Not Safe for Work (27 page)

Chapter Thirty-Three

My skull throbbed. My eyes ached. I
never
drank like that, especially not before work, but I had last night, and now I was paying dearly for it. Hopefully I hadn’t kept working on my résumé. God, I didn’t send it to anyone, did I? Guess I’d find out.

Sunglasses on and coffee in hand, I shuffled into work about twenty minutes late. The door to the Zone must have weighed a thousand pounds as I pushed it open. I didn’t look at anyone. Didn’t speak. Put my coffee on my desk. Dropped my sunglasses next to them.

While the daily banter went on around me, I dug up as much focus as I could find and made myself get to work. Measure. Cut. Fit. Glue. I wasn’t good for much else today. Just as well there were still some simpler tasks on the current model. Measure. Cut. Fit. Glue. I wouldn’t be screwed until later when I had to fabricate a railing for the exterior staircase. It figured this would be one of those models where the client wanted every detail brought to life. In the meantime, measure. Cut. Fit. Glue.

And think about Rick.

And how much I’d blown with one badly timed kiss.

And how much I never expected this to hurt.

Measure. Cut. Fit. Glue.

“Hey, Jon.” Teagan’s voice nudged me back to the present. “You in the mood for sushi today?”

“No.” My response was flat, bordering on terse. I glanced up at her, mostly to make sure I hadn’t inadvertently hurt her feelings, but the way she cocked her head and furrowed her brow spoke of puzzlement, not offense.

“You sure? I’ll buy.”

I shook my head and went back measuring…cutting…fitting…gluing.

Shortly before lunch, payroll dropped off our pay stubs. I didn’t usually look at mine unless I’d been on overtime, but I wasn’t getting anything else done today, so what the hell. I opened the envelope, pulled out the slip of paper and stared at it.

Numbers. Dollars. A chunk for Uncle Sam. A little something toward my retirement. Health insurance. Whatever was left went to college funds, bills and necessities first, and what was left after that went to anything I damn well pleased, like toys. A new flogger. A coil of rope. Some overpriced but amazing coffee to be rationed until the next period of overtime. That pay stub documented every minute I’d been here for the past two weeks. Everything I’d squirreled into a retirement fund over the years. Everything.

Everything except for what I
didn’t
have.

Nowhere on the pay stub did it break down what I gave up for the privilege of coming here and earning this money. There was no line for Rick. No deductions for pride or a guilty conscience. No bonuses for keeping the client happy.

What could come walking through that door any goddamned minute, just like every day last week, this week, and every week in the foreseeable future.

I pushed the pay stub back into its envelope and shoved it into a drawer. I needed this job because I needed the money. I was too close to the red line to play fast and loose with my income.

There was still the option of a lawsuit, but I had yet to be convinced that wouldn’t make things worse. It sure as fuck wouldn’t fix everything. Especially since nothing—no amount of suing, reasoning, budgeting, or fuming—could make this morning hurt any less. Crossed lines couldn’t be uncrossed. I couldn’t unlove him any more than I could unfuck him. There was no undoing any of this. We could stop, but we couldn’t go back, and what we’d been would always be, even if it existed only in the past tense.

My bosses came by to check our progress, and the sight of them—especially Mitchell, the fucking rat—nauseated me. So did his voice. And the condescending way he spoke to my crew. Dread climbed up from my stomach as he came toward my table. Normally, he’d just grill me from an arm’s length away, but he stopped way too close to me this time.

I stood straighter. No way in hell was I looking up at him.

I gave up Rick because of you.

“How’s everything going, Mr. McNeill?”

All because I can’t handle taking out some loans?

I swallowed. “Fine. Sir.”

“Glad to hear it.”

In the name of keeping my job…

He put a hand on my shoulder, and it seemed to weigh a ton, especially as his eyes narrowed. “Everything’s all right, isn’t it?”

…working for you…

“Everything’s fine.” Two words couldn’t have hurt more than those two did. For the sake of my job, I had to pretend they were true, but I was dying on the inside.

…I let go of the man I’ve completely—

I forced that train of thought right off its rails and looked him in the eye. “It’s all going great.”

It’s all wrong. It’s all fucking wrong. What did I do?

