician in bed who can make a girl orgasm by only looking at her breasts.”

“That’s highly inappropriate to talk about with your boss.”

“Ugh, snob.” I stand and look behind him. “Bed is back there?”

“Yes, with fresh sheets. Don’t worry about drooling, they’ll change them again.”

“I don’t drool.”

“You did on the drive here,” he says, opening his computer, not even looking at me.

Uh-huh, I see how it’s going to be. Mr. Nice Guy is gone and in his place is the stoic boss man crust pants again. That’s fine. No problem. I’ve read enough to know exactly how to handle men like him. Take them down one inch at a time.

Easy.

My alarm buzzes next to me. I didn’t want to look like a deadbeat assistant, so I set my alarm and took an hour-long catnap. And there is no drool . . .

Standing from the bed, I look in the accompanying mirror and adjust my clothes, wipe at the mascara residue under my eyes, and pat down the flyaway hairs. For waking up at the ass-crack of dawn after little sleep, I did a really good job with my hair and makeup this morning. And of course, I put on a cute pair of white shorts and a blue blouse with my favorite Esperanza sandals, the perfect brunch outfit.

Happy with the not-so-dead look I thought I was sporting this morning, I crack the door open to the main cabin and peek through the slit just in case Rath fell asleep. He was looking tired, and I don’t want to wake him up.

But what I see instead of a sleeping Rath nearly shocks me out of my contact lenses.

Color.

Me.

Surprised.

Sitting in his chair, leg crossed, he’s reading the book I gave him and not just reading it but engrossed in it. I watch as his eyes bounce back and forth over the page, taking in every last word as if his life depended on it.

Not what I read, my ass.

Knowing he doesn’t like to be startled but not caring whatsoever, I count to three and then . . .

“I knew it,” I scream, flinging the door open, startling the book right out of Rath’s hands as he grips the handles of his chair, his chest rising and falling, the terrified look on his face too comical not to laugh.

“What the actual fuck, Charlee?” he asks, leaning his head against the headrest and taking a deep breath.

Walking over to him with a pompous strut, I stand over the book and point at it. “You’re questioning me, when you’re the one reading smut when you should be working.” I tsk at him and pick up the book. “Very daring of you, don’t you think?”

“Jesus Christ.” He snaps the book from my hand and sets it on the table. Then he stands and towers over me for a few seconds, staring me down. Finally, he says, “Move.”

I nervously laugh. “Where are you going, boss man?”

“To check if I have piss in my pants, thank you very much.”

I snort and cover my mouth while he walks past me, his shoulder bumping into mine. As he walks away, I call out, “I have biodegradable wet wipes in my purse if you need them.”

The door to the bathroom slams and I fall into my chair, my head resting against my arms as I lean against the table, unable to hold my body up from the giggles.

That will by far go down as one of my favorite moments of all time.

Aahh, errrrr, pissssssss, heart attack . . . that was the esteemed Rath Westin, ladies and gentlemen.

Tears, I have actual tears.

We pull up to my grandma’s senior living center, feeling a little awkward since Rath is dropping me off as if he’s my dad. Well, technically his driver is dropping me off. I told him I could take a taxi, but Rath wouldn’t allow that.

“Here we are,” I sing-song.

Rath looks up from his phone and nods, then returns to the device. He hasn’t said much to me since the whole fright in flight incident. But, I will say this, he did slip the book into his briefcase instead of pinning me between the eyes with it like I thought he would.

Feeling a little bad, I say, “Do you want to come to brunch? I know you haven’t really eaten anything, and you must be hungry.”

He shakes his head.

“Is that a no to not eating or a no to the party?

He shakes his head again, his head buried in his phone.

“What on earth is so important that—?” I lean over and take a look at his phone. Plain as day, I can see that he’s reading the historical I gave him on his Kindle app. “Oh my God, Rath, you’re reading again.”

He closes his phone and stuffs it in his pocket. “Are you going to sit here all day and chastise me or are you going to go to your grandma’s brunch?”

“I was asking you a question but you were too rude to even acknowledge me. What were you reading, a sex scene?”

