Page 30 of Reluctantly You

We sit like that for a while, my back cramping up slightly from him leaning all his weight against me. I peer down at his face and notice that his eyes are shut, his breathing evened out.

I need to leave, and yet I can’t. I just can’t.

Pulling up my phone, I message Shiloh, instructing him to drop off an overnight bag for me. He sends me an eyeball emoji, but I ignore it.

I’m sure this isn’t what Mitchell would want, people knowing about him. He’s private, not having made any friends in the office. I doubt he wants anyone there gossiping about his mental health.

That’s really no one’s business but his own.

When the doorbell rings an hour later, I peel myself away from Mitchell. He still has a tight grasp on me, but I assure him I’m not leaving, just getting my things.

He curls up on the bed, the kitten nestling into his neck and his eyes watching me as I disappear from the room. When I pull the front door open, I see Shiloh peering around me to get a look at Mitchell’s place.

“You’re far too nosy.”

“I’m human. Is he okay?” he asks, handing me my bag.

“He will be. I just… I’ll be in late tomorrow. Please make notes in all the meetings that you can handle, so I can catch up when I get in.”

“Sure thing, boss,” he says and then lowers his voice. “And let me know if you need me to swap with you. I know you don’t like him.”

“I don’t,” I reply.

“I know you feel obligated with your dad and that sticky relationship he had with?—”

“Enough,” I bite out. “I’m fine.”

Shiloh raises his hands and backs away. “Just offering. Keep me updated.”

I nod and close the door, pulling out my laptop and powering it up at the kitchen table. Dealing with Mitchell this week has left me behind in many aspects of my schedule, a schedule I’ve carefully curated. But then again, ever since I took over the company, things haven’t exactly gone to plan.

Mitchell eventually wanders out, his hair slightly sideways, a crease on his cheek, the cat cradled in his arms.

“You don’t need to stay,” he mumbles.

I eye him over the top of my laptop.

“I’m staying. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

He scoffs and then rubs at his eyes. “I don’t want you here.”

That’s not what his body was telling me earlier, so I just ignore him.

“I’ll be ordering in for dinner. If you have any aversions, let me know now, or I’ll just be ordering whatever’s convenient.”

“I don’t care.”

He sinks down on the couch and turns on the TV once more, his eyes slowly drifting closed. I don’t like it, how apathetic he is. It bothers me more than it should. This is not the same man who scuffled with me in his office earlier this week. That man had fire and grit. This one just…doesn’t.

He’s got nothing.

I turn my thoughts away from him and work for another half hour, following up on emails before placing an order for Chinesefood. Then I settle in next to him on the couch and wait for it to arrive.

“I have a phone number for you to call,” I say, and Mitchell peers over at me.

“For what?”

“For therapy.”

---