But perky or not, this isn’t something Hazel can fix for me. Hazelisthe damn problem.
She can’t leave me.
This cannot happen.
When I throw myself back into my desk chair, it’s because my legs won’t hold my weight any longer. My muscles have stopped working, and my chest is icing over from the inside, and god, what is happening to me? What the hell is this nightmare? Why do my insides feel all wrong?
I’ll double her pay.
Triple it.
I’ll—Hazel can have this office, and I’ll take her desk out there. Anything if it means keeping her close. My hand shakes as I press the intercom button, summoning her back, but there’s no response. No creaking floor out there, no crackle of her sweet voice down the phone. She’s not there.
I bury my face in my shaking hands.
Of all the blows I could weather, of all the losses I could take, this is not one of them.
This. Cannot. Happen.
* * *
There are three important meetings scheduled for today, and I cancel all of them. I’d cancel the party too if Hazel hadn’t worked so hard on it for months, but I won’t do that to her. Besides, it will only hurt my cause.
There’s a private bathroom attached to my office, and I lock myself in there for the next hour, drowning myself under a long, hot shower. The steam fills my straining lungs and the heat soothes my taut muscles, but nothing seems to touch the ice spreading through my chest. It’s a lost cause.I’ma lost cause.
I towel dry, thinking of Hazel.
Get dressed, thinking of Hazel.
Push back my damp hair and stare dead-eyed at the foggy mirror, searching for something,anything, that might tempt a woman like her to stay.
Stay—as my assistant, obviously. Nothing more. I won’t kid myself that a pure ray of sunshine like Hazel would ever want…that…from a moody asshole like me.
Because what do I even have to offer her? Muscles and money and a special signed agreement with HR? That won’t work. Hazel is a commitment type of girl. Arelationshipgirl, and that is something I am ill-equipped for.
Doesn’t matter. I’m getting off topic.
By the time I emerge in a cloud of soap-scented steam, Hazel’s muffled voice floats through my office door once again. My numb legs carry me across the room, through the doorway to the antechamber and over to her desk, where I stand and loom over her, arms folded. My icy heart slams against my ribs.
“One second,” Hazel says, covering the mouthpiece of her phone. She peers up at me, eyebrows pinching together. “Hey, boss. Is your hair wet?”
Yes. So?
I needed a scalding hot shower to reanimate my corpse. It happens.
“We’re going out this afternoon.” Away from these weird eggshell walls, closing in on me. Away from the empty, pointless future looming ahead, barren of all joy and flapjack crumbs. “Wrap up whatever you need to finish here.”
Hazel gapes. “But the party—”
“We’ll get there in time for the set up. What’s your address? Get someone to deliver your dress and whatever else you need to my apartment. You can get ready there.”
“But I—”
“This is time sensitive, Hazel.” Her notice period is two weeks, after all. Only two weeks. And in the meantime, I can’t let her out of my sight—not if I want to be able to breathe. “If you want a good reference from me, I still expect your best work while you’re here. That includes this afternoon.”
An angry flush creeps up my assistant’s throat, but she forces a smile onto her face. How many times has she done that for me before? Pretended everything is fine? Shit. Why didn’t I pay attention? If I’d known she was unhappy, I could have fixed this mess long ago.
A tinny voice echoes down the phone, and Hazel jumps. “I’ll be ready,” she tells me, then turns back to her phone call. “Oh, I know! Aren’t suppliers the worst?”