Page 79 of Hold Him Like Gravity

And I couldn’t ask.

That had been happening a lot.

The conversation would start to go somewhere deep. She would start to get emotional. Then she would quickly change topics, or find some reason to walk away from me until she had herself together again.

I wanted to know what it was all about.

But I also had no idea how to ask her, to bring it out without pressuring her.

What can I say? I was used to straight-talkers. To people who didn’t hold back. And if someone was being secretive for some reason, one of us would force it out of them.

It didn’t seem right to try that with Kick.

So until I could figure out how to coax the information out of her, I was going to have to learn to be okay with being in the dark.

But as the days passed, as feelings really started to take root and grow, that shit got harder and harder.

Sometimes—especially at work—I would find her with a faraway look, or a worried one. And it took everything I had not to grab her, drag her into the back, and force her to tell me what was making her look so upset.

I couldn’t, of course.

Hell, half the time, I had to stay in my office and away from her because I was pretty sure there was no way I could be around her without making it obvious to everyone that we were involved.

I mean, no, the company didn’t have some sort of anti-fraternization policy or anything. Mostly due to the fact that it was just a bunch of guys working there. But I couldn’t imagine it would look good to the others to know the boss was fucking their coworker. They would start to question things like her salary, why she got off certain days, if she was getting some sort of preferential treatment.

Just a bunch of headaches I didn’t need.

At least not yet.

Eventually, if shit kept going the way it was with Kick, there wouldn’t be hiding it anymore. I was fine with that. When or if the time came. It wasn’t like any of my employees were gonna get too mouthy about the situation, knowing their boss was a fucking mafia capo.

As week two slowly made its way toward week three, though, there was a knock at my office door, pulling me out of thoughts of trying to convince Kick to maybe spend the holidays at my place. I figured I could order in. Then the three of us, Bass included, could have a nice little meal.

But I hadn’t quite figured out how to phrase the invite yet. Let alone plan to get a tree, lights, ornaments, all the shit you needed to host a holiday.

“Yeah?” I called, turning to see Bastian moving into the office.

He was tense.

His spine was straight, his jaw ticking, and his eyes hard.

He had the laptop in his arm as he stepped inside the room.

I looked past him, seeing the clock on the wall. Somehow, the store had closed down around me without me even noticing. I really should have been on my way to Kick’s place.

“What is it?” I asked as he moved to the other side of the desk, taking a dramatically deep breath.

“It’s Kick,” he said.

“What is? She alright? Didn’t she leave again? Where is she?” I asked, already starting to get out of my seat.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Everyone is gone. The place is locked down,” he told me. “That’s not what I meant.”

“What the fuck are you talking about then?” I asked, feeling the frantic punch of my heart against my ribs at the idea of something happening to her.

“It’s Kick, Rico,” he said, voice careful, eyes looking, I dunno, regretful.

“What’s Kick?”

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