Page 58 of One Big Little Secret

It shouldn’t bother me that she’s still standoffish after my latest fuckup. She sent the survey reports to me as promised, finished her other work, and I sent back a handwritten note of thanks.

With anyone else, I would’ve made a call. Only, I know she wouldn’t take me growling in her ear as a sign of gratitude.

That goes double for the note, I guess.

When I went into her office for our weekly meeting, I saw it crumpled up at the top of her trash can.

What the hell ever.

I don’t need her tolikeme.

Especially when I’m not particularly fond of her.

I just wish our relationship wasn’t so goddamned frayed.

How hard is it to just shut our mouths and be civil?

It’s our pre-work history, obviously. It’s the only explanation.

I’m mulling it over with a scowl that’s starting to hurt my face, staring at the massive floor-to-ceiling aquarium built into my home office.

Usually, it’s my inner sanctum, the place where I can find a little peace from a world that never stops biting my ankles.

The colorful fish and rippling green plants never fail to take me a million miles away from my woes. When the octopus comes out, I imagine what it sees on the other side of the glass.

Is it a man living an easier life without tentacles, free to do whatever his heart desires? Or are we both just as trapped by circumstances beyond our control?

The octopus, countless miles from the sea.

Me, marooned in my world of work and bare-bones social existence, where the only woman I care to obsess over hates my damn guts.

Dark thoughts today.

It’s not just the fact that I slept with her, but the undeniable truth that she represents a different time in my life. Another era when things were simpler, and I really feltfree.

When I still had time to chase skirt without worrying about it backfiring on my business or the family name.

Shit, when did it all get so complicated?

When did I start to wonder if the fortune our effort brings in is even worth it?

Knock it off, fool. Before you start thinking like Dex.

Now there’s a terrifying thought.

Snarling, I raid my bar and throw together an Old Fashioned—heavy on the bourbon—one of the drinks I know how to make reasonably well.

I try to relax as the tropical fish dart around. A couple seahorses blow by, fluttering like underwater hummingbirds.

The few times Dex brought Juniper over, she wanted to name them. Even the small cuttlefish that dart around the rocks, changing colors and signaling in their own secret, incomprehensible language.

Yes, my little saltwater menagerie is as mesmerizing as ever.

It’s just not working today.

No matter how exotic, it can’t pull me away from girl trouble with a woman I only fucked once years ago.

Can I get more pathetic?

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