The secrets we hide, p.18
The Secrets We Hide, page 18
I close down my computer and realize it's been over an hour since Elena went upstairs. I refill my wine glass and grab hers that's been sitting on the island since she left to take a shower. When I walk into the room, she's in bed, rolled over on her side in a fetal position, sleeping. Or at least it appears she is.
What the fuck.
Placing the wine glasses down, I crawl onto my side of the bed. My weight shifts her body slightly towards mine, and I wrap my arm around her stomach.
"Baby, what's going on?" I nuzzle into her neck, pressing my nose to the back of her earlobe.
"Just hold me," she whispers.
So that's what I do. I hold her all night, for as long as she needs.
23
ELENA
This week, and by that, I mean the first two days of the week, has gone by painfully slow. Not as slow as last weekend, but it’s still a torturous feeling. The weekend was entailed of Jake’s probing questions, about how I was feeling, and a couple of questions hinting around Christian, but nothing regarding the Friday afternoon meeting with Matt. I was unsure if he knew anything about that when he mentioned Cruz called him, so I kept to myself and remained as vague as possible.
I also haven't mentioned anything to Cruz, and probably won't because his concern was valid, but I'm still a little peeved that he called my husband.
Cruz and I had our weekly roundup meeting on Monday, where I completely ignored any question of Friday afternoon and bailing on him that night. I've had a few texts with Christian, which have remained awkwardly professional. Only speaking about the project and jumping on calls with his offsite teams.
Then our company's Monday morning meeting, which was me sitting in a room with that disgusting, self-important, walking dick stick. I tried to avoid sitting next to him, but he made Cruz move by making some stupid excuse about sitting with his teammate. Then as he sat down, I got that familiar whiff of musk and cheap cologne when he leaned in and whispered, 'Good Morning, Puppet'.
The use of the nickname makes me cringe.
The thought of the evidence he has, and our encounter, pushes bile further up my throat, which feels like it has made a home there since Friday.
Fortunately, I wore pants on Monday, but it didn't stop him from groping my leg and caressing my thigh under the table during the entire meeting. I've worn nothing but pants and long-sleeve sweaters every day since. I still feel exposed. And so dirty.
Never have I felt like a weak woman. I have weak moments, like everyone. But this… nothing has ever made me feel so powerless.
I almost went to Bryan on Monday after the meeting. Career be damned. But the shame of everything stopped me at his office door.
Jake doesn't care who knows about our extracurricular sex activities, and I wish I could feel that same way. I wish I didn't care so much or have so much riding on the fact that everyone would judge my personal life.
When Jake and I first tried this out, I don't think either one of us thought it would be more than once with any specific person. It might be fun adding a regular partner to our sex life, which I never thought of until after meeting Christian. That is something that I would consider now. And Jake… I don't think Jake cares about whether it's a regular or just something we explore from time to time, as long as I'm happy and comfortable.
But that makes no fucking difference at this point.
Everything feels soiled.
Matt could completely ruin everything I've built in an instant, and I hate him for that. It doesn't matter if everything with Christian was condoned by my husband, people are going to think I'm a cheating slut who sleeps with her clients. Besides, what's my defense? 'No, no, it's totally okay; my husband likes when I fuck other men.'
Everything is absolutely fucked. The heaviness in my chest is feeling more and more debilitating every day.
And the more I go down this rabbit hole, the more trapped I feel. I don't know what drowning in quicksand is like, but I imagine it feels something like this.
A knock on the door rips me away from my thoughts as my heart jumps in my chest and my pulse quickens.
I hear the creak of the door handle before I see it turn. I hold my breath until Cruz steps through the door, easing the tension twisted on my face. The air stuck in my lungs releases, and I slouch back in my chair, realizing how exhausted my body is from running so tight and rigid all week. Even my fingers feel tight. I open my palm to a full stretch and close it shut, repeating that over and over again as I grab my forearm, squeezing the stiff muscle.
"Holy shit, are you having a heart attack?" I shoot a look his way as he stops dead in his tracks.
"What? No. God, Cruz, you are so dramatic. I'm just..." I stand up, shaking out my hands and rolling my neck around in a circle, "tense," I say simply.
"Well, no shit, you've been tighter than a nun on a Tuesday, girl."
Pinching my brows together. "Why, Tuesday?" I ask, confused.
"Oh, I don't know. It sounded good," he says, waving his hand in the air, swatting away my question like a gnat.
I huff out a laugh, shaking my head. No matter what is going on in my world, he always makes me smile. I truly love that about him.
"So, here is all the work I do for you to make your life easier." I flash him a look as he places a binder and a couple of manila envelopes on my desk. "I know, I know. I get a salary for that. Also, Christian's assistant called to confirm your meeting on Friday, and Matt wants to have the accountability meeting in person again."
My stomach drops to my feet and my breath catches in my throat.
"You know, I knew that would be your response when I told you that." Pointing at me as he draws an invisible circle at me in the air.
"What's going on? What am I missing?" he asks, his voice soft and serious.
"Nothing, I'm just stressed. That's all," I blurt back defensively.
