Chapter Fourteen

“Why couldn’t I go home?” Linus asks as I unlock my apartment door and shove him inside.

“They don’t microphone these apartments, do they?” I ask, sweeping the walls and looking up at the ceiling for any signs of bugging.

“Are you kidding me with this apartment?” Linus asks, looking around. “Ugh, I should have taken the job when Rath offered it to me. I need to get Bram to buy me an apartment.”

“Linus,” I snap. “Do you think Rath bugged this apartment?”

“What? No, that would be completely illegal. Why are you worried about him bugging the apartment?” Linus walks over to the windows and huffs. “Seriously, these views are breathtaking. And you don’t pay rent? I am so working for the wrong guy.”

“Can you stop focusing on the apartment? Don’t you realize I’m in crisis mode here?”

“Is that why you had to leave so abruptly? You said you had to pee and you didn’t feel comfortable peeing in other people’s places. Was that a lie?”

“Yes, it was a lie.” I fling my arm to the air and flop down on my couch. “I’ve peed in a potted plant in a hotel hallway once, so I can pee anywhere.”

“Did you really?”

I grip my forehead and rub it. “I was drunk, couldn’t find my key, it’s neither here nor there. What we really need to talk about is how my boss told me tonight that he finds me attractive.”

“What?” Linus takes a seat next to me. “He just straight up told you that? When you were on the balcony?”

“Well, not in a I like you way, but we were talking and it came up. He never said it, never denied it, but he sure as shit implied it. It’s why he never wants to open up, because I guess the last time he did that, he boned his assistant.”

Linus looks up toward the ceiling in thought. “You know, I vaguely recall something like that happening but I don’t know the details. Bram shares a lot with me, but when it comes to his friends, he doesn’t share everything. But I do think I remember an office romance happening.”

“Do you know with who?”

He pauses and then shakes his head. “No, and this is going to annoy me. I should remember this.”

“You are failing me, Linus.”

“I’m failing myself.”

“I guess it doesn’t matter. What matters is that he confessed to thinking I’m attractive.”

“Well, perhaps he was just being honest, which sounds like Mr. Westin to me. You’re a very attractive woman, Charlee. Surely you know this.”

“Linus . . .” Yes, the compliment was nice, but so not what I need right now.

“Okay, so did he say anything else, like I want to fuck you on my desk?”

I feel a blush creep up my cheeks, because that’s not the first time I’ve thought about Rath saying that.

I know. Shame on me, he’s my boss, but seriously, the guy is a walking orgasm. Hot doesn’t even come close to describing him. And his voice, when he wants something, it gets all dark and deep. God, it’s really sexy.

“No.” I shake my head. “Nothing like that. He was mad he’d said something. He got all tense, and I could see him thinking about it, inwardly chastising himself.”

“Which means things will be awkward on Monday.”

“To say the least,” I mutter. “Ugh, why did I push him? I shouldn’t have pushed him because now . . . now . . .”

“Wait.” Linus holds up his hand. “Does this mean you’re going to finally admit to your attraction to him?”

“Come on, Linus, I’d be an idiot if I said I wasn’t attracted to the man. He’s obviously good-looking, but now this extra knowledge I have, it makes me feel all tingly inside and I shouldn’t be feeling tingly inside about my boss.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Nothing, obviously. I’m not going to do anything. I can’t do anything. I want this job, I need this job, and I’m not about to leave because of some awkward feelings.”

“So, you’re going to ignore them?”

“I mean . . . do I have any other choice?”

“I guess not. And if you can ignore the fact that Rath fired you, I’m pretty sure you’ll be able to ignore any feelings blossoming between you two.”

“And do you know why I can do that?” I ask Linus, sitting taller and feeling a sense of courage. “Because I’m a professional, because I deserve this job, and I’m not about to walk away over a weird conversation on the balcony.”

“Or that you said pre-cum in front of him.”

I groan and drape my arm over my eyes.

“Although, do you know what else you said? I was nearly peeing my pants laughing at some of the options you came up with. Like ejaculation, boners, coming cocks. And then you started on wet dreams, premature ejaculation, come on my face . . .” I’m mortified.

“Coming on your tits. That’s when I thought I was going to die from holding in my laughter.”

“Oh my God.” Oh my God. I said those words to my boss. In front of his friends.

And then he raced out to the balcony.

