“You hear that, sweetheart? I think you just saved the bloody company," she says with pride.
Sloane nods. “Yes. Good job, Oliver.”
I can’t help but beam with pride of my own.
“No need to thank me, Sir.” I hold his gaze with my own. “I’m happy to serve.”
I type as Ericson explains tech things I don’t understand, smiling the whole time. Sloane’s voice is tinged with happiness as he and Chicora hash out when the final product will be ready for the market, everyone visibly excited at this advancement.
When the meeting is over, Chicora collects her things and Sloane shakes everyone’s hands. I’m just tucking my Chromebook away into my backpack—the one Sloane gifted me with the other day after our visit to the tailor. He’d joked that if I was to eat like a child, perhaps I needed a backpack like one so I wouldn’t forget my homework.
I told him just how I felt about his little quip by sucking him off under his desk during a conference call, which I more than paid for later when we got in the car.
He locks the door, and I freeze.
“Sloane, what—” I catch myself. “I mean, Mr. Pierce—”
He doesn’t waste a second as he saunters over to me, a deep look of seduction in his eyes.
Grabbing my backpack, he drops it to the ground and holds my hips. He lifts me like a sack of fucking potatoes and sets my ass right on the table with a thud.
“What are you—”
When he grabs me by my throat and kisses me, my entire body melts like ice on a sidewalk in the middle of July.
“Thank you,” he breathes against my lips, his voice full of awe.
“I didn’t do anything,” I say as my cheeks flush with heat. He slides in between my legs, his thumb brushing over the column of my throat. His free hand settles on my hip, slowly sliding to the side of my thigh.
“Yes, you did," he says, his gaze holding mine with praise. “You are so fucking perfect, Oliver.” He kisses me again. I wrap my arms around his neck and relish in the perfection of how it feels. To be praised like this. It’s not the words that leave me breathless, but the utter truth in them. Like he really believes Iamperfect.
And that is what ricochets through me like poison as he pulls away. I’m not perfect. Not by a long shot.
But I want to be. For him.
I want to be the man he thinks I am…
“We should celebrate," he says, taking a step back and giving me space to move. Yet I can’t seem to find the will to move my legs. They suddenly feel like dead weight.
“I—”
“We can head to my place. After work," he says, taking a long look at me.
“We can have a drink or two. Hell, I’ll even make you all the chicken nuggets you want, and you can have Pop-Tarts for dessert.” He smirks.
My eyes fill with tears as he grins.
Robbie’s text hangs in my psyche like an intruder. I hadn’t had the chance to answer him, and I know we need to talk. Well, more or lessIneed to talk, and Robbie needs to listen, but he’s not going to like what I have to say one bit.
Telling him I’m done with this revenge fantasy of his, withhim… it makes me want to throw up just thinking about it, but it’s the right thing to do. I thought for the longest time that I didn’thavea choice. That shouldering my boyfriend’s burdens and problems just meant I was a good boyfriend. That if I took care of him, he’d love me. That if I just stayed the course, things would get better. He’d get a job again, and we would go out again, and he would stop drinking so much, and maybe we’d even find a way to get back to how things were at the beginning, but…
Five days with Sloane Pierce has lifted the veil from my eyes and now I see the truth. I feel it every time he rests his hand on my neck anddoesn’tchoke me. I hear it every time his voice switches from stern and commanding to softness in the blink of an eye when he asks if I’m okay.
“Hey…” Sloane’s eyes narrow as he pulls me up and into his arms with so much gentleness, so much fucking care, the tears rush out of me.
I bury my face against his shoulder as he holds me close, his arms tight as his hands rub up and down my back.
“Oliver, what’s wrong?”
