Page 23 of King of Guilt

He proceeded to make himself one. “I think it would be best if you decide on your departure date. Perhaps you’d like to give your parents some sort of a prelude… heads-up that things aren’t working out.” Pausing, his hands and visual focus behaved as if he were preparing the most important drink of his life. “I don’t want their questions later to cause you—or me—any kind of trouble.”

Even though it was sweet of him to consider all of this, a part of me wanted to believe that he liked having me around. Honestly, I didn’t want to leave him yet—I believed that he still needed me while he processed his grief, even if he refused to admit it. Smiling, knowing that he wasn’t looking, I said, “That’s good thinking.”

“Also, if you don’t mind… I’d like you and Helen to help me go through mom’s things and…” his voice trailed off.

“Of course.”

“She owned some really nice things.” With his back still facing me, I saw him lift up the glass and take a sip. “Maybe you’d like to—”

“I—I’d rather not. Frankly, I’d still like to talk to you about that apartment—”

“I want you to have it.” He turned to me, eyes serious. “Believe me, you’ve earned it.”

I couldn’t help but feel slightly offended; was he referring to the night we made love?

Knowing that my face must have automatically reflected my thoughts and feelings, I quickly raised my hands in front of me. “Dean, look.” Squeezing my eyes shut, I struggled against my instincts to conjure up the appropriate words. “What happened between us that night should remain out of this whole equation, the contract, and any feelings of obligation that you might have to compensate me. It—it shouldn’t mean anything related to that.” Pausing, I looked at his face, still revealing no emotion at all. “You didn’t force anything. We were both vulnerable, and it was… an understandable outcome to that evening.”

“Is that how you see it?” A smirk appeared on his lips, and it hurt. He took a step closer, taking another sip as he waited for my answer.

“Yes.” What was another lie, anyway?

“Well.” Suddenly, his steps earned a faster pace as he made his way around the desk, settling in his big chair behind it. Placing down the glass, he ran his finger along the length of it, slowly, following the tip of his finger with his eyes. “Then it’s a good time to remind you that we agreed for this to be an open marriage.” The words stabbed through my flesh, while he carried on, “You—and I—are free to do whatever we want. So, please, until you decide it’s the right time to conclude things… you’re not obliged to dinners with me, or anything else. And—should the opportunity arise—you can—”

“I—I get it.” I quickly nodded, closing my eyes for a second. “I understand.” When I opened my eyes, his gaze was scrutinizing me without shame. Could he read my mind through the look on my face? Did my eyes reveal how rattled I was by the thought of him making love to another woman? Quickly picking up my phone from off his desk, I shot up to my feet. “I—I think we’ve covered everything for now.”

He nodded. “Yes. I believe we have.”

Spinning on my heel, I turned around and started walking toward the door, which suddenly felt so far away. “Well, then, you’d better prep for your call with Louis. Would you like the usual lunch?”

“No,” I heard him say as my hand finally clasped the door knob. “I’d like mac and cheese with fries, please.”

“Alright.”

I closed the door behind me, feeling my heart about to leap out of my chest. What I was feeling was dangerous, which meant that I should start thinking of what I was going to do once I had moved out of his house. Out of his life. I needed to resign my position as Dean’s assistant, and in the process, find a good replacement and train them.

As I sat down in my chair, I was surprised at the amount of pain I was feeling. I didn’t want to leave Dean or stop being his assistant. I wanted nothing more than to stay by his side, because I completely believed that he needed me.

This wasn’t good—not good at all.

It took a full hour, and another cup of coffee, for me to collect my thoughts and regain my focus for work. But as soon as the wheels of productivity started turning, my phone rang with an unsaved number. I picked it up, hesitantly answering, “Hello?”

“Emmie, hi! It’s Kyle. New number.”

“O—Kyle? Ah—hi.” I paused. “How are you?”

“I’m alright. Doing well. And you?”

“I’m good. Uh—what’s up?”

“Listen, I feel bad about the way things went down at the restaurant. I really want to do this apology properly. Can I see you?”

“Kyle, it’s really okay, I’ve—”

“I know. You’ve moved on. But I won’t feel like I’ve made progress until I tell you everything I wanted to say the right way. I won’t take much of your time, I promise. When do you get off work? Just a cup of coffee on me. What do you say?” He paused. “One hour, max.”

Reluctantly, I heard myself say, “Fine. Meet me at Dee’s Café on Amsterdam Avenue. Does seven o’clock work?”

“Of course. I’ll be there. Thanks, Emmie.”

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