Chapter Thirteen

“Imissed you.” Warm arms wrap around me, followed by a kiss to the cheek. “God, you look good.” Bram steps away, observing me, his lip print still on my face. I wipe it off quickly and walk into his apartment.

“I’m all for our bromance, but dude, kissing?”

“I’m just so happy,” he says, slapping me in the ass with a thwack. “I haven’t seen my Rathy Poo Poo in a while.”

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

He chuckles and says, “Seriously, man. I’ve missed you.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Work has been fucking stressful lately.”

“Taking on more things?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Just, training and all of that.” Not that I’ve really trained Charlee at all . . . more like she’s trained me.

I’m using the colored-coded pens for each corresponding day, doing the dishes for the both of us, watering the plants like she’s scheduled me to do. Christ, I even whistle theme songs as per the added suggestion she made, and I’m pretty sure Sir Dragomir enjoys “Wheels on the Bus” the most. His leaves seem to be shining more ever since I started whistling that specific tune.

“Aah yes, the new assistant. Still liking her?”

“Yeah.” We both walk to the kitchen and sit at the bar. “She’s doing a more than adequate job.”

“That’s good to hear, given your latest failures when it comes to assistants. Maybe she can schedule more meetings where I’m involved. I haven’t even talked to you about the wedding.” He cringes. “Are you really okay with it being on your birthday?”

“Yes. Dude, I don’t care. All I care about is you two getting married and having the best day ever.” I point at him. “And don’t get me a cake.”

“Too late, it’s already been ordered and I got it with a picture of your penis on the top.”

“Shut the fuck up.” I laugh. “Where would you even get a picture of my penis?”

“Sophomore year, college . . .”

“Oh fuck.” I laugh some more, thinking about the night I got so wasted, I ran around our frat house giving every guy not passed out a view of my “helicopter.” Yes, before I was Rath Westin, CEO of a billion-dollar company, I was Rath Westin, flings his willy around when drunk. “I thought I told you to get rid of those.”

“I did. I got rid of them right into a safety deposit box and secured them safely in a bank to use when I need them as blackmail.”

“And you’re going to waste that blackmail opportunity on a penis cake at your wedding? How do you think Julia is going to like singing happy birthday to my cock cake on her wedding day?”

He scratches the side of his face. “Hmm, valid point. The missus would most certainly not like that. Looks like you just saved your nudity for another day.”

“Can’t wait.” I laugh. “What else is going on?”

“Invites were sent out, flowers have been chosen, so things are starting to feel official.”

“What do you mean they’re starting to feel official? You guys already paid for the venue.”

“Did I tell you we’re having a Venetian hour?”

“Really? I’ve only been to one other wedding where they had a Venetian hour and it was so fucking good, I thought I was going to vomit from eating too many sweets.”

“That’s why we decided to have one, because of you. We asked for all the exceptional pastries, so consider it a birthday present.”

I chuckle and don’t even hide my honesty when I say, “I’m going to make a fool of myself at your wedding. People are going to ask where your best man is and there I’ll be, huddled in the corner, pants undone, chocolate dripping down my face, in a straight-up food coma.”

“And I’ll make sure my photographer gets multiple shots to add to my blackmail security box.”

“Brutal,” I say, helping myself to some chocolate milk. “Want some?”

“You know I do.”

As I’m pouring us each a glass of some pre-made chocolate milk—not surprised there’s some in his fridge—the door swings open and Roark walks in with Sutton attached at his hip, each with an arm draped around each other.

I remember when Roark started talking about Sutton. He was so caught up in her, I knew right then and there, he wasn’t going to be able to leave her side, and no matter how hard he tried to fight it, he finally gave in. I’ve never seen him happier.

“Hey lads,” he calls out with a wave. “Pour me a glass, will ya?” He turns and asks Sutton, “Want some chocolate milk?”

“I’m good.” Confused she asks, “Is that what you guys drink now?”

“Yup,” I answer, handing out the glasses. We clink them together and start guzzling, the sweet chocolate flavor hitting the right spot.

Bram called me the other night, inviting me to game night. He said he had some things to talk to me about but wanted to butter me up with some snacks and games first. I’m tempted to pull him to the side and ask him what exactly he needs to talk about but I know he will when he’s ready.

So, game night it is, and guess who’s the odd man out? This fella right here.

“Where’s Julia?” I ask, thinking my sister would have already come out to give me a hug.