“Good. Good. Glad to hear it.” He clapped my shoulder. “Keep up the good work, McNeill.”

Get your motherfucking hand off
—

He squeezed once more and then let go and turned to grill Teagan.

I leaned forward, resting my hands on the table and closing my eyes. My conversations with Rick and my ex-wife ping-ponged around in my head, their words echoing off the inside of my throbbing skull, and one thought lurched its way to the forefront of my mind:

Well, McNeill? Was it worth it?

“Good work, everyone,” Mitchell said. “The client’s coming by later on to have a look at those models, so, uh, let’s all look sharp?”

My stomach fell into my feet.

Not today. God, not today. Rick came in here all the time, but…not today. Please.

I rubbed a hand over my face. I’d been convinced there was nothing worse than facing my boyfriend in the office—or the bedroom—with my boss’s ultimatum hanging over my head.

Wrong. So wrong.

Waiting in here for my ex to walk in with the man who’d strategically driven us apart? Fuck.

And it could get much worse. All Rick had to do was tip his hand, and my job was toast. Even if I could sue the company, that didn’t help me with my cash flow between now and a judge’s decision. I was pretty sure my kids’ colleges wouldn’t accept “I’ll pay you as soon as I’m done suing my ex-employer” in lieu of tuition.

But he wouldn’t tip his hand. I knew damn well he wouldn’t. That wasn’t the kind of man he was, because he wasn’t the kind of man anyone with half a brain would let slip between their fingers. Especially not over something as stupid as
money
.

That realization—that my secret was safe with Rick even though he probably couldn’t stand the sight of me now—made my chest hurt. He was too good for that kind of vindictive shit. He was too good to let go of.

What have I done?

“Jon?” Marie asked quietly.

I opened my eyes. She was on the opposite side of my table, watching me over her glasses. Her raised eyebrows asked if everything was all right. I nodded. Maybe she was convinced, maybe she wasn’t—her lips tightened, and she held my gaze for a moment like she might pursue the issue.

“Marie, are you ready?” Mitchell asked.

“Yes, sir.” She shot me one last glance and then followed him out of the room.

As soon as they were gone, I released my breath.

“What the fuck was that all about?” Bianca asked.

I turned and realized everyone was staring at me. “What?”

“That was kind of weird.” Teagan eyed me over her model. “I mean, if looks could kill, Mitchell would’ve been a dead man.”

I swallowed. “And that’s new?”

“Well, no.” She stood straighter. “But usually you glare at him like you want him to drop dead. This time it was more like you wanted him to go up in flames.”

“Yeah,” Cal said. “Even Dawson looked like she was going to be all ‘Dude, McNeill, settle down.’”

I waved a hand. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.” I shifted my attention back to my work and picked up the drawing of the structure I was currently building. I looked it over and tried to focus on the lines, numbers and letters that must have made sense to me in some lifetime. None of it meant a thing to me now. Just a bunch of random symbols scattered on a page, all adding up to nothing.

All around me, everyone was still and silent. No doubt exchanging puzzled glances. Maybe mouthing
what the hell?
and
I don’t know
at each other.

But eventually, fingers started tapping on keys again. Mice started clicking. Gum started snapping. The banter started again—cautiously at first, and then with more enthusiasm.

And I just concentrated on the model.

Measure. Cut. Fit. Glue.

* * * * *

The day ground on, and if time had any inclination to heal this wound, it wasn’t in any great hurry. I’d have been more comfortable and less distracted with a cock cage on. Right then, I’d have sold my soul to have my cock and balls strapped into one of those diabolical devices if it meant I could stop feeling this particular burr under my skin. Having it pinch and tug every time I moved, pressing into sensitive skin until I could think of nothing except
get it off, get it off, get it off
, would’ve been a welcome alternative to this.

The distant, hurried rhythm of high-heeled footsteps approaching on laminate reverberated up and down my spine.

“Incoming,” Cal said.

Scott turned the music down, and I ground my teeth, half expecting the usual ominous overture to pour through the speakers. When I shot him a warning look, he wisely left the music alone.

The door opened, and my throat closed.

