C12, PT. 7

She stared after him and tamped down on her emotions before they could run riot.

What the fuck was that? He could ask about her kinks and sexual past, and she couldn’t do the same? She hopped off the vanity and looked at her reflection in the mirror. She looked thoroughly fucked, eyes glassy, lips swollen, cheeks flushed, hair in absolute disarray. She had several wicked love bites that the neckline of her dress wouldn’t hide.

She splashed her face, hoping the cold water would cool her vivid blush and swollen lips. She hesitated before she opened the cabinet and found an assortment of toiletries, including an extra bottle of his cologne, extra toothbrushes, and a comb. She stared at the unwrapped toothbrushes for a long moment before she shook her head and grabbed one. She glared defiantly at her reflection. She wasn’t going to go there.

Although the past week had been great, she caught him retreating behind his wall of reserve a handful of times. It hadn’t bothered her since she assumed he was thinking about work. This was the first time he deliberately pulled away from her. She shouldn’t take it personally. This was who he was and he wasn’t going to change in a week… maybe never. That was his right. Pulling back was the sensible thing to do if he felt like he was getting in too deep. She was already sunk.

She wished she could disengage as easily as he did, but she needed time and space to distance herself emotionally—something she hadn’t had a lot of lately. This was her wake-up call. The inner glow she gained from their interlude had dimmed significantly. He hadn’t dismissed her when she arrived, he dismissed her after. She wasn’t sure which was worse.

She stiffened when she heard the rumble of his voice. He wouldn’t let anyone in while she was in this state, which meant he was on the phone. Adjusting the time for his next meeting? Her time was definitely up. She snatched his comb to smooth her tangled hair and cover the bright red marks that were glaringly obvious on her pale skin.

Roth was leaning against the glass, phone to his ear, when she emerged in just her boots. She kept her face averted as she hurried across the room and snatched her bra from the chair and retrieved her dress from the floor in front of his bookshelf. She changed quickly, eyes absently scanning the books. She was about to turn away when she spotted a familiar title on an upper shelf. She did a double take, not believing what her eyes were telling her. She went on tiptoe to get a better look before she whirled to face Roth.

He stood behind his desk, phone still to his ear, not speaking. His face gave her no indication of his thoughts or feelings. As she was so often in his presence, she was baffled and speechless. He had her work as Minnie and Thalia shelved amongst investment books like The Intelligent Investor by Benjamin Graham and Common Stock and Uncommon Profits by Philip Fisher. Seeing her neon pink book spine beside a worn copy of Born Mindset by Les Nightingale, a revered speaker that had been friends with her father, seemed sacrilegious. She had no idea why the hell he would do such a thing, but now wasn’t the time to ask.

She was slipping into her coat when he said, “Yes, I’ll see you soon.”

As silence fell, she fixed the collar of her coat. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

She crouched to pick up her purse and the poor bag of cookies she dropped when he carried her in. She turned to leave the cookies on his desk and paused when she saw him striding toward her.

“What’s this?” he asked, taking the crumpled bag and opening it.

As he surveyed what was probably crushed, unappetizing-looking cookies, she said, “They may not look like anything now, but they’re the best cookies ever.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he said and held the paper bag in one hand and grabbed her with the other.

“I’m leaving,” she said dumbly.

“We’re leaving,” he corrected as he strode toward the door.

“Where are you going?”

He gave her a sidelong look. “Home with you.”

She blinked. “It’s not even two o’clock,” she said in case he didn’t know.

“I can tell time.”

“But, don’t you have other appointments?”

“I’m the fucking boss,” he snapped, sounding every inch the temperamental tycoon.

“I know, but…”

She shut her mouth as the door swung open to reveal about a third of his staff milling around. She focused on Mo, Johan, and Sarai who were standing nearby. All three wore shit eating grins.

“Cancel the rest of my calls for the day. I’ll handle everything tomorrow,” Roth said curtly.

“Yes, sir,” Sarai burbled, unable to hide her glee. “Hold on. Let me do this up for you…”

Sarai stepped forward to button Jasmine’s gaping coat. It took the PA less than a nanosecond to realize every button was missing. Her keen gaze then zeroed in on Jasmine’s neck. Apparently, her hair wasn’t doing the best job of hiding Roth’s bites. Sarai nearly vibrated with delight.

“Looks like you had a little mishap. Nothing a few threads can’t fix,” Sarai said cheerfully and clasped her hands together as she chirped, “Enjoy the cookies!”

Not for the first time, she fantasized about murdering Roth’s PA. A group of people within hearing distance looked from her and Roth to that cursed brown package in his hand.

“I will,” Roth said, unperturbed, as he pulled her through the crowd, which automatically parted for him.

He strode down the hallway. No one called out to him the way they did to Sarai. A hushed silence preceded them, as if everyone was being alerted of his approach. There was a suspiciously large number of people in the reception area. Roth nodded to them. She didn’t make eye contact with anyone, but slapped a big, fake smile on her face and was relieved when the elevator arrived within seconds. Mo and Johan boarded with them.

The elevator stopped twice. On the first stop, three men waiting for a ride surveyed their group of four before they said they would catch the next one. On the second stop, the men suddenly remembered they were going up, not down, and waved them off. Roth didn’t seem to think either interaction was odd, and pressed the button to close the doors so they could be on their way.

**This is a raw draft of Bitter Confessions. Please do not share or distribute.

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