At least I now know why. I probably embarrassed the life out of him. Even more than his friends. And he knew that was a possibility, which is why he hadn’t wanted me there in the first place. I peek past my arm and ask, “Did you know it was cannon blast?”

Linus shakes his head. “I thought he was trying to draw an orgasm on the board. It was rather sexual, his cannon.”

“Right? All he needed was some grass near the wheels and he would have been set.”

“Where is that shoe?”

I scramble around my partially unpacked apartment, looking for the matching boot to the boots I want to wear today.

The problem is, I thrive off organization and everything being neat and tidy and for some reason, I have yet to tidy up my own space. Maybe because I’m waiting for the ball to drop, for my carriage to turn into a pumpkin, as Rath pointed out to me. Maybe this all seems too good to be true and instead of making myself at home in this insanely beautiful apartment, I decided to live in a state of transition rather than permanence.

I glance around the apartment, one shoe in my hand, the other yet to be found, and take in the beautifully restored architecture from the exposed brick wall to the crown moldings, and the refurbished floors. This apartment is a New York City dream, and I don’t enjoy it like I should.

After visiting with my grandma, I promise myself to start making this apartment more of a home rather than a place where I just—oh my boot.

Right next to the couch the entire time. I slip them both on just as my phone rings. I check the caller ID and see that it’s my mom.

“Hey Mom. How’s it going?”

“Are you visiting Grandma today?”

“Yup, just found my boot and now I’m going to grab the cheesecake I got for her from the fridge and head out. Why?”

“Okay, just making sure you’re going to see her today and your boss didn’t make you work or anything.”

“He wouldn’t. He knows how important my visits with her are. Is everything okay?”

“I’ll . . . I’ll let your grandma explain.”

Okay, that doesn’t sound good.

“What’s wrong?”

“Honey, this is your grandma’s news, not mine. Please be patient and wait for her to talk to you.”

“Easy for you to say,” I mumble and grab the cheesecake.

“In the meantime, how’s your job? Are you liking it? Does your boss like you?”

“What? Why would you ask that?” I ask in a high-pitched tone. “He doesn’t like me, no way. No, he doesn’t find me attractive at all.”

There’s silence for a second. “I was talking about as his assistant. Does he like you as his assistant?”

“Oh.” I nervously laugh, the sound obscenely ugly and psychotic. “Yeah. He thinks I’m swell.”

“Charlee . . .” she draws out.

“Yes?”

“Is something going on with you and your boss?”

“Why on earth would you think that?”

“Well, your reaction first of all. And when I spoke with your grandma, who called to talk to me about the new fish in her pond, she told me you brought him to her birthday brunch and that you two could not stop looking at each other. She thinks there’s romance in the air.”

Damn it, Grandma.

“She’s old, she gets confused,” I sigh heavily. “Would you look at the time? I’m going to be late. I’ll talk to you later. Thanks for the evasive conversation. Love you. Bye.”

I hang up before she can say anything else.

Constantly looking at each other? I mean, I know I stole a few glances here and there, but did Rath too?

I think about the balcony, what he didn’t say, the way he snapped at me . . . going into work on Monday is making me more and more nervous

“Hey Grandma,” I say, confused why she’s in bed, huddled under covers, with curlers in her hair still.

This is very unlike her, very unlike her indeed. She’s the eighty-year-old who enjoys power-walking past all the young’uns on their phones. She’s not the type to lie in bed past noon.

“Chuckie, you came,” she says in a weak voice.

Okay, what the hell is going on?

My weird conversation with my mom comes to the forefront of my mind and I become tense.

Thankfully I already put the cheesecake in the fridge so I’m able to sit down and take her frail hand in mine.

“What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

“No, it’s not.” She clears her throat and sits up in bed, as I help her. “I saw the doctor the other day.”

Tears start to well up in my eyes as I consider the worst-case scenarios. “What did he say?”

She squeezes my hand softly and says, “I’m sick, Chuckie.”

And just like that, everything around me turns into shades of gray. The sun fades, and the world turning into a drab, depressive state with the thought of losing my grandma. A tear rolls down my cheek. “What do you mean, sick?”

“I haven’t been feeling well for a while. I’ve always put on a good show for you, but I can’t seem to hide it anymore.”

“I don’t understand. This feels like it’s coming out of nowhere. What’s wrong? What doesn’t feel good?”