Rick said nothing. Nor did anyone else in the room. Mice clicked, fingers clattered on keyboards, but no one spoke. They were probably all trying to look busy, hoping the boss wasn’t there to speak to them.

My heart was ready to crash right through my rib cage. I tried to focus, but it was impossible with Rick in the room. Especially as he and Mitchell inched their way toward me.

And then, there they were. Standing opposite me, both staring right at me and not the model they’d allegedly come to check.

I met Rick’s gaze. He held it, but only for a second. Just long enough for me to see the palpable hurt in his eyes. We were on opposite sides of my modeling table, a scale replica of his next project between us, and it may as well have been the actual building for as far apart as we were.

What did I do? What did—

“Well.” Mitchell smiled broadly. “Looks like everything here is in order, yes?”

“Yeah. Everything’s perfect.” Rick plastered on a smile that wouldn’t have fooled a blind man. “Shall we head up and take a look at that revised schematic for the library?”

Mitchell eyed me but nodded. To Rick, he said, “All right. After you.”

Along with Marie, they turned to go, and the heavy, painful, devastated feeling I’d been carrying all day suddenly exploded into a heart-stopping panic.

“Wait!”

The word came out before I could stop it.

As one, Rick and my two bosses turned around.

The rest of the room fell silent. No one moved.

I set my X-ACTO knife down and straightened. Quietly, I repeated, “Wait.” It was a stupid thing to say just then, because they were waiting, but it was the only word that would come out. The rest were still catching up, fighting their way to the front of my brain.

Mitchell inclined his head. “Yes, Mr. McNeill?”

“I—” I looked at Rick. His eyes, his lips, his brow—nothing offered a single clue as to what was going through his mind.

“Jon?” Marie asked. “Is there something…?”

“Yeah, I—” I squared my shoulders. “Mr. Mitchell, I’m sorry.” I gestured at Rick. “We split up.”

A few feet away, Teagan’s breath hitched. Rick’s eyes widened. Marie grimaced. Mitchell looked like he was about to have heart failure. All around us, my crew was absolutely still and silent.

I swallowed. “If you want to fire me for that, go right ahead.”

Mitchell’s jaw dropped. He paled, glancing back and forth from me to Rick.

Someone’s chair creaked. Someone whispered something. Subtle movement, the quiet sounds of my peers reading between lines. All that may as well have been a world away, though. For all I knew, the universe didn’t extend beyond the two people on either side of my desk.

Mitchell took a breath like he was about to say something, but I spoke first.

“Rick, I’m sorry. The way I handled this was—”

“Mr. McNeill,” Mitchell broke in. “I think we should take this conversation to my office.”

I ignored him. “I made a huge mistake. No amount of pride is worth letting you go. My job here was already fucked.”

“Mr. McNeill!” Mitchell ground out. “This—”

“Let him finish,” Marie said flatly.

Mitchell shot her a look more venomous than the one I’d given him earlier.

Rick’s gaze stayed fixed on me, though. “Go on.”

I moistened my parched lips. “Walking away from you was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. Even if I hadn’t been choosing this”—I gestured at my half-built model—“over you.”

“You weren’t choosing your career,” he said, his tone unreadable. “You were choosing your kids.”

I shook my head. “No, I wasn’t. I was choosing stability. As if I can’t have both. I can find other ways to provide for my kids. I can’t find another you. It took me this long to find you. What kind of idiot am I to think I can find—”

“Gentlemen,” Mitchell broke in. “This is hardly appropriate here at—”

“Neither is ordering me to continue keeping your client happy,” I snapped.

No one spoke. No one breathed. My heart thumped in my chest—I was definitely fired now.

I shifted my attention back to Rick. “Look at us. It’s been insane from the start. Every time we think it’s smooth sailing, something happens, and suddenly we can’t see each other, or one of us is…” I paused, not sure how much to divulge around this many people. “Nothing about us has been perfect except for you being perfect for me. We’ve been fucking up, tripping over our own feet, leaning on each other…” I shook my head. “It’s been a comedy of errors from day one. And I…I wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s like…we can bumble through and be completely okay with that, and it can be a complete clusterfuck, and then when we get it right…” I released a ragged breath. “When we get it right, it’s perfect. And even when we don’t, it still is.”