Page 93 of Bad & Bossy

I didn’t bother taking the head of the table for the shareholder meeting. Instead, I let Ben run the show, keeping to the sidelines and out of the way. The likelihood of me just messing things up was too high to risk it, and considering how many times I’d nodded off already, I’d made the right choice, even though it hurt to not be able to run my own business.

I knew it wasn’t a good look, having my next in line take over while I was still around. I knew it made me look weak and incapable, knew it would likely raise questions.

But the meeting ended and they left without a word, without their questioning gazes or interrogations toward me. Either they already knew or they didn’t care. Or worse—they expected it.

I waited until the room was clear to take a swig from my flask. Drive down the feeling, reach that not-so-happy medium.

The burn at the back of my throat only raged on.

I blinked, and I was almost stumbling into the hall. I’d gotten used to the blips again. They were happening more frequently, stealing patches of time from me. But time didn’t mean anything anymore, not when it wasn’t spent with her.

“Cole.”

“Ben,” I sighed, turning on my heel. “Thank you for running the meeting. I appreciate?—”

“Is everything okay?” he asked, his arms crossing over the cheap suit he’d likely picked up from Goodwill. Stop it. He’s nice. Guess the shitty thoughts were back. “Are you…?”

“I’m fine.” My jaw ached from how hard I clenched it.

Ben glanced behind his shoulder, checking the hall was clear before his ponytail nearly smacked me in the face as he whipped back around. “You don’t seem fine. Having me run the show while you’re on site? And you’re clearly day-drinking, man. I can smell it on you. We all can.”

Well, that explains why the shareholders didn’t talk to me. “I’m not discussing this with you,” I replied, trying to keep an ounce of professionalism instead of letting my irritation cloud me. It was becoming harder than it used to be. “I said I was fine. Just leave me alone.”

“Look, I know we’re not close,” Ben said, taking a single step toward me. Instinctually, I backed up, trying to keep my breath from him. Pointless. “But it’s obvious you’re not okay. You know the rumors around here, you know how fast they spread. Maybe it’s best you take some time off again.”

I scoffed. “Is this your company now?” Well, there goes the professionalism.

“Well, no?—”

“Then don’t think you can tell me what to fucking do,” I snapped. “If I want to be here, I’ll be here. If I don’t, you’ll know. I can do whatever I want here, whether that means crashing and burning it into the goddamn ground or building it up to new heights. You’re lucky I let you play CEO for six months, but that doesn’t give you a fucking title.”

His wide eyes and step back told me I’d gone a little too far, but I didn’t care, not about this, not about anything.

“You’re also lucky I’ve not kicked you back down to the ground floor.”

I turned on a dime, leaving him standing there, and decided maybe it was best I leave for the day. Maybe I needed more than what was in my pocket.

So what if I ended up sobbing on my bathroom floor again? I’d done it a million times by now. I was used to it, and I’d forget the gruesome details by morning.

————

Yellow teeth, yellower eyes, and a tall, wiry frame stood over me, a tray of shots in his hand. He sat down at the table beside me, the clear shots clinking and spilling over the lips of the glasses.

“You didn’t have to pay for them,” I grumbled, tipping one back and relishing in the burn of the cheap booze as it slid down my throat.

“My pleasure, bud,” Adam said. He touched a glass to mine as we fired them down in rapid succession. I’d missed nights like this—though not so much the mornings after—where he and I and his group of friends would drink until the moon set and the sun rose, where I’d stumble back to my apartment on 16th Street and collapse on the bare floor.

I only wished I hadn’t given Gray the keys.

“I told you it wouldn’t last,” Adam laughed, but it was hollow, a slight hint of sympathy to his tone. “I tried ten years ago. Don’t feel bad about it.”

“I don’t,” I lied.

In reality, I couldn’t feel worse about it. This was the point I hated getting to, where the thoughts that haunted my sleep hit me in waves in my waking hours. I could get past this point, to the stage where walking was hard and driving was out of the question, and they’d quiet down again, but any further than that and I’d end up a shell of myself. I made a mental note to wait until I was home for that so I didn’t end up in the bathroom here, instead.

But I couldn’t stop the onslaught as I drank.

What kind of father was I? Holed up in a dark and dreary bar, music from ten years ago, at the earliest, booming over the speakers, the neon signs hurting my head. Granted, Dana hadn’t confirmed it with her own mouth, but Lottie had made it more obvious than ever, and I’d felt that connection every time I was around him. I had been right. My gut had been right. Drew was mine, and I was screwing it up before he was even seven months old.

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