Page 71 of Broken Boss

Chris, I almost say. But my stomach twists again at the thought of him.

Is it just nerves? The last few days we’ve both been on edge. After running off to Fishkill—stupidly, I can now admit—and the confrontation back at Chris’s house, it wouldn’t be surprising if I just couldn’t handle the pressure.

You’re a lawyer. All you know is pressure. One man shouldn’t intimidate you more than the dozens of cases you’ve worked in your career.

“No, I’m alright. I just need a minute. And I might head out once I get cleaned up. I’m going to work from home for the rest of the day.”

Saskia shifts and fidgets. “Okay. I can let Mr. Sharpe know, if you want?”

“Don’t worry about that, I’ll text him before I leave. Thank you, though.”

Luckily, my team already presented the two cases we’re dealing with this month. I dodged a bullet, even if the bitterly sour taste in my mouth doesn’t feel like it.

What the hell is going on? There’s no way I’m so nervous to be around Chris that it’s literally making me sick. And lunch…well, that came up almost exactly as it went down. No way it could’ve caused food poisoning in the fifteen minutes since I ate it.

The bathroom door closes and I’m alone again, forehead warm and hands clammy.

“Maybe it’s just that time of year,” I murmur to myself, trying to take my mind off another flipping sensation in my gut. It is almost winter, and this is when everyone starts getting sick.

After a few minutes, I’m able to stand and get my balance. These damn heels.

In the bathroom mirror, I smooth my hands over the luckily not-too-tight skirt that hits right below my knees. It looks a little mussed up from kneeling on the tile floor, but there’s nothing that can be done for it.

Peering closer at my reflection, I look for any signs of…what? The flu? I can’t even remember the last time I had it. Probably when I was still living at home with my dad, as he was slowly drinking himself to death.

My face is pale, my normally plump cheeks looking a little hollow. There’s a dullness to my skin that I don’t like.

Maybe I should reach out to Chris now. See if he’ll bring me to an urgent care to get checked out.

But no, he’s already done so much. I chuckle darkly at the thought; he’s done more than enough. I’m living with the man, for heaven’s sake. And he spent at least a few hours Saturday night pouring over Stephen’s court documents, not to mention the few calls he made Sunday. Quiet, under the radar, but I noticed.

He didn’t update me with any news. Is that good or bad?

With a sigh, I remind myself that the legal world is slow-moving. Just because he offered to take a closer look at Stephen’s case and see if anything was missed doesn’t mean he’ll actually find anything.

I glance down at my watch. It’s just after 2 p.m. At least that’s a semi-acceptable time to leave the office early.

Straightening out my blouse, I make a last-ditch effort and pinch my cheeks. Barely any color rises to the surface.

Okay. So, home, and I’ll order soup—something simple I can keep down.

As I take a deep breath, double-check that the nausea is gone for now, and head toward the door, the thought of going home is calming. Even if it’s not my home.

Frank is there, and the couch, although it looks luxurious, is surprisingly comfortable. Maybe I’ll throw on a nostalgic movie, try to keep something down, and doze off. Giving polite smiles to the coworkers I pass on my way out, I try to ignore the fact that I’m getting way, way too comfortable with having Chris Sharpe in my life.

Chapter 24

Chris

A week passes and I’m acutely aware of how little progress I’ve made. Work is busy, with the Waters case at a frustrating standstill. They want to try and negotiate, and Mr. Waters is considering it. I’m trying not to push him, but it’s the last thing I’d want for them. That girl deserves justice, not a monetary Band-Aid that will do nothing for her trauma.

I find myself in my own kitchen, barely breathing, listening for signs of life from Autumn’s bedroom. That’s how I’ve come to think of it now—as hers. I can’t imagine anyone else taking her place there.

From my sneaky vantage point, I see the door nudge open. Breath held, I watch…

Frank dips out of the room, tail wagging at the sight of me. He comes looking for his food bowl, which I quietly fill and place on the floor for him.

“Hey, boy. Morning. What’s your mom up to?”

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