“No.” He looks out the window and I can’t help it, I glance at his crotch trying to detect if there are any boners. “What are you doing?” he asks, snapping my head up. Was I really just leaning close to his lap?

“Heh, fell asleep for a second.” I clear my throat. “Anyway, do you want to—”

The door whips open and the car fills with my grandma’s cheering.

“Chuckie, you made it. I’ve been worried you were going to miss the virgin mimosas.”

“Wouldn’t that just be orange juice then, Grandma?”

“Of course, but it’s fancier to think you’re sucking a mimosa from a virgin.” She leans her small and wrinkly body over mine and winks at Rath. “Am I right?”

“Uh . . .” he says, not quite sure how to respond.

“My oh my, is this your new boyfriend?” Grandma asks, giving Rath a once-over. “He is a looker. Those eyes, you’ve always been a sucker for blue eyes.”

Rath lifts a brow in my direction as my face heats from embarrassment.

“Grandma, this is—”

“Oh, and look at the way he so crisply rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt. It’s like he used a ruler. So precise. And look at that, no chest hair, at least from what I can see. I don’t have my glasses on.” She horrifyingly pats Rath’s leg and asks, “Got any chest hair, son?”

“It’s trimmed,” he answers, his voice sounding incredibly deep.

For some reason, his answer sends a wave of heat through my body, causing a crash of sweat to hit my upper lip and forehead. Rath trims his chest hair; that’s information I didn’t want to know, because now I’ll picture it whenever his shirt buttons puff open, the short little strands barely dancing over his thick chest.

Yes, thick chest. I’m a woman, I’ve noticed. He has pecs, the kind of pecs that are noticeably defined in a button-up shirt when he takes his suit jacket off. The kind of pecs that pull and tug on his shirt fabric. The kind women beg to drag their nails over just like my grandma is doing right now.

Wait . . . what?

“Grandma, stop that.” I smack her hand away. “This is my boss, Mr. Westin.”

“Oh, that would explain why you’re sitting so far apart.” She speaks to Rath and doesn’t bother to apologize when she says, “Trust me when I say you are Charlee’s type to a T, so imagine my shock that she’s not hanging all over you. I get it, you’re the boss.”

Well, I’ll be turning in my resignation on Monday or dying from mortification.

Smiling like the cat who caught the canary, he holds his hand out to my grandma and says, “Happy birthday.”

“What a gentleman.” She tugs on his hand, pulling him so Rath’s chest is to my back now. Oh God, what is happening? “Come on, you’re coming with me.” She pulls on him some more until we’re both out of the car and I’m brushed to the side.

“Grandma, Mr. Westin has a lot of things to do. He can’t . . .” My voice trails off as they happily go hand in hand into the community center. “Well, isn’t that just rich,” I mutter, tossing my purse over my shoulder and stomping into the center closely behind them.

“You are positively a gas.” My grandma laughs while placing her hand on Rath’s knee.

He’s surrounded by the senior center women while the men are off watching some old TV rerun. Food has been eaten, virgin drinks have been served, and I’ve become the designated clean-up girl, with the soul responsibility to make sure no dentures are thrown out with plates. It’s common knowledge in these parts that the residents would rather walk around toothless than have to wear a super bond denture cream. So, when they eat, they take them out. Some are forgetful and neglect to put them back in their containers.

While I’m over here, looking out for dentures, Rath is having one hell of a time, chatting up everybody.

Glad he’s having fun.

Glad they get to see him smiling, chuckling here and there. Something I’m never privileged to witness.

I consider shouting to all of them with a megaphone that he likes to read smutty books but think better of it. I’m salty, but I don’t want to be fired.

Ha, not like he would fire me.

I’m too good to fire.

I’m too valuable.

I’m the teat that feeds him the nectar he needs.

“Need some help?” he asks, coming up next to me.

Irritated, I spin around and poke him in the chest—his trimmed chest. “I am your teat. You better not forget that.”

Caught off guard, he blinks a few times. “Am I missing something?”

