Page 82 of Broken Boss

She doesn’t argue, just follows me down the corridors, past the front desk, and out to the lot.

The car feels small and crowded even with just the two of us in it. There’s a mountain of words between us, but neither of us speaks.

I pull up outside Sharpe Law and see the security guards clock us. All of a sudden, I’m exhausted.

I just want to be alone.

Autumn puts her hand on the door handle, and then hesitates. She looks back like she’s going to say something.

What could make things better? What could patch the crack that ripped through everything I thought we were to one another?

She doesn’t speak. Instead, she turns away, opens the door, and gets out.

I put the car in drive and feel like I left my heart somewhere in the grimy grid of New York City.

Chapter 29

Autumn

I stare at Saskia’s text, letting it sink in. What it means.

Kieran Tate was released this morning. They didn’t have anything to hold him.

Three little dots appear, as if Saskia wants to say more, or ask why I didn’t show up to work this morning. It’d be a valid question; I’ve been locked away in the guest room at Chris’s house since yesterday evening. When I got back from the office after taking an Uber to his house, unsure I’d still be welcome, the place was silent.

This morning was almost worse. He came to the door and asked in a muffled voice if I was riding in with him. When I told him I was taking a sick day, I could feel the tangled cloud of emotions on the other side of the thin door—I wanted to go out to him, to apologize, to cry, to beg, to be angry.

Instead, I just sat there, holding my breath, until he stalked away. The front door shut and I’ve been alone since.

Well, except for Frank. He whines and rolls over, giving me his belly to rub like he thinks it’ll make me feel better. I wish it would.

Anything you want me to take care of today? Saskia’s text appears on the screen.

I hesitate before typing out a succinct reply. No thank you.

I should say more. I should ask who told her to update me on Kieran, but I already know—Chris, of course. No one else at the office has any idea who Kieran is, let alone how we’re connected. Saskia must be wondering why the owner of the firm hunted her down and asked her to pass on that information.

I should be worried that Kieran is out after his threat yesterday. But oddly, I still feel safe ensconced in Chris’s home. Even if it doesn’t feel like I deserve to be here.

With a sigh, I get up and peer out of the room, as if someone else might be home. “Just us,” I say to Frank.

In the kitchen, I start warming a small pot of chicken and dumpling soup from a jar. Some fancy brand I’d never buy for myself, but even Chris’s ready-made meals are luxurious. My stomach aches with guilt and the thought of losing this. Not just the good food, but the now-familiar surroundings, the sound of Chris moving around the house, catching his smirk in the dim evening light, waking to the sound of him showering.

The way he gets on his knees in front of me.

The way he kisses me.

The way he looks at me.

The rush of nausea is suddenly overwhelming and I hurry to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before throwing up what little I ate this morning.

As I sit back and wait for the damp sweat covering my forehead to dry, I think about the fact that I’ve been sick more in the past week than I probably ever have in my whole life. My stomach isn’t usually so weak, but it must be all the stress.

Making my way back to the kitchen, I grab my cell and send a quick text without thinking too hard about it.

Hey, can you come over?

Orla answers quickly.

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