“At a conference. She’s talking about the matchmaking system she’s created. It’s kind of a big deal.”

“Oh, awesome. I’m surprised she didn’t tell me about it.”

“Last minute actually, which of course she freaked out about. You know how she loves being prepared.”

She does. “So, it’s just us then?” I ask, clapping my hands together and moving to the living room where there are pizza bites, Doritos, pigs in a blanket, the smallest veggie tray ever, and pretzels laid out on the coffee table as well as Pictionary cards, a timer, and whiteboard markers.

There’s a knock at the door and Bram says, “And I invited Linus, who’s bringing a plus-one. That should be them.”

The minute Bram says Linus, I get this sinking feeling in my stomach, like I might know who his plus-one is.

“Linus, the light of my life,” Bram says, opening the door. If I wasn’t so enraptured in looking for his plus-one, I’d be mildly insulted that Bram called another man the light of his life.

“Thanks for inviting me.” He holds out a tray of milkshakes and says, “Brought our favorite.”

“I could kiss you,” Bram says, “But that would create some serious HR nightmare.” He looks around. “Did you bring someone with you?”

“I did, she’s—”

“Here I am,” a very familiar voice says, popping into my line of view.

Fuck.

“I was tying my shoe.” Charlee holds up a box of pastries. “Thought we would bring our bosses’ favorite treats. Pastries and milkshakes for everyone.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

There goes my relaxing night.

Immediately I tense up and want to punch Bram in the nuts. This is why you don’t invite assistants. This exact reason. Because now I can’t be myself. I’ll have to put on a veil so Charlee doesn’t see the real me. And I’ve worked so hard at keeping that veil firmly in place whenever I’m around her.

“Paulie’s Pastries. Oh, you know Rath so well.” Bram takes the box and lets Linus and Charlee in.

Not even giving it a second thought, Charlee, comes galloping up to me and holds out her hand for a high five.

I just stare at it.

“Come on, boss man crabby pants, don’t leave me hanging.”

“That would be awfully rude,” Roark says, a giant asshole smile on his face. He doesn’t even need to speak to me, I know exactly what he’s thinking. I can already see it, feel his gaze. He’s going to be watching me like a hawk the entire time to see how I react to Charlee. He did the same thing to Julia and Bram. He’s an observant motherfucker, one of the things that makes him great at his job, but a trait that makes him a very annoying friend.

Reluctantly, I give her a high five, which causes her to cheer, bouncing up and down in her green leggings and black T-shirt that says Game Night Bitches. Of course, she has a game-night shirt. I wouldn’t expect anything less at this point.

“I’m so pumped, aren’t you?” she asks, jabbing me in the side with her finger.

“Are you high?” I ask. Her energy level is far too extreme right now.

“High on life.”

Linus comes up to us and says, “She was worse in the taxi, Mr. Westin. Be grateful you’re getting this version of her.”

“None of this mister crap,” Bram says, placing the pastries and milkshakes on the coffee table as well. “Quick intros. I’m Bram, this is Rath, Roark, his girl, Sutton, this is Linus and Charlee, Rath’s EA. We call each other by our first names. Got it?” He rubs his hands together. “Now, we’re going to choose teams. Should we do two teams of three, or three teams of two?”

“Three teams,” Roark chimes in before I can even open my mouth. “And I suggest it be me and Sutton, Bram and Linus, since Linus is the light of Bram’s life, and then see how the new boss and assistant relationship is going with Charlee and Rath.”

The motherfucker.

A protest is on the tip of my tongue—

“Great idea,” Bram says, going along with it. I have a sinking suspicion I’ve been set up.

Standing next to me and looping her arm through mine, Charlee points at everyone and says, “Team Skittle Pals is taking you all out.”

I shake my head. “That’s not our team name.”

“No?” she asks, turning toward me, hands on her hips. “Then what? The Lemon Curdies?” Roark snorts. “Pretty Pastry Players? The Historical Nancies—”

“Rath and Charlee is fine.”

“Or Rarlee.” She laughs. “You are my work husband after all, so why not have a couple name?”

Because that would be massively inappropriate.

Because I also kind of like Rarlee, and I don’t want to admit to calling ourselves that.

Bram steps up and says, “I’m going to put you two down as The Lemon Curdies because frankly, it makes me giggle so much that my penis jiggles.”

“Can you not say shit like that?” I ask, dragging my hand over my face.

