More than once, I creep down the hallway to check on him, to see if his chest is rising and falling with each breath. I return to my room, confused and angry at myself.
What am I doing?
Movement stirs me awake.
The room is bathed in soft orange hues; dawn is creeping in again, and so is Silas. I barely open my eyes as I watch him quietly slide into bed beside me, carefully keeping his distance, as if not wanting to invade my space. He settles in, and almost immediately, his steady, rhythmic snoring fills the air. I guess this is his way of making peace—an unspoken truce after last night.
I decide to work from bed. It’s Friday, and that feels like reason enough to take charge of the company while Silas catches up on much-needed rest. I scroll through his emails, handling the usual matters—contracts, inquiries, business minutiae. Then I stumble across an email from Stella. Her message is brief, asking how I’ve been and casually dropping a bombshell: she’s having a baby soon.
She also says she’d like Silas to meet her daughter,at least once.
The wording catches me off guard. It feels more like a plea to a lover than a friendly invitation from a colleague. But then again, Stella and Silas have worked together for years. She probably knows him better than most, and surely she’s aware that Silas has no interest in babies or family life. Right?
By the time eleven rolls around, Silas stirs beside me, his body stretching languidly, arms above his head. His eyes, still glazed with sleep, land on me. He doesn’t smile, but his gaze lingers a moment longer than usual, as though he’s trying to read me—or maybe read the room.
“Morning,” I say, half-expecting him to acknowledge the weirdness of this situation—him crawling into bed with me, me working in his bed like it’s nothing. But he just rubs his eyes and sits up slightly, still silent, still unreadable. “How are you feeling?” I ask, setting the laptop aside on the bedside table.
“Like I’ve slept for an eternity,” Silas says, his eyes still heavy with sleep. He glances at his watch, and his brows shoot up when he realizes the time.
He starts to sit up abruptly, but I press a hand gently to his chest. “Relax,” I say, easing him back down. “There’s nothing for you to do today. I moved your meetings, took care of your brothers, and wished all your employees a Merry Christmas on your behalf.”
“But Christmas is a week away,” he grumbles.
“I know, Scrooge,” I tease, “but normal people spend these days with their families. You should do the same.”
He huffs like an old man tired of hearing the same advice, letting himself fall back onto the bed. “My family causes me more stress than work. Trust me.”
We don’t mention last night—the conversation that unraveled into something raw and unresolved. Nor do we acknowledge the fact that we began the night in separate beds, only to somehow end up in the same one by morning. The silence between us is charged, but we let it be as if agreeing not to prod the fragile peace. The day passes much like the one before it. I clear Silas’s schedule for the rest of the week so he has nothing to worry about but his recovery.He barely leaves the bed, but his eyes follow me as I work, moving through his emails, making sure everything is in order. By the time five o’clock rolls around, I’ve changed into my work clothes, gathering my things to head home. The rhythm feels familiar now—too familiar.
“Where are you going?” His voice catches me off guard, low and questioning behind me.
“To my place, Silas.” I keep my tone firm and distant, even though I don’t feel that way at all. “I have to go home at some point.”
I avoid looking at him because I know what will happen if I do. Two days is long enough. I’ve run out of excuses to stay. I want my own bed, my own space, my own life—away from the confusion that is Silas Walker.
“But—“
I turn to face him, cutting off whatever protest he’s about to make. “Call me if you need me. I’ll be working from home for the rest of the week.” I force a smile. My heels echo loudly against the marble floor as I walk toward the door, each step feeling heavier than the last. A part of me, deep down, waits—hopes—he’ll say something. That he’ll ask me to stay, tell me he’s not ready for me to leave yet. That my presence somehow makes this unbearable time a little more bearable. But the only thing I get is silence.
The door closes softly behind me, and I’m left alone with the weight of everything unsaid.
“LAUREN, you'renothis mother!” Emma's voice practically echoes through the video call. “Or his wife! And he doesn’t pay you to take care of him like that.”
“I know, but I couldn’t leave him alone, Em. He was scared,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady.
“You’retoonice. We’re talking aboutSilas Walkerhere. You’dprobably jump into a shark tank for him, and he’d be the one swimming out with the trophy.”
I laugh, though the truth in her words hits harder than I care to admit. On the screen, Emma sits at her kitchen table, sunlight pouring in through the window, palm trees swaying lazily in the Miami breeze. Meanwhile, I’m wrapped in a ridiculous number of layers—hat, gloves, and a blanket—inside my freezing apartment because the heating is broken, and the landlord doesn’t seem to think it's urgent enough to fix before the holidays.
“He’s my boss now,” I say, “so there’s not much I can do. Plus, he doesn’t have anyone else, and he asked me not to call his family.”
Emma narrows her eyes at me, shaking her head. “So that’s why you spent two nights at his place? Maybe you should just wear a dog collar with his phone number and a chip so he can track you after work hours.”
“Pfft.” I chuckle, rolling my eyes. “Don’t be mean, Em. I’m back home already. We’re just emailing now.”
“Emailing? Great, you’re adigital petnow,” she quips. “Come to Miami for Christmas. You can escape Silasandthe icebox you’re living in.”
“No, I need to save every penny. If Stella comes back, she’ll want her job, and I’m sure Silas will give it to her.”
