Page 96 of Bidding War

He takes a stiff breath. “Sort of. I got a call from Dad. He wants me to meet him at the office today so we can discuss the next steps.”

I knew these happy days couldn’t last. Elliot West casts a long shadow over everything, and I am so fucking tired of it. But I am not the only one. Anderson’s face is tight with tension. I reach out for his hand. “We will get through this.”

He smiles. “I know. He’s not the boss of us. Okay, technically, he is my boss, but he’s not in charge of you and me. We will get through this. One way or another.”

I just hope that’s true. I love this man down to my very soul, but Elliot controls so much of him, and I hate that. It’s not the first time I have thought about how much better the world would be if Elliot were not in it. I’m sure it won’t be the last.

“How is the tofu?”

“Excellent. What did you do differently?”

“I froze it before I crumbled it. Gives it a whole different texture.”

I nod and smile, listening to him talk about his latest culinary triumph. But I can’t help but worry about this situation. On the other hand, though, I should believe that Anderson will handle this. For heaven’s sake, the man came back from being shot in the stomach. If he can handle that, he can handle Elliot West.

I hope.

Whatever happens, I am here until he says otherwise. I am inextricably, irrevocably infatuated with Anderson West. There is no power in this world that can stop me from being by his side other than himself. As long as we are together, I can handle anything. He makes me feel braver than I ever have. Working side by side to get him healthy again bonded us in a way nothing else could.

That aside, though, I wish we didn’t have to be brave or strong. I wish we could just be. That we could take a breather that didn’t involve rehab and nurse appointments. Recovery is not a vacation. It is work.

When everything settles down, I am whisking this man away to some Caribbean island where all we have to do is eat tropical fruit and, drink rum punch and bask in the sun. And that is where I try to spend the afternoon in my head instead of dreading his meeting with Elliot. I just wish I knew what the meeting was about. I have no clue what that bastard might do next.

50

ANDERSON

Been a long time since I left my apartment, and with this meeting, I have no idea what to expect. Best to put my armor on.

I pick out a black suit, nothing too fancy but sharp enough to draw attention. After a long shower and a shave, I feel closer to my old self. In my head, at least. My body is less familiar.

In the mirror, I see what that psychotic accountant did to me. I don’t see myself. Not yet. One day, maybe. But for now, all I see is that little round scar and the surgical scars around the area from when they had to hunt for the particles of the bullet. I’m skinnier, too. All that time I wasted in the gym trying to get my body fat percentage lower and lower when I could have just gotten shot and saved myself the trouble … I blow out a breath and finish drying off without looking in the mirror. I’ve lost some muscle, too. Not much. June says she doesn’t see it, but I do.

With June gone for the day, I feel less connected to my own body. She keeps me grounded and solid. But when I’m alone, I feel untethered when I see myself. Not exactly a stranger in the mirror, but definitely someone I don’t totally recognize. Recovery is a strange process.

My hair has gotten a little shaggy over the past few weeks. I could use a trim. But the idea of sitting still long enough for somebody to work on me feels wrong. Like I'm a sitting duck. I'll get over it eventually. The body isn't the only thing that needs to recover after something like this. In the meantime, I fix my hair as stylishly as I can before I head out.

This is the first time that I'm leaving my apartment and going any distance further than the convenience store around the corner. It feels wrong. But I've got this. I know I can do it. I just keep putting one foot in front of the other. I was already nervous about my first trip out of the house. That trip being to go see Dad does not help.

Being taken off of Mosses ride-alongs makes me uneasy. Not that I was anxious to go back to them, particularly not after what happened last time. But a new assignment under my current condition seems like a bad idea. My recovery is going well. Trying something new sounds terrible, not that he will care about my opinion on the matter. I don't know what the old man is thinking.

Seems to me he would want to keep me on something familiar. But that's what I get for thinking that Dad would ever be predictable.

It's not like him to change things midstream, though. That's definitely got me concerned. One thing I can say for Dad is that he likes things to be consistent. He threw me to the wolves once. What the hell is he gonna do now that I’m damn near physically helpless?

I check my look one more time before I leave the house and maybe it's the stress of the situation but, I think I look okay. I've always done well under pressure. Or well enough. But this is different.

Dad doesn't want me with June, and he knows that she's living here. This meeting can only go badly, and I don’t have any outs. Moss won’t be there. It’ll be just me and Dad, I know it. He won’t want anyone around for this. When he’s cruel, he doesn’t like witnesses unless it can benefit him somehow.

I get to the office, and I get a few looks. I don't know what anybody has been saying about me or what the rumor mill has been churning out regarding my injury, but nobody seems to be overly surprised that they haven't seen me in over a month. I wonder if Dad told them that I was on some kind of vacation.

Worst. Vacation. Ever.

Only his secretary seems to know. Or at least Margaret knows something happened to me. There are tears in her eyes when she sees me. The sweet old woman has been a bit of a substitute grandmother for me over the years, and she's always loved to dote on me in her own ornery way. But today, there is nothing but anguish on her face. As she takes my hands in hers, she gushes, “Oh Anderson, how are you feeling, my boy?”

“On the mend. Thanks for asking, Margaret. Is my father in?”

“He is, and he's waiting for you with bells on. Go on in, honey.”

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