“Why? You told me you laughed so hard the other day that your penis bobbed up in the air a few times.”

“Dude,” I say through clenched teeth, my face turning bright red. Charlee doesn’t need to know that I thought it was funny when I laughed and my cock bobbed up. And that the more I laughed about it, the more it bobbed.

Things employees don’t need to know about their boss with an immature frat-boy brain.

And it’s not like Roark is any help. He’s sitting back laughing.

Sutton, the graceful distraction that she is, says, “We’d like to be called Team Whiskey Innocence.”

“Oh, I like that,” Bram says, writing the names down on the separate whiteboard where we’ll keep score.

“And I think we should be Brinus Braniacs,” Bram says to Linus. “Because we have no shame in our work relationship name.” I’m really not pleased with how “comfortable” Bram is with Linus. First and foremost, he’s my best friend . . . not Linus’s.

“Got a tattoo of it on my ass,” Linus says, pausing Bram in his pursuit to write down the name. Suck-ass.

Shit, did I really think that about Linus? Hell, I’m so out of whack right now.

“Did you really? Because if that’s true, I very well might throw HR out the window tonight and propose to you. Julia is hot and smart, so she can find someone else.”

Linus chuckles and says, “Well, if I ever want you to leave Julia, I know what to do now.”

As Bram sets up the game, Charlee turns to me and pokes my arm. “You’re tense. You can’t be tense if the Lemon Curdies are going to take the trophy tonight. Loosen up, Rath.”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay, sure. You’re fine.” She pokes me again. “What’s wrong? Are you seriously always this tense? You were more relaxed the other night—”

“What happened the other night?” Roark asks, butting in like the asshole he is.

“Stayed late.” Charlee rolls her eyes. “This guy actually loosened up for a second.”

“Only for a second?” Bram asks and then laughs. “You should have seen him in college.”

The exact thing I didn’t want to fall out of Bram’s or Roark’s mouths tonight.

“You know, how about we don’t talk about that shit to my assistant who needs to respect me,” I say in warning.

“Ah, are you worried I’m not going to respect you?” She bumps my shoulder with hers. “Never going to happen. Not after the koi pond present. Which by the way, my grandma called me the other day and told me she hung out with Rath the fish for an hour yesterday. She’s so happy.” Charlee looks up at me with those round, mesmerizing eyes and says, “Thank you, again.”

Hands stuffed in my jeans pockets, I casually say, “It was nothing.” Everyone around us is putting plates of food together and talking about the calorie intake we’ll be taking down tonight, giving me a small minute alone with Charlee. “If I knew you were going to be here, I wouldn’t have shown up,” I say honestly.

“Why not?” Her eyes turn from admiration to confused. “I thought we were cool, Rath.”

“We are,” I whisper. “But I . . .” I look over at my guys, making brief eye contact with Roark. “My friends have no filters. They’re going to say some inappropriate shit. I try to keep personal and business separate.”

“I can understand and appreciate that.” She presses her hand to my arm and I swear to God, my entire body feels like it ignites into flames from her small touch. It’s instant and uncontrollable, as if this attraction I’ve been harboring toward her somehow came floating to the surface in seconds, like something deep within me unleashed it. And I have no idea why.

Maybe it’s the soft makeup she’s wearing, or the excitement in her beautiful features, or the way she’s worn her hair half up, half down, exposing a soft slope of her neck. Or it might be the way her shirt clings to her breasts, or how I can see the definition in her legs from her leggings.

Whatever it is, my body is humming, my brain is turning foggy, and I realize, I could get into some serious trouble tonight if I’m not careful.

“But guess what, Rath? If we’re going to have a long working relationship, we’re going to have to know some things about each other, some personal things, and that’s okay, because it will only make our bond stronger. Better.” She squeezes my arm and I have this all-consuming feeling to pull her into my chest, dip her backward, and run my tongue along her neck. Yup, I’m fucking screwed. “Trust me, for every embarrassing story I learn about you, I’ll reply with one of my own.”

She winks and then helps herself to some food.

And because I’m the asshole that I am, I watch her bend over and take in her perfect little ass and lack of panty line.

Fucking . . . screwed.

When Charlee said she’d tell me a secret about her every time Roark or Bram revealed something about me, she wasn’t lying.

She’s actually religiously kept her word.

