Page 82 of The Confidentiality Clause
I turn to face Brock, who’s watching me with soft eyes. He holds out his hand, and I take it. Our fingers interlock and we walk out of the office. As soon as we round the corner of the building, he pulls me into his chest and dips me back for a breathtaking kiss. When he pulls me back up, the world spins around us.
“You make me unbelievably happy,” he says.
I brush my nose against his. “I was just thinking the same thing about you.”
He kisses me again, softer this time, but no less intoxicating. Cars fly by. Horns honk. People chatter. But all of it fades away as I sink into his embrace. This–thisis the spark I’ve been searching for.
Chapter thirty-seven
Brock Jones
I wish I could say all my stress disappeared the moment I decided to listen to those who love me and slow down. If it did, it would make it a whole lot easier.
My eyes burn from staring at my computer screen for too long. The feeling used to be motivation to push harder. Now, I just want to go home and go to sleep.
I rub my eyes, then my temples to soothe my pounding headache. The problem with wanting to delegate parts of my business to another person is that there are a lot of steps before I can get to the delegating part. The first being finding said person. Marie has been going through all of the applicants and setting aside the best ones. Tonight I took some time to look through them. After a long day, though, it’s difficult to keep my head up, much less choose my second-ever employee.
My phone buzzes and I immediately reach for it. I’ve taken to muting it when I’m working on certain tasks. The only exceptionto the setting are Ariel, Sutton, and my mom. My mom is likely asleep, and Sutton has not texted me back since I told her I wanted to talk, so that leaves…
Ariel: Home yet?
I sigh. Every moment with Ariel has been perfect. I’m never as relaxed and happy as I am with her. But as soon as we’re apart, I feel like I’m treading water again. I’m trying to show her that she comes first, while also trying to restructure my business. I don’t want to lose it–or her–in the process. So that adds to my stress. And then I stress about Ariel thinking I’m stressed. It’s a great cycle. Super healthy.
Brock: Not yet. I think I might be about to call it a night though. Want to get through a few more of these resumes first.
I lay my head on my arms while I wait for her reply. My eyes close of their own accord. I take a few deep breaths and picture Ariel’s smile. All of this will be worth it. This time, I have an actual goal. More time with her and my friends and family.
The pain in my head starts to fade with each breath. My body relaxes. Distantly, I realize I’m slumped over on my desk, but I can’t bring myself to care because I’m so comfortable. A few minutes won’t hurt…
A hand runs through my hair. I hum.
“Come on, sleepyhead, let’s get you home,” a familiar voice says.
I blink my eyes open, then lift my head. My forehead sticks a little to my arm, and I have to peel it away. I groan as I raise my head. My whole body feels tight and sore.
Ariel smiles down at me. I widen my eyes as I come to my senses.
“What time is it?” I ask.
She keeps running a hand through my hair, which is not helping me focus at all.
“A little past midnight.”
My heart drops. I look up at her from my chair. “Ariel, I’m sorry. Please don’t think I’m going backward. I wasn’t trying to push so hard.”
She frames my face with her hands. “Hey, it’s okay. Breathe,” she coaches me. I draw in a few deep breaths. Her thumbs stroke my cheekbones. I focus on her gentle touch.
“I’m not mad at you. I don’t think you’re reverting to your old ways. The old Brock would have lied and said he was home. You wouldn’t be looking at resumes at all if you weren’t trying.”
“I’ve just been so worried–” I stop short. How can I tell her I’ve been worried about making her worry? Not only does that sound pathetic, but it would probably do the very thing I’m trying to avoid. My chest tightens.
Ariel straddles my legs and lowers herself into my lap so we’re face to face. I notice she’s wearing pajama shorts and a Duke sweatshirt. She should be asleep right now, not checking up on me.
“Tell me what’s going on.” She runs her palms up and down my chest. “You can be honest. I’m not going anywhere.”
I tip my head back against my chair and squeeze my eyes shut.
“You’ve trusted me this far,” she says quietly. “Give me a little more.”
