Page 65 of Reluctantly You

The last word is a sneer and her face crumples.

“I know,I know, but what was I supposed to do?” Her words are trembling, and I should feel bad for her, should soften toward her plight, but I never liked my mother. I don’t blame Mitchell for not liking his. She wronged him. She deserves this.

“You could have told me the truth,” he bites back and then turns to face the wall once more, his entire back to her now. He’s shaking, like he’s coming apart at the seams. “I don’t want to speak to you. I want her to leave, Gideon.Please.”

The way he says that last word…

“But I’ve given you time,” she begs.

“Not enough,” he growls, and her shoulders sag in defeat. She peers over at me, but I’m unrelenting. Mitchell may have kicked me out of his house the other day, may have made me question so many things, but I have his back on this.

Mothers can be the devil. Just because they birthed you, they think they can toy with your emotions, like a plaything, on a whim. Well, it seems Mrs. Morris did that and is now suffering the consequences.

Welcome to life, you cunt.

“But…none of my boys talk to me anymore,” she whispers, her eyes filled with unshed tears.

“Perhaps there’s a reason for that, Mrs. Morris. Now, if you’ll please leave. Mr. Morris has work to do and obviously is done speaking with you.”

Her face twists up and she shakes her head, but I’m already calling security, asking for someone to come discreetly escort our guest from the premises. And I’ll make sure she doesn’t step foot inside again.

While we wait, she pleads with him.

“I tried to tell you so many times.”

“Your father would have been so angry.”

“I thought I was protecting you.”

But Mitchell is unmoving, his shoulders square, his body still turned away through the onslaught of emotional manipulation. Not once do I hear her say she’s sorry, not once do I hear her take the blame.

So when Joe from security turns up, I feel myself exhale in relief. He nods to me before escorting her dejected form out of the building, leaving the two of us alone.

The silence is unbearable, the weight of what just happened tugging at my heart.

“You can leave now,” he finally says, sounding sullen.

I want to reach out, but my hands slide into my pockets, my nails curled into my palms. “Are you alright?”

He scoffs and runs a hand across his face. “Just didn’t need to hear her shit. And I really don’t need to hear yours either.”

I bite down on my tongue roughly, trying to hold my scathing comments at bay.

“Alright, if you need to leave early, you can.”

I can hear his eye roll, the derision in his voice. “And give you a reason to fire me? Fuck off. I’ll stay.”

His hands are fisted by his sides as he strides toward his desk, slipping into the chair and pulling up a window on his computer screen. I’m being ignored, my presence just a hollow, ghostly thing.

“You can go,” he murmurs, and I stand there for just a moment more before turning on my heel and making my way to my own office.

Fine. Fuck him.

Fuck him.

Fuck this entire thing. I shouldn’t care about this guy, I barely like him. I don’t know why I’m so damn obsessed with him.

It must just be some kind of mental snag, like a record on repeat, a subliminal message written beneath his skin. That has to be it. Because there’s really no other explanation.

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