During the evening, to my detriment, she now knows I used to pee in hampers when I was drunk, I once got my head stuck in the staircase rails and they had to call the fire department to release me, I once wore skirts to class for a week, and . . . I was walked in on while shaving my lower regions while sporting a massive boner. That was the one that made me want to throw myself out the window of Bram’s high-rise.

But in return, of course, I now know Charlee was caught giving her high school boyfriend a blow job in her parents’ minivan; she puked on her English teacher’s desk in high school from a hangover; she also has peed in a few hampers in her lifetime, a bonding moment she thought was great, but I did not; and the kicker to the crotch—she has yet to know what a “good licking” (as she put it) feels like.

It’s bad enough I keep staring at her ass every time she stands up to draw on the whiteboard, now I have the image of a sexually frustrated Charlee in my head while her inadequate partners try to make her come with their tongues.

What the fuck are they doing down there if they can’t get her off? Just laying their dead tongues on her clit hoping for a miracle?

To say the least, the evening has been fucking torture.

“Oh my God, it’s so Bull Durham,” Charlee says, whispering into my ear.

And then there’s that.

The whispering, the touching, the friendship she thinks we’re developing, when in fact, all she’s doing is turning me into a horny bastard. She’s good at Pictionary, really good . . . when other people are drawing, she gets the answers in seconds, whispering it into my ear, sending chills up and down my spine. But when it’s our turn, we seem to have a disconnect. And it’s all my fault, because I can’t seem to focus on what I’m drawing when she sits in front of me, her head at dick height, hopping up and down and shouting answers. It’s as if I unzipped my pants, I could shut her up with my cock in her mouth.

And I’ve thought about it on multiple occasions.

Every time I have to draw.

The thought is so vivid that I can’t think of anything else. Every time I stand, I’m tempted to move her hair to the side and bring her head to my crotch.

And.

I.

Can’t.

Think.

That.

She’s.

My.

Executive.

Assistant.

But right here in this room, while we’re having a game night with my friends, with her on her knees before me, she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and if I’m completely honest, I want to ravish her.

Fuck.

Talk about causing a reaction from everyone around us.

Then again, I don’t think Roark would be surprised, because he’s been watching me so closely, he can probably read every dirty thought that’s entered my mind.

But even with my distractions, we’re not the ones losing. Bram and Linus are, and let’s just say Bram is not taking it well at all. Quite upset and distraught, he’s resigned to shoving his mouth full of food rather than trying to take a stab at guessing other people’s drawings for the steal when the team time runs out.

“Your turn,” Bram says, tossing the marker at me.

Charlee reaches behind me and massages my shoulders, leaning forward so her breath tickles my ear. “You got this, boss man. Simple drawings. I’m a superior guesser. The win is in the bag for us.”

Fuck, she needs to stop touching me like that, or maybe move her hands forward over my shoulders and down my pecs to my nipples . . .

Shaking my head, I stand abruptly and pray to the boner gods that I keep things under control.

“Team Lemon Curdies,” Charlee says, like every time it’s our turn, and pumps her fist to the air.

Fuck, she’s adorable.

Really fucking adorable.

Her smile is infectious, her excitement thrilling, and the way she gets all handsy when playing competitively, let’s just say I can feel her handprints all over my body.

Okay, focus, Westin.

I pick up a card and say, “It’s an action.”

Charlee claps her hands. “Action, got it. Let’s go.”

I glance at the clue and Bram starts the timer.

Cannon blast.

Easy. Focus. You’ve got this.

I draw a circle for the wheel and then two lines for the cannon.

“Penis,” Charlee shouts, falling to her knees in front of me like every time before and staring up, her exhilarated eyes searing through me. “Penis, big penis. Small penis.”

“It’s an action,” Bram says.

“Oh right.” Charlee nods.

Trying to help my cannon look less like a penis, I attempt to draw a circle for the opening but end up making it more like a head. Fuck.

“Thrusting penis. Pelvic thrusting penis. Cock . . . cocking-up cock. Oh dick. It’s a dick. Dicking around. Is it dicking around?”

Christ.

I draw another “cannon” and this time, I draw a circle and think it looks more like a cannon opening when Charlee says, “Penis hole. Penis neck. Penis . . . Oh. Circumcising penis. Circumcision. It’s circumcision!” she shouts even louder. Tugging on my pants, she asks, “Is it circumcision?”

I shake my head, grind my teeth together, and draw a blast from the top of the cannon hole, but boy oh boy, does that make it exponentially worse.