"You can talk to me, you know." He leans into my desk, closer to me, like he knows if I did say anything, it would be a whisper.
I could tell him. I know he won't judge me. It might actually make me feel better, but all of my words get stuck in my voice box.
"Hm, okay, then," he mutters, pushing himself upright. "I told him you weren't going to be in that afternoon and scheduled time before the Monday morning meeting, so you should probably make yourself an appointment or something on Friday afternoon."
One side of my lip lifts in a half smile as I peer up at him in admiration.
"I don't deserve you." It's honest and true.
"Yeah. Yeah." He waves me off again, unable to take a meaningful compliment. Turning on his heel to leave my office, "I don't care what you do on Friday afternoon, but we are going out for a drink Friday evening. You're buying. Oh, and the top shelf stuff, not the well shit that they mix with rubbing alcohol. I'm going to lunch." He leaves and shuts the door behind him.
Oh, the confidence he has. The bear trap that my heart has been in this week feels looser now, and I realize how much he's always been there for me. I make a note to buy him something to thank him. He's more of a friend than an assistant, and I truly can't imagine working without him.
I reach for the stack he left on my desk and pull out the reports, taking a quick glance through them. I scribble a few notes on the face page and scoot my chair back, turning to the credenza behind me to file it away. As I finger through the file folders, I hear the familiar creak of the door handle turning.
"Are you back to ask me for lunch money?" I giggle, waiting for no doubt a witty comeback that Cruz always seems to have loaded in his verbal arsenal.
But it doesn't come.
"Silence is unbecoming on you… " I turn in my chair and freeze, as Matt stands front and center in the middle of my office.
We stare at each other for a minute. Maybe an hour.
Every cell in my body is hitting the panic button, but the anger and resentment I feel towards this man is taking over that fear. I stand, straightening my baby blue blazer as I lift my chin, refusing to back down to this sorry excuse of a man.
"Get. Out." Crossing my arms over my chest to close myself off.
His lips quirk up briefly, like I'm a toddler having a tantrum and he finds me amusing.
"So, you're not ready to beg for it yet?" I flinch in disgust, taken aback by his question.
"You have lost your fucking mind if you think I'll be begging you for anything," I quip.
Finding his way to the side of my desk, he walks over slowly, creating more tension with each step.
"Matt, stay the fuck away from me. I will report you. I don't care about the repercussions to myself." I step back, my strong stature failing me, and he sees it.
"You won't, because you can't. And you know it." He draws nearer, rounding over to my side of the desk. I take another step back, but my heel slips on the wheel of my office chair, and I fall back into my seat.
"Right where you should be. Below me. Looking up at me. Except you should be on your knees." Unbuttoning the jacket of his shit-colored suit, he pushes it open to expose the cheap starchy white shirt beneath it, contrasting the black tie laying uneven in the center.
"No." Sitting to my full height.
"No?" He cocks his head. "You'll get on your knees to get a contract, but not to save your reputation? Your morals are quite confusing."
He hooks his finger behind the lapel of my blazer and trails down the border of the hem until he reaches the peak of my breast. My heart is pounding out of my chest, and I want nothing more than to kick my shin in between his legs.
I tilt my head away, my chin nearly on my shoulder, and squeeze my eyes shut. Taking myself anywhere but here, but then I quickly remember how he was able to turn the tables on me last time. I shoot my eyes open and turn to face him.
"You don't know the first thing about morals." The sour taste from the bile rising in my throat helps the excess saliva build, so... I spit in his face.
He barely flinches. Like it's just another day with spit in his face. Frozen with a smirk, he uses his fingertips to clean the dribble off his cheek and flicks it away.
"I will expose you with everything I have. I will fucking ruin you. Your husband will leave you and no one will hire you. You'll be too ashamed to do anything in this business because everyone will look at you like a fucking sex toy." Bringing both his hands around to the base of my neck, he caresses the top of my blouse as if he's drawing invisible lines over my collarbone. "And if you think I've shown you all my cards, you aren't nearly as smart as I thought you were."
My eyes flicker, thinking back on anything and everything decently inappropriate that I could have done in public since meeting Christian. He's trying to scare me. Trying to make me think he has more than what he already showed me, but it doesn't matter. What he has is enough to destroy everything I've worked for.
Fuck.
An overwhelming feeling of sadness hits me. Already grieving the loss of my privacy and sense of security. Tears form at the corners of my eyes, as they have threatened all week long, but I'm unable to continue to push them away.
He sees the defeat in my face. And like the devil he is, he continues to push, regardless of seeing the light in my eyes fade.
"That's it, puppet." He smirks.
His brawny body is like a tree, blocking me in the small confines of my chair. I have never considered myself to be a claustrophobic person, but the dense air and throbbing in my ears provides me with a panic I've never experienced before. I move my hands to the edge of the armrests, gripping the ends with such force, the skin over my knuckles becomes thinned and white.
I realize instantly that it was a mistake when he presses both his hands over my wrists, leaning the full weight of his body into the chair, trapping me.
