Page 38 of My Not So Wicked Boss (My Not So Wicked 3)

Without a word, he strode off down the hall and locked himself back in his office.

I guessed I should probably start packing.Chapter FourteenI sat in bed in the dark well after Chloe went to sleep with tears streaming down my cheeks, worried that I’d be disrupting Chloe’s life again and moving back in with my parents.

I picked up my copy of Silent Stones from the nightstand, barely able to make out Miles’s headshot on the back. Why did he have to be like every other man? I didn’t know why I thought he might be different. Perhaps his beautiful words had seduced me. How could he write such emotion, but be so heartless? What was Sophie thinking, giving Henry to him? Her other family members must be awful. Obviously, their dad didn’t have a lot of scruples, having an ongoing affair with the nanny. From the sound of it, Miles’s mom wasn’t the only one over the years. And it said a lot about Sophie’s mom for putting up with it. Definitely not someone I would want to raise my child.

I wiped my cheeks and shoved his stupid book in the nightstand drawer. I was never reading it again. Or the sequel. It all felt like lies now. It made me feel ill that I related so much to Isabella. That I thought for one second, or maybe even two, that Miles might be a man for whom I would consider beginning the search for the key to my heart. Ugh! What was wrong with me? I threw the covers over my head. I knew better. Hadn’t I learned anything from Leland? I blamed my friends for all having incredible relationships. False hope had crept in. Well, I was back on guard. No one was getting through ever again.

For most of the next day, Henry insisted on playing in his nursery. I had no reason to tell him no, other than it made me uncomfortable being so close to Miles, who was down the hall once again locked up in his office like some brooding master. I waited on pins and needles all day for him to come in and tell Henry to keep it down or, you know, fire me.

With that thought in mind, I got out my doodle pad with the intent of drawing a picture of Henry for me to keep as a memento. I intended it to only be of him, but I kept being drawn to the picture of Sophie and Kevin on the small table near Henry’s toddler bed. I sat on Henry’s bed and picked up the framed picture and ran my fingers across the glass. Sophie was beautiful, with sandy brown hair and the same enigmatic aqua blue eyes her brother had. More than that, she radiated goodness. I wished I could talk to her, understand her reasons for choosing Miles.

Tears filled my eyes when I set down the picture and saw the empty cloud-grey upholstered rocker. I could see Sophie rocking her son in it. How I ached for her and Henry. What had she seen in Miles to give him her baby?

I took my pencil out while Henry molded clay and crashed trains, and began to sketch Sophie rocking Henry on the chair. I knew it sounded crazy, but I felt like she wanted me to.

By the time afternoon rolled around and I still had a job, I decided to put away the sketch and do some work for Miles. I got out his laptop to answer fan mail while Henry stacked his large blocks as tall as he could before knocking them down. I kept waiting for Miles to come in and complain about the noise, but I never heard him stir. Did he even eat during the day? I knew his chef had come on Sunday to prepare him meals for the week. They were all neatly organized in the refrigerator downstairs that—get this—was a computer too. I could watch Netflix on it if I wanted to. Weird.

There were several emails to respond to when I logged in. His fans, mostly female, were rabid. I supposed I got the appeal. He was talented and gorgeous, but these desperate women had no idea what was behind his pretty exterior. Like this poor woman:

Dear Taron,

I just finished reading Silent Stones. It was bloody brilliant. I loved your use of allegory. The desolate castle was a beautiful way to symbolize Isabella and her journey. And those videos you’ve been posting with your nephew have me in heat. I would love to get together and discuss your works further. I live in Liverpool but do business in London all the time. After we’ve finished talking you can prove to me that smart men really do make better lovers and, from the looks of it, fathers. I’m happy to send a photo of myself. You won’t be disappointed.

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