“Ejaculation. Boner ejaculators. Boner coming. My boner is coming. The penis is coming. Oh! Coming cock. It’s coming cock.”

Jesus Christ, stop saying coming. And cock! For the love of God, stop saying cock. I shake my head, swallowing hard.

“Penis . . . Uh . . . penis.”

“Ten seconds,” Bram calls out and that’s when Charlee puts the guessing into full force, turning me bright red as her head bobs with answers right in front of my crotch.

“Wet dreams, premature ejaculation, come on my face, coming on a face. Coming on tits.” She pokes my leg, looking straight up at me. “Is it come on my tits?” I. Am. Dying. A. Slow. Death. “No, okay. Cock clock. Penis . . . penis . . . penis . . . penis . . .”

“Time.”

“Mother-effer, is it pre-cum?”

I drag my hand over my face and toss the pen on the coffee table. “Cannon blast,” I say on a squeak, my libido at 100 percent from the onslaught of her saying cock and come on my tits.

“Huh.” She sits back on her heels and taps her chin. “Yes, I can see where I missed the mark there. Guess my mind was just on the male phallus.” I got nothing. No words. Barely any breath. Nothing.

“Don’t be hard on yourself. I was thinking the same thing, especially since the comparison of the picture to Rath’s member is uncanny,” Roark says.

“And the jizz . . . spot on,” Bram adds. “He always considered himself a cannon. Remember the time you—?”

“Would you look at that,” I say. “Roark and Sutton won. Game over.” I pick up my water and walk toward the balcony of Bram’s apartment. In desperate need for some fresh air to not only cool off, but to give me a second to calm down my racing heart and raging hormones.

The door to the balcony opens and softly closes. I don’t need to turn around to see who it is, because at this point, I can sense her.

I’m leaning against the stone wall with my forearms, my glass gripped in my hands when Charlee comes up next to me.

She bumps me with her hip and says, “You okay?”

“Fine. You?”

She smiles softly at me and turns around so her back is against the wall and we’re facing each other. “Pretty sure you’re never going to look at me the same after the penis parade I just had.”

I’m not going to be able to look at you the same for many other reasons, mainly because those leggings are doing all sorts of things to my imagination.

“Nah, you’re good,” I say, staring at my water glass.

“Doesn’t seem like it. You were beet-red in there. I thought you might explode. I hope I didn’t embarrass you.”

I shake my head. “You didn’t. My friends on the other hand . . .”

“They weren’t that bad. I’m pretty sure if you gave my grandma some time, she’d tell you way worse things about me. I think you got off pretty easy.”

“I’m your boss.”

“So you like to remind me.” The wind breezes by us, picking up her soft blonde hair, sending her shampoo scent in my direction. Tea tree and lavender. “You know, it’s okay if we get to know each other, Rath.”

“We need to keep things platonic.”

“We are. Unless you’ve been making out with me without my knowledge.”

I grip my glass tighter when I say, “I mean we need to keep things professional.”

“Why? Why are you being such a stickler about this? Have you boned your assistant before?” Fuck. I cringe and when I don’t say anything, understanding washes over her. “Ohhhh, you totally boned your assistant before. This makes so much sense. Who was she?”

I shake my head. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is that it doesn’t happen again.”

“Trust me, I’m sure you’re going to have an easy time with keeping it in your pants. From the way you brush me off easily, there’s zero attraction when it comes to me.”

I dip my head, biting my tongue, wanting to tell her she’s right, but I know it will come out as a blatant lie.

“Right, Rath . . . no attraction?”

I swallow hard and tilt my bent head toward her.

Her eyes widen and realization crosses over her eyes.

Now she’s the one who swallows hard.

I clear my throat and stand a little taller. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s something.”

Snapping at her, I say, “It’s nothing.” From the shocked look on her face, I immediately regret the harsh tone in my voice. “Charlee—”

“It’s getting late. I should get going.”

She pushes off the wall and walks back into the apartment as I say, “Charlee, I’m sor—”

But the door shuts before I can finish my sentence.

Fucking great.

And this is exactly why I wanted to avoid after hours with Charlee Cox, because now she knows something she shouldn’t . . . and I’m not talking about me peeing in hampers.

She knows I think she’s attractive . . . and that’s the first step down the I’m fucked hole.

“Charlee bolted out of here quick,” Bram says, resting on his couch once we cleaned up and everyone took off but me since Bram wanted to talk to me. “Apparently she doesn’t feel comfortable peeing in other people’s places. That’s what Linus told me as well. Sounded like a bogus excuse to get the hell out of here after having a private conversation with her boss on the balcony. What do you think?”