"You're hurting me," I wince out, attempting to move my hands from his powerful grip.
"The physical pain I can induce will be nothing compared to the emotional destruction I will cause you if you don't give me what I want." He leans his face into my neck, pressing more weight into my petite wrists. The weight he is bearing on the delicate joints feels like they are completely dislodged at this point.
He sniffs deeply. Like a fucking dog. Breathing heavily into my ear. The full body shiver that runs through me is tangible, seeping with pure disgust.
"What is it that you want, Matt?" I grit through clenched teeth.
"You'll see soon enough. Just two more days, to be exact." He leans up and releases my wrists.
The relief is painful, and although he's no longer pinning me down, I still feel stuck.
"Friday?" My brows pinch. "What's on Friday?"
His lip lifts up in a crooked smile and he takes a few steps back before turning to head out of my office. With his back turned at me, he reaches his arms out, wiggling his fingers like he's controlling puppets.
"You'll see, little puppet. You'll see," he singsongs as he walks through the doorway, leaving it wide open.
Just like all my secrets.
24
CHRISTIAN
It's been a week since I've seen Elena. I shouldn't be so concerned about how she's doing or what she is up to, but I can't help my thoughts wandering that way. Fortunately, work has taken up most of my brain power this week, and in my downtime, I've been doing nothing but working out or running. Which is when most of my thinking happens.
The thoughts of the situation that have become us. And by us, I mean Elena and her husband. Everything feels honest and open. Even though I’ve yet to meet Jake in person, there’s a distinct connection. A silent understanding between all of us. But then, Elena breaking down after what we did in my office confused me. She's all over the place, and I want nothing more than to try to figure things out.
The feeling of her in that hotel room was so heightened by him. Every inch of my body was burning for her, to take her and make her scream for both of us. Usually I wouldn't care about him or the fact that he was watching. It should have just been about me and Elena and what we wanted out of each other. But with her–with them–it felt… different. I needed to please him like I was pleasing her. Not sexually, but in a way that I knew he would appreciate.
I kept my eyes on her but stole glances at him watching. The overwhelming desire of his fixed eyes on us pushed me to the edge so quickly that I had to slow my thrusts to avoid embarrassing myself. The desperation in his face as I pleased her, his need for her, it was otherworldly.
I've had threesomes before, but this one was far beyond anything sexual. It was sensual, and intimate, and by far the best sex I've ever had.
I have no desire for a relationship, and I've never been a relationship guy. But what they have to offer is, strangely, ideal for me. I've pushed that thought away more than I'd care to admit. Especially considering my past history with so-called relationships.
I can't go back there again.
Was it my fault?
No.
It has taken years of therapy to be able to answer that with confidence.
Did my actions cause one of the biggest catastrophes of my life?
Yes. God, yes.
It has to be one in a million, the irony of the first woman that I've been remotely interested in pursuing since then, is married.
Regardless, I push those thoughts away yet again. It doesn't make sense for her, for me, for her husband, and certainly not for her career.
I don't know which of those caused her to completely freak out last Friday, but either way, the outcome is inevitable.
Someone gets hurt. Someone always does.
She's been checking in this week only by text messages and emails. Her work is impeccable, which only makes my desire burn even deeper, and I keep going back to the possibility of some kind of relationship with her... with them.
I shake my head yet again, shoving those thoughts into a black hole where they belong, as I finish up my run, rounding the corner to my penthouse. Slowing to a walk, I interlace my fingers behind my head, taking in a few deep breaths of the crisp morning air. The sun is just making its appearance over the mountains that surround this gorgeous city, allowing a few rays of light to beam through the clouds.
Is that a foreshadowing of what could come? Light in the darkness.
Dare I say it. Hope?
I've been in a state of despondency for… well, since Madeline.
Elena has brought out hope in me, and the irony of that is not lost on me.
It's Friday, the day I've been looking forward to all week. For most because it falls before no work and all play days. I'd like to use that as an excuse, but I can't when it's the blue-eyed bombshell that has plagued all my thoughts this week. The look on her face last week is a look I'll never forget. She was disgusted with herself. I could see the distaste of our actions emanating from her like a beacon from a lighthouse.
She asked me to have her report to someone else. I’m not doing that. Not until I can talk with her more clearly about our… situation.
I need to make a decision on how to handle this because I can't keep drowning these thoughts for them just to float back up to the surface. I need to lay my cards out to her, to both of them, so they know. It could be more. If we wanted it to be and it could work.
“Elena Jenkins is on her way up, sir."
"Thanks, Jenny. Bring her in when she arrives and no interruptions, please," I reply back to Jenny over the speaker before disconnecting.
She is going to be all business today and try to cut this as short as possible, but I'm going to need her to listen and hear me out. If she cuts herself off like she did last week, I definitely have my work cut out for me. I've never seen someone's walls fly up so goddamn fast. Every time hers appear, they are fortified with steel and regret.
I run my fingers through my hair, realizing how shaggy it's getting, and along with my twenty-four-hour stubble that I failed to shave this morning, I look like I've roughed it a bit too hard this week.
