Like figure out whether or not I really will call Mariah today. I said I would, and I don’t want to go back on that, but I still haven’t had enough balls to turn my phone back on. For some reason, I’m weak when she’s involved. And if there are more texts from her, I don’t know how I’ll handle it.
I’ll likely spend my entire day doing nothing but sending messages. Just like I’ve spent most of my day doing nothing but watching her on the single camera feed still displayed on my wall. That’s where my eyes drift to now, making sure she’s okay as she putters around the kitchen.
I’m not sure what it is, but she seems a little different this morning. Her movements are slower. Her complexion a little less pink. She’s not even drinking her tea or eating crackers, and that has me concerned.
Concerned enough, I cave. And while my brothers discuss shipments and sales forecasts, I power up my phone. There are no new messages, and I am unreasonably disappointed at that.
So unreasonably, I can’t stand it and immediately type out a text.
Are you feeling okay?
I can tell the minute it reaches her, because Mariah looks at her phone and then her eyes lift to meet mine through the camera. She gives me a thumbs up, but her smile is weak.
I don’t like it.
“Titus.” Trevor’s voice is sharp as he yells through the screen. “Stop looking at your chef and get your head in the game.”
I’m not going to deny what I was doing. It’s none of their business if I’m watching Mariah. “I didn’t sleep well last night. Cut me some fucking slack.”
It turns out, being stared at isn’t the only thing that dredges up old memories. Old pain.
Facing the fact that I’m way more interested in my chef than I should be pulled the worst day of my life to the forefront, shoving it behind my eyelids over and over as I tried to sleep. Like I don’t already think about it enough as it is.
I will never forget that day. Couldn’t even if I tried. Because it has dictated every one since.
“Poor baby.” Trevor shoots me an exaggerated pout. “Must be terrible suffering through three gourmet meals a day and then not being able to get all your night-nights in.”
I didn’t expect pity from my brothers. That’s part of why I love them. They don’t pity me.
But they also don’t cut me any slack either. Even if I deserve it.
“Like I told Walker, you can all have your very own private chefs. Nothing is stopping you.” I lean forward. “Mom will even find them for you. Apparently she loves getting in our business now.”
“No one else is home all day to get their money’s worth out of a private chef.” Walker smirks, and I know his next words are going to make me consider throwing this computer against the wall. “What if we all chip in to share her? Give Mariah a pay raise and see if she’ll make a little extra for us.”
I manage a full breath before replying, but the words still barely make it through my clenched teeth. “Fuck. All. The. Way.Off.”
Instead of being as terrified as he should be, Walker laughs. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch. Nobody wants your girl. We’re just giving you shit.”
My girlis something Mariah will never be. But I still like the sound of it, so I don’t correct him.
“Can we just talk about whatever the fuck you guys want to talk about and be done?” I need to get my brothers back on track before I do something stupid. Maybe hack into their fancy digital dishwashers and program them so they never stop running. Or change the pin numbers on all their debit cards.
I’m relieved—and more than a little grateful—when Trevor takes the bait and we get down to business. During the remainder of the meeting, I manage to keep one eye on my brothers while still making sure Mariah is doing okay. The way she’s behaving isn’t sitting right, and the strange pallor of her skin has me on edge. There’s an uncomfortable familiarity to it. One I can’t quite place.
Our weekly meeting feels like it’s taking forever, and when it’s finally over, I can’t log off fast enough. I get that it’s important for all of us to be on the same page, but damn. I’ve got shit to do. Work to finish.
Mariah to watch.
I can hardly stand still as I put all my focus on the screen. Each passing second I become more and more convinced something’s very wrong, and I don’t know what to do.
So I text her again.
I’m going to skip breakfast. I’m too busy to eat.
It’s a double purpose message. Mariah will be able to go sit down, and I’ve set up my excuse for why I won’t be able to call her.
Because I can’t call her. I’ve got to draw a firm line in the sand. One I absolutely cannot cross. To protect myself. To protect her.She’s moved to a new state for this job. Claims to enjoy it. She doesn’t need to deal with my morose ass ruining it. Stealing her joy.