I don’t answer. I lean back in the armchair and close my eyes.

“What did you say, man?”

“It’s not what I said, it’s what I didn’t deny.”

“Oh . . . shit. What happened?”

“Nothing that won’t make things awkward on Monday.” I shift to the side. “Really not in the mood to talk about it. Just tell me what has you keeping me here late.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it? We can hash it out.”

“Stop stalling and talk to me.”

He sighs and says, “Okay, so you know how Julia had to tell you the wedding was on your birthday because I couldn’t stomach it?”

“Yeah,” I say skeptically.

“Well, there’s something she needs to tell you but opted to do tradesies, so now I have the fine opportunity to tell you.”

“You two need help.”

“We’re communicating effectively. I thought it was a winning idea, that was until I learned what I have to tell you.”

“Must be bad if Julia referred to you. Just peel off the Band-Aid and tell me.”

He leans forward and clasps his hands in front of him. “You know how we sent out the wedding invitations the other day?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, there’s someone Julia’s inviting that you might not be fond of.”

Someone I might not be fond of? I don’t hold many grudges or—

My eyes pop open and I stare my best friend down, one person coming to mind. “No.”

He winces and nods. “Vanessa is invited.”

“Why the fuck would Julia want to invite my ex-girlfriend?”

“Because they’re friends, dude. She still talks to her. Occasionally they go out to lunch. It would be weird if she didn’t invite her.”

“She broke my heart,” I say, yelling now, the tension from the night piling on top of this shitty information.

“You weren’t the best boyfriend either,” Bram points out. “Come on, man. She might have been the one to break things off, but you were the one who fizzled things out between you two. I love you, but you know that’s true.”

I drag my hand over my face. “It became too much; we had to slow down for a second.”

“And you know she didn’t see it that way. At this point, it doesn’t matter what happened between you two, because all that matters is she’s moved on. She has a fiancé and they’re both invited to the wedding.”

“Where’s the goddamn loyalty?” I ask, shooting off my seat. “I’m the best man and the bride’s brother. Shouldn’t there be some goddamn loyalty toward—” I pause and then turn to face Bram. “Did you say she has a fiancé?”

Bram nods. “She does. She’s happy. She’s moved on.”

“Great. Just what I want to fucking hear. Glad she’s happy. I’m a miserable fuck over here.”

“Because you let yourself be miserable,” Bram says. “I am always Team Rath, you know this, but there needs to come a time in your life where you’re not revolving your love life around one girl who broke your heart. You need to move on.”

“With who? Either women want me for my money, or they want me for my dick. They don’t want me for my soul or my heart. You knew what it was like before you made a move on Julia. Our dating situation is different than the average person. Our names and faces are splashed all over the news and Page Six. We are recognizable and women want us for the wrong reasons. How the hell am I supposed to move on with those kinds of odds?”

“You could. You just choose not to.”

“Fuck off.” I walk toward his door, needing to get out of here. Before I open the door, I turn toward him and say, “I would never do this to you or Julia. If the roles were reversed, I’d never consider inviting one of your exes to the wedding.”

“Rath, they’re friends. What do you want her to say, she’s not invited because her brother isn’t over her?”

“I’m fucking over her.”

“Doesn’t seem like it, not from the way you’re acting right now.”

“I’m acting the way I am right now because I feel betrayed by my best friend and sister.”

“It’s never been a side thing, you know that. Both of you hurt each other. She didn’t have any friends besides Julia. You can’t take that away from her.”

I know he’s right. Julia and Vanessa were very close, especially when we were dating. I shouldn’t be surprised she’s invited to the wedding, but I am and I’m taking out my anger on Bram.

This entire night has been one massive shitshow. From ogling my assistant all night, to being turned on like no other when she said come on my tits, and then not denying my attraction for her . . . I’ve fucked up so many times, I can’t even count them, and I hate myself for it.

This has nothing to do with Vanessa and everything to do with the poor choices I’ve made in my life.

First it was falling for Vanessa and making a move.

Then it was ignoring her, trying to slow down the pace.

Then it was hiring a woman I found attractive . . . again.

Only to tell her hey, I think you’re hot too.

Bad decisions. Bad decisions all around, and I can only imagine I’ll continue to make them because apparently, there’s no way to stop me.