Page 36 of Hired Help

“You need anything?”

“Nah, I’m good, man.”

He nods and withdraws, knowing me well enough to understand I’m not even close to good but also well enough to know there’s nothing he can do.

She hired a male stripper. That means she’s not dating anyone.

The twinge of hope somehow makes everything else worse. And what’s the best that hope could lead to? That she cheated on me once, but it meant nothing?

I move along the hallway, into the bathroom, taking a cubicle just so I can sit out of sight and gather my thoughts.

Back when I was trying to get her to say yes to me, yes toanything, even being her friend, I’d thought once I was over the initial hurdle it’d be plain sailing the rest of the way. I watched her, clocked her every movement. Knew her inside and out from a year of observing her before she ever got close to saying that first, tentative yes.

Everything I learned during that time pointed to one surety. Brooke got almost nothing from her family. Not love. Not security. Not affection.

I knew I could become that for her. Could be the first person with the label of family she could depend upon.

I thought once I had a foot in the door, she’d never leave. That the siren call of a stable partnership offered her something better than she’d ever had.

Manipulative? Check.

Borderline stalker? Check.

But I wasn’t following her to hurt her. I recognised the instant we met that her broken joins aligned to mine. All I wanted was for her to recognise that too.

And she did.

And she still broke my heart.

I leave the stall and splash water on my face. There’s a stench coming from another closed stall, and it hurries me from the room. I stride down the corridor like I’m a man who knows what he wants and where he’s going instead of one who’s lost the person who mattered above all else.

When I reach the connecting door, it swings open and Brooke is standing there; eyes bright, cheeks flushed. Looking like somebody just satisfied her with a glorious fuck.

“Hey,” she murmurs, edging a step back too late as the door swings shut. “I thought you weren’t here.”

“That’s why you paid your man whore to come along, is it? Because you thought I wouldn’t be here for you to parade in front of?”

Her jaw clenches, eyes gleaming as she fights back tears.

I want to exult in hurting her, even at this petty level, but I can’t. All I want is for us to go into the past a few weeks. Back to Alicia, in the kitchen, and when she offers to show me something, I can still say no.

She backs up a step, and the anger surges in me. I grab her neck, pulling her forward, her face an inch away as the fear blossoms in her eyes. “You wanted to make a fool of me, is that it?”

My thumb brushes against the ruffles surrounding her neck to find the edge of her windpipe, pressing into the flesh beside it, her back stiffening as the pain spreads. Then I slide it over the rocky outcropping of cartilage, moving my lower body until it touches against hers while I let my thumb press harder.

We were meant to be happy together.

Her hands clasp my wrist, fingertips digging in as she attempts to pull me away. She says something but her voice is a broken whisper, barely audible.

I lean forward, bending until my forehead rests against hers.

Just open your mouth and tell her. Tell her you love her anyway, that you need her. Tell her you’ll suck up whatever she’s done if she’ll just take you back, you fucking coward.

“Alicia showed me—”

And I break off with a croak like I’m the one whose windpipe is being crushed. I lift my thumb, smoothing it over the skin, feeling horrified at what I’ve done, at wanting to do far worse.

The words stick in my throat until I’m choking, coughing to get rid of something that doesn’t even exist. My eyes burn. My chest heaves.

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