She shakes her head. “No, I won’t bother you with the details, and I refuse to give you any symptoms so you can spend your days with Dr. Google.” She knows me too well. It would be the first thing I did when I left.

“So . . . what does this mean?”

“It means I’ll be visiting with my doctor who lives in the city a lot more. It’s why I wanted to talk to you.”

“Do you need rides? I’ll give you rides, anything you need. I’m here for you.”

Looking me in the eyes, she says, “Can I please stay with you for a little bit?”

“At my apartment?” She nods.

“It will make the trips easier.”

“Of course,” I answer without even thinking about it. “Yes, I have a spare bedroom, I can . . .” I wince, thinking about the disaster my apartment is. “Well, I haven’t fully moved in yet, but I can make you a really nice space. Anything you want.”

“Just a place to stay for now.” She taps my hand. “Thank you, Chuckie.”

“You’re welcome.” Another tear rolls down my cheek. “Are you . . . are you going to be okay, Grandma?”

She lies back down and says, “I sure hope so.”

I’ve never been in such a state of panic before in my entire life.

After visiting and helping Grandma pack up a few things, I rushed back home . . . from Long Island, and started working on my grandma’s room. The apartment is furnished for the most part, besides the guest room of course, so I made the quick executive decision to move my things to the guest room—pushed boxes across the apartment because the rooms are on opposite sides of the space—and I piled everything on top of each other, got myself a twin blowup mattress, and called it a day. I filled the master with fresh flowers—lilacs, because they’re my grandma’s favorite—and then spent the rest of the time making sure all boxes were cleared out of the way and shoved into my bedroom, where I made a fort of sorts to fit it all in there.

I’m not even close to being unpacked, but I’ve created the illusion of being put together and that’s all that matters at this point.

I called my parents on the way home from my grandma’s place and asked them what the hell was going on with Grandma and they knew as much as I did. That she was sick and that she needed to move into the city to be closer to her doctor. That’s all she’s saying.

Stubborn old people.

I made my parents swear when they start to get older that they won’t be as stubborn. They swore but a part of me doesn’t believe them, because I remember my grandma once telling me she wasn’t going to be stubborn either.

Now here I am, with her moving in and no idea what the hell is going on.

Taking a seat on the couch, I stare at my phone and try to figure out how to handle things with Rath. I wish I could talk to my grandma about it, but I wouldn’t want to burden her with my problems especially since they’re so menial compared to what she must be going through.

Once again, my throat closes up on me and tears well in my eyes as the thought of losing my grandma comes crashing down on me.

She’s sick.

Who knows how sick, if there is a timeline on her life, or if there’s a cure. We know nothing and even though we pried, trying to figure out what she’s not saying, she has kept her mouth shut, encouraging us not to worry but to assist her when she needs it.

What if she has cancer, or Alzheimer’s, or a tumor . . .

The possibilities of what she’s going through are endless and they’re plaguing my mind, worrying me to the point that my stomach is churning with nerves and anxiety.

She’s my best friend. My confidante. My heart and soul, and yet why won’t she tell me? Is it that bad?

I nibble on my bottom lip, trying to hold back the sob that wants to escape but there’s no use, I drop my phone and bury my head in my hands, letting it all come out, allowing myself to have this moment, by myself, in the quiet of my apartment. I allow myself to feel the sorrow of losing my grandma, of the uncertainty I’ll be facing moving forward, of the possibility that she’s moving in to spend her last days with me . . .

On that thought, I sob some more, my body hiccupping, convulsing with grief.

I still feel this came out of nowhere. It was the last thing I expected for her to say to me when she asked me to come over for a visit. I thought maybe she was going to talk to me about more fish, maybe some special fish food . . . Who knows? But that she’s sick, no, I was never expecting that. Not from the healthiest eighty-year-old I’ve ever seen.

Trying to control my uncontrollable sobs, I take a few deep breaths, swipe at my eyes, and then pick up my phone. Tomorrow I’ll be helping my grandma move in, which means I need the day off.

I consider calling Rath and explaining everything, but after our awful interaction on Saturday night, I think he was right when he said we should keep business and personal lives separate. So, I shoot him a quick text instead and keep it simple.

Charlee: Taking a personal day tomorrow and maybe the next day. I’ll let you know.