“It’s been a week, but you’re already suckling, admit it. I’m your teat.”

He pulls on the back of his neck and looks at the ladies who seem to be whispering and staring at both of us. “Charlee, what the fuck are you talking about?”

Growing more irritated, I say, “If you don’t know what I’m talking about, I’m afraid I can’t help you.” I turn back around and finish cleaning up before taking off toward the serenity garden.

Taking calming breaths, I try to get my head on straight. Why am I so upset right now?

Maybe because I was looking forward to spending some time with my grandma, and she’s been fawning over Rath the entire time.

Well, that’s not true, not the entire time. I did get some good conversation in when we were sharing a cinnamon bun, but still, it seems like she likes Rath more than me.

That’s a stupid thought. Of course she doesn’t. He’s just new and shiny and she likes new and shiny things.

“You okay?” Rath’s voice asks from behind me.

I turn around to see him walking toward me, and my grandma’s words hit me hard as he makes his way across the pea gravel.

My type to a T.

She could not be more right about that. But I’ve made a valiant effort of not acknowledging his devastatingly mesmerizing blue eyes that catch the light in just the right way to remind me of the Caribbean Sea, or that his face is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced in real life, overwhelmingly handsome with an edge of mystery that has me questioning what he could possibly be hiding. Then there’s his body, his tapered waist, his pecs—already mentioned those—his biceps and forearms. He’s all strength in a jacket and trousers, putting a new meaning to the term power suit.

But I’ve been able to ignore all of that until now, until my grandma ripped the veil right off my eyes and forced me to look at him in a different way. And maybe that’s the real reason I’m mad, because I shouldn’t be looking at my boss like this. I shouldn’t be having these butterfly-like feelings in my stomach as his eyes connect with mine, and I certainly shouldn’t be having a shortness of breath when he asks me if I’m okay.

“Yeah,” I answer, looking away because frankly, I can’t look him in the eyes right now. I’m too afraid he might see something in my face, that I might give myself away.

Do I have feelings for him? No.

But do I think he’s extremely attractive? I would be stupid not to think so.

“You seem tense. And that whole teat thing . . .”

“That was weird, huh?” I ask, kicking dirt.

“Just a tad.” He comes up next to me but keeps his distance. “Your grandma is nice. I like her.”

“She’s pretty cool.”

He grows quiet for a few seconds before saying, “My grandma, who I was close with, passed away a few years ago. Your grandma reminds me of her so”—he shrugs—“I’m sorry if I’ve been hogging her this morning.”

And just like that, Rath Westin earns another piece of my heart, a small piece, but another piece at that.

“You don’t need to apologize,” I say, letting the tension fall from me when I realize that he was enjoying my grandma’s company rather than just being nice.

“You seemed upset about it. Thought I should.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets and in this moment, he doesn’t reflect the ostentatious businessman in the high-rise building. Instead, he looks like the everyday man trying to get from day to day. It’s a stark contrast from what I’m used to seeing from him. I like it.

A lot.

“Well, thank you, I appreciate it, but an apology’s not necessary.” I nod toward the rec center. “You most likely made my grandma’s birthday. She’s young at heart if you can’t tell.”

“That’s obvious.” He chuckles. It’s quiet, but it’s there, and for the first time since I’ve known him, I can say that chuckle was for me and not for anyone else. “She’s very vibrant. I see where you get it from.”

“You think I’m vibrant?”

He tilts his head to the side. “You are undoubtedly the most vibrant person I know and that’s saying something because I’m pretty sure Bram shits rainbows.”

I tap my chin. “So, if he shits out rainbows, what do I crap?”

He shakes his head. “I have no fucking clue and I don’t want to know.”

“TMI?”

“Yep.”

Sighing, I start to travel around the small garden. Rath follows behind me but still keeps his distance. “I remember when they were putting this koi pond in. The residents were so excited, until they realized how expensive koi are.”

Rath glances at the pond. “There are no fish?”

“Yeah, exactly. They just like to hear the sound of the water trickling, but there are no fish. The residents pretend they’re there.”

