Page 136 of Forbidden You

“You’ll understand when you’re older.”

She grunts, indignant. “That son of a bitch.”

“I know.” Our call is interrupted by the beeping of my tone, and when I glance at the screen, another call comes through. “He’s calling me,” I inform her.

“He’s calling you now?”

“Yeah, Agnes probably told him I left. Can you hold?”

“Sure.”

The elevator arrives and I get in before filling my lungs with air to settle my nerves.

“Yeah?” I answer while pushing the button to get to our floor.

“Where are you?” Bodi barks at me.

The aggravation of his voice gives me chills, reminding me of Trent. For a split second, I turn into that bleak little girl, still feeling trapped at Stanford until I realize I’m not.Fuck this.Fuck him. Atlanta changed me. Bodi changed me. And though he might be part of my growth, it doesn’t give him the right to talk to me like this.

I inflate my chest with a heap of air, squaring my shoulders.

“Excuse me?”

By the sigh that follows over the line, he can detect the menacing tone of my voice and he clears his throat.

“I’m sorry,” he offers.

I imagine him sitting behind his desk with a scowl on his face, that same troubled look he can have when he’s visiting his father. But hissorrylacks a certain sincerity I need, so it fails to change my attitude.

“Where are you?” he asks, a bit calmer this time.

“Home.” I inwardly, yet sardonically, chuckle at that statement. This is not my home. And clearly it will never be my home either.

Fuck,I need to find a place to stay.

“You’re upset.” It’s a statement, but not one that’s laced with regret.

I can’t believe this is happening.

“Wouldn’t you be if your boyfriend kicked you out of your office?”

It’s a bold move from my side to call him that, but after he brought up my age after so many weeks of silence, I need to push out the answers I want. I need him to tell me where we stand. I’m not willing to pretend we are just friends or co-workers. Not anymore. Friends don’t sleep together in the same bed every single day. We are more than friends and he knows it.

“I’m not your boyfriend, Kayla.”

Well, there is my answer.

I swallow my tears away as the elevator doors open and I get off, sauntering toward the front door with lead in my shoes.

“Then what are you, Bodi?” I ask with contempt.

“Your boss.”

“Right.”

“Your friend,” he quickly adds.

Bullshit.

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