Setting my phone down, I stare at the window and try to calm myself, but with every breath I take, every ounce of air I breathe in, it feels like shards of needles puncturing my lungs rather than filling a need to live.

My grandma is sick and right now, there’s nothing I can do about it but worry.

“This looks like the master suite,” my grandma says, taking in the room I’m setting her up in.

Lying, I say, “This apartment is super fancy and has two master suites. I think it’s for rich college students or something.”

She nods in understanding. “Park Avenue types. Like those Gossip Girls.”

I chuckle. “Yeah, like them.” I set her bags on the bed and start to unpack them. “The bathroom is fully stocked with everything you should need. The kitchen too. I wasn’t sure if you have any specific dietary needs other than the ones I know about, so if there’s something you need, let me know and I’ll pick it up right away.”

She’s looking out the window when she says, “Nothing at the moment, but I’ll let you know.” She turns to me. “I’m not an invalid. I can take care of my own bags.” She takes my hand in hers and says, “Let’s have some tea.”

Trying not to get emotional, I nod and I put a kettle of water on the stove and get two mugs ready. “Is peppermint okay?”

“That’s perfect.”

I busy myself in the kitchen and once the water is ready, I pour us both a cup and sit down next to her.

I smile weakly, trying to put on a good face but suffer terribly at it, and because she knows me so well, she sees it.

“Let’s talk about something that will put a smile on your face,” she says, blowing on her tea but not sipping it. “How are things at work?”

That surely won’t put a smile on my face, but you have to fake it until you make it.

“Awesome. I love my job. Some people might think being an executive assistant is awful, but I truly love every aspect about it.”

“That’s wonderful. And it’s not that bad working for such a hottie.”

My face heats up and even though things are a little weird between us, I still can’t help the way my body reacts to the mention of Rath and his good looks, because he is really that handsome.

Like . . . tongue-dragging-across-the-floor handsome.

Like . . . just hearing his voice on the phone makes my bosom pop open the top few buttons of my dress shirt.

“He is good-looking, isn’t he?” I say and the comment brings more of a smile to my grandma’s face which in return, makes me happy.

“He’s so handsome. And he’s kind. I still can’t get over the koi. Everyone is raving about them.”

“I bet. It was very unexpected. I had no idea he was doing it.”

My grandma pokes my side. “It’s because he likes you, I can tell.” She sips her tea. “And you don’t have to tell me, because it’s not my business, but there is something going on between you two, isn’t there? A little hanky-panky?” She holds her hand up as I go to respond. “Don’t tell me, just let me have my moment.” She sighs, and I really hope she’s not envisioning Rath and me having “hanky-panky.” “You know, Chuckie, with all this medical stuff going on, there’s one thing that keeps sticking out in my head, one thing that makes me want to weep until all ends of the night.”

“What?” I ask, growing concerned.

She levels with me, her eyes intent on mine. “How you were left at the altar.” I wasn’t expecting that. I’m pretty sure I might need more than tea in this cup. “It just breaks my heart knowing how wrong you were treated. I was waiting to see you walk down the aisle, but instead I watched you cry in my wedding dress. No grandmother ever wants to see that, Charlee. None.”

“Grandma.” I choke down a sob. “It’s not something anyone could have controlled. Chris had his own agenda, something we never saw coming.”

“I know.” She wipes away one single tear. “But still, that was my only shot.”

“You’re only shot at what?”

She looks up at me, her blue eyes, the same blue I share with her, full of tears. “My only shot at being at your wedding.”

“Wh-what are you saying?” I ask, my hands starting to shake, my heart in my throat.

“Just that . . . the future is so uncertain and my dream of watching you wear my wedding dress, marrying the man of your dreams, it’s . . . it won’t happen. Instead, I’ll have the image of you sobbing in my wedding dress, your heart cracked and broken rather than full of love.”

“Grandma . . .” My lip quivers, my eyes fill with tears, and before I can stop myself, I fall into my grandma’s arms and sob some more. Because, yes, it hurt me. I thought I’d found the man I was going to spend the rest of my life with. And that vanished with his phone call telling me he’d never truly loved me.

However, I know that’s not what’s breaking my heart at this moment. I survived that day because of the woman beside me. I survived and got back up on my feet because of the strength of her arms. I moved forward because of her belief in me, that I could and would do anything I wanted in life. But without her . . . without her, I’m not sure of anything. And so I sob.