Now I don’t know where we stand.And I’m not sure I’m brave enough to ask.
* * *
I’m at my desk,packing up my laptop when I check the time on my phone.It’s getting late.I stayed longer than I should have, but those last-minute changes to the yacht decorator’s email just couldn’t wait until tomorrow.It’s been two days since our meeting with him at the marina, and I’m still finding details that need adjusting.The Serastra launch is too important to leave anything to chance.
I pause my packing to pat my pocket for Caleb’s car key.Hiscar key.The ones he casually tossed to me this morning before his meeting with Ethan, saying he’d catch a ride back to my place with his brother afterward.
My place.Home, he called it.
“I’ll see you at home later,” he’d said, so naturally that I didn’t even catch it at the time.
When did that happen?When did my apartment become ‘home’ to him?And why doesn’t that freak me out more than it does?
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the thought.It’s just a word.It doesn’t mean anything.My heart does a stupid, little flutter that I immediately try to squash.
This thing with Caleb—I’m not sure what it is anymore.But it feels real when he orders my dessert at dinner—tiramisu with extra cocoa powder and a side of fresh berries, exactly how I like it.When he pulls my feet into his lap to massage them while we’re watching a movie.When he makes me breakfast every morning.
My phone buzzes with a text from him: ‘Meeting running late.I have to drop by my parents’ place.Might be late coming home.’
My pockets are empty, however, which is when I notice the key fob on my desk.I stare at it beside my laptop, turning it over with my fingers.A symbol of trust, of sharing.Something shifts in my chest, a warmth I’m afraid to name.
“Home,” I whisper to myself, testing the word, and it doesn’t sound as terrifying as it should.I lean back in my chair, still staring at his key like it might give me answers to questions I can’t put the words to.I slip the fob into my pocket, fingers still playing over it, testing to make sure it’s real.
I’m so lost in my thoughts that I almost don’t hear the footsteps.Looking up, I see a man walking past my desk toward Iris’s office.It takes me a moment to recognize him—Richard, Iris’s boyfriend.
I’m instantly wary.What is he doing here so late?I remember him showing up drunk at our desks, grabbing Iris’s wrist when she tried to walk away.That hadn’t been the first time either, from what I could tell.
I watch as he approaches Iris’s office, and that’s when I notice the light is on.She’s still here, too.Of course she is; Iris has been working late every night this week, trying to keep up with all the projects.I’m beginning to wonder if the projects are the real reason, though.
What is Richard doing here again?As he reaches her door, I feel a sense of unease.I was sure after what he did last time, Iris would have broken up with him.Are they really still together?Why?
He pauses at her door, then pushes it open without knocking.Something about his body language—the set of his shoulders, the way he moves—puts me on edge.There’s an urgency to it, an aggression that makes my skin prickle.I find myself getting to my feet, tension coiling in my muscles.Maybe I’m overreacting, but something feels wrong about this whole scenario.The empty office, the late hour, the way he’d barged in...
That’s when I hear the first raised voice from inside her office.Richard’s sharp and demanding voice.I can’t make out the words, but the tone is unmistakable—angry.
Then I hear Iris’s voice, higher-pitched, defensive.
The shouting gets louder.Through the blurry glass, I can make out two figures, and something about their body language sends alarm bells ringing in my head.I see him move around her desk, getting closer to her, and my feet are moving before I fully process what I’m doing.
I rush to the office, my heart pounding.What I see when I walk in makes my blood run cold.He has Iris’s wrist gripped in his hand, and she’s struggling to get away from him.
“Get out,” he snaps when he sees me, his face twisted with annoyance.
“I’ve called security,” I lie smoothly, reaching for the metal visitor chair.I lift it slightly, testing its weight.“And if anything happens to you, I’m certain security will understand when I say it was self-defense.”I tilt my head, letting a cold smile cross my face.“I wonder what will happen to your job when they hear about this.”
“Tell your employee to leave,” he says to Iris, like I’m not even worth addressing directly.
Iris snatches her hand away from his grip.“You should be the one to leave.”
“You’re being unreasonable,” he says, his voice taking on that wheedling tone men use when they’re trying to manipulate their way out of consequences.“I’m not asking for much.And you had no right to drive that girl out of my apartment.”
“Our apartment,” Iris snaps back.
What girl?I file that question away for later and glance over my shoulder, pretending like I might see security approaching.It’s enough to make him nervous.
“This isn’t over,” he mutters, but he’s already moving toward the door.He brushes past me, and I stick my foot out slightly.He stumbles forward, catching himself against the doorframe.
“You tripped me!”he snaps, whirling around to glare at me.