Rath furls his brow as he stares at it.

“And do you see these rocks over here? They were supposed to be stone chairs but budget cuts left them as rocks instead, so not many residents get to sit out here.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because,” I say, rounding the circle and coming back to the entrance of the rec center. “Despite the downfalls of their idea”—I point to a little old man who’s sitting in his walker with giant sunglasses over his face—“there are still some residents that find beauty in the area. Just like my grandma. She might be a little crazy and forthright, but she finds beauty in everything. She taught me that. No matter the circumstance, there has to be beauty somewhere.” I look up at Rath and notice how baffled he looks. Makes me think back to that first day in his office. It was a week ago but feels so much longer now. Everything was dark . . . monochrome. Lacking in . . . beauty. “You don’t view the world like that, do you?”

He shakes his head. “I view the world as numbers and equations. Someone is always calculating something to get ahead of the game, to screw over the next person. That’s why I’m always working, so I’m never caught up in someone else’s equation.” Equations? I know you have to be shrewd to be a billionaire like Rath is, but surely there’s more to life than equations and avoiding being screwed over . . . unless . . . unless that’s why there is only equations and work.

I give him a sad smile. “Someone hurt you, didn’t they?”

He looks to the side and then down at his watch. Avoidance, an excuse to bolt is coming. I can feel it. And just like clockwork, he says, “I better get going. I’ll send Joel to get you when you’re done.”

Resigning to his unwillingness to open up, I say, “It’s his off day. I’ll take the ferry. I’m fine.”

He doesn’t fight it. I see the choice of flight form. One serious question and he wants out of here as soon as possible.

“I’ll say goodbye to your grandma on my way out. See you tomorrow.” He gives me a curt nod and then takes off.

“Bright and early,” I say with a smile, but he doesn’t say anything back. Instead, he makes his way through the rec center and I huff out a sigh of frustration.

Too much, too soon, Charlee. Who could have possibly had the power to hurt him so significantly?

“Hey Grandma. Yes, I got home safe.”

“No, that’s not why I’m calling,” she says into the phone, crying hysterically, sending my entire body into red-alert mode. I pop off the couch and start throwing on my shoes, forgetting I’m not even wearing pants.

“What’s wrong? I’m on my way.”

“Why are you on your way?”

“Because you’re crying. I’ll take a sick day tomorrow. Whatever it is, just tell me what happened. Is it . . . Earl? Is his heart okay?” I might have become friends with some of the residents. They’re family at this point.

“No, Chuckie, it’s the koi pond. There are finally koi in it.”

“Wait, what?” I pause, one shoe on, the other halfway hanging off my foot. “There are fish in the koi pond?”

“Yes. And that beautiful man of a boss you have donated them to the senior center in my name, along with three benches to sit around the pond so we can observe our new friends. They’re being installed as we speak. He left me a card that says, ‘Happy birthday. Thank you for letting me spend your special day with you.’ Isn’t that the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard?” I fall to my couch, all the blood in my body draining away as my grandma continues. “We’re beside ourselves over here. We’ve already started making a list of names for the fish. We’re going to be very particular about what we call them, but I can tell you right now, the most handsome of them all will be called Rath. That’s something I won’t budge on.”

Rath bought my grandma fish?

And benches?

My heart squeezes in my chest from the unexpected thought and gesture the rough and cold man made.

The next five minutes is spent listening to my grandma gush on the phone, but it goes in one ear and out the other. Because all I can focus on is the contradictory soul I have to face tomorrow. How I have to act as if everything is normal, as if he didn’t just crack me open and spread warmth and joy through my veins by such a considerate gift.

He made my grandma cry, and whether that’s from joy or sadness, it’s still rare. She's going to name a fish after him. My boss. And that’s why he’s a man I need to work harder to keep emotional distance from. That man, the considerate, thoughtful man, is far too dangerous for my heart. When I face Rath tomorrow, he can’t know he has that sort of power over me. He can’t know that if I wasn’t this strong, he’d probably own three very small pieces of my heart. If I wasn’t strong. But I am.