Page 58 of Never Bargain with the Boss
“How old is she, Cameron Harrington?”
“Twenty-five. Though she claims 175 in dog years because they’ve been rough.” A wry laugh escapes as I quote Riley’s self-description.
Kayla exhales heavily. “Thank fuck. This was about to go an entirely different way. But twenty-five is old enough to know herself and what she does and doesn’t want. If, for some unknown, godforsaken reason, she wants you too, that’s good.”
She makes it sound like I’m unwantable. Fuck, maybe I am. Anger starts to build again, directed at myself, not Riley or Kayla, who are only trying to help me. But I’m too far gone, too broken inside.
“No, it’s not good. We agreed to focus on Grace. I forgot for a minute, and that’s why I’m so furious today. At myself. I just need to remember what we agreed on,” I explain.
Kayla looks at me with disappointment, then walks back to my desk and picks up the folder she brought in with her. “Seems like that’s going well.” She drops it once again. “Look, Cam, see where things go with Riley. Start with not being an asshole to her or pushing her away, and maybe talk to her a bit more.”
“Fucking brilliant,” I deadpan. “That must be why you make the big bucks, Sis.”
She flashes me a sardonic smirk, her perfectly painted lips pursed angrily. “Yep. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some analysts who need reassuring that you’re not about to go on a firing spree. What did you say to them, anyway?”
Closing my eyes, I shake my head. “I don’t even know. Tell them I’m sorry.”
She laughs, the sound bright and tinkling. “Naw, it’s good for them to get riled up every once in a while. Keeps them from stagnating. Advice you could use too.”
Having laid another mental grenade in my mind, she spins and struts out the door, leaving it open so I hear her tell Jeannie, “He’s fine. Just pissy, as per usual.”
“Too bad. He’s been so much better lately,” Jeannie replies, intentionally loud enough for me to overhear.
I fall to my chair, staring at the folder Kayla left. Am I stagnant? Probably, but it’s comfortable and safe, two things I need. Two things my daughter needs. That stability is important for her, especially in the wake of such turbulence in her early life.
Does stability have to equal boring, though?
The question floats through my mind, challenging my own perceptions of what’s best for Grace and for myself. We’ve been having silly, spontaneous fun with Riley, and all the while, Grace’s grades are up, her riding lessons are going well, she’s not OD’ing on caffeine, and we’re all smiling, laughing, and doing well.
All of which is good. But is potentially getting something even better worth the risk of ruining it all? I don’t think so. Not for Grace. And I will sacrifice my own desires for her every time. It’s not even a question.
Grace first. Always.
Closing my eyes, I grit my teeth. Kayla had me hoping for a minute there, dreaming about what could be, but I won’t gamble Grace’s happiness on a shot at my own.
RILEY
I’m really not sure about this. Grace has none of my reservations. Not a single, solitary one. She’s in full-on puppy-level excitement mode today. I’d say it’s because she’s holding a grande java chip Frappuccino with a brown sugar cinnamon sprinkle on top of the chocolate drizzled whipped cream, but that’s not it.
It’s because it’s Fall Ball day.
“What color do you think I should get? I’m leaning toward blue, but do I want to go matchy-match? Or coordinate?” She hums thoughtfully, her eyes vacant like she’s seeing herself all dressed for the Fall Ball and deciding whether the blue nails are the way to go or not. Before I can offer an opinion, she’s decided. “Baby blue.”
Her nail color isn’t what’s giving me pause. It’s the entire pack of wolves on the other side of the salon door, otherwise known as Cameron’s entire family. Or at least the female ones. I’m pretty sure his Dad and brothers aren’t in there, but at this point, what’s a few more when I’m already walking in to the rest of the gang?
I tried to get out of this, saying it was a family thing and I was fine not being included. But Grace insisted, and then Cameroninsisted harder. Though I’m not sure why when he’s been actively avoiding me all week, and when forced to be around me, he’s been Mr. Ice Cold.
We had a good talk last weekend, and I thought everything was okay. I pushed hard, he resisted, and ultimately, when we agreed to keep the focus on Grace, things ended well. Or so I thought. Until the next morning when he’d come barreling through the kitchen like a post-workout sweaty, pissed-off monster, banging cabinet doors and slamming his smoothie glass in the sink, which set off every single one of my highly tuned alarm bells. He made me jumpy, and though I tried my hardest to lighten things up, he’d simply grunted before disappearing down the hall to get ready for work and barely said goodbye to Grace before we left. He was still grumpy that night after work, and though he sat on the patio for a few minutes, I swear he was more tense after guzzling his hot tea than before.
And that’s how it’s been every day and night since.
I’m pretty sure I know what’s ruffled his feathers, though. Me.
Or rather that he wants me. He just doesn’twantto want me. Which is fine. I get it, my life would be easier if I didn’t want him too. It sucks, but it’s fine. Or it would be if his behavior didn’t have Grace ping-ponging worried eyes between Cameron and me every night at dinner and asking me pointed questions like, ‘Why’s Dad mad at you?’ and, ‘Have you tried puppy dog eyes?’ That last one came with a demonstration of how I could bat my lashes at Cameron, and though she’d only been trying to help, the very idea that I have anything to apologize for irritated me.
I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m doing my job, doing it well, and trying tonotdo Cameron since he decreed that our focus needs to be on Grace. I just need him to quit acting like his bad mood is all my fault.
“I’m glad you’re here, Riley. And that you’re going to the ball tonight too.”