Page 73 of Resist

He agreed my handover period wasn’t the best for the company if both Sterling and I disappear given the growing pile of manuscripts on my fake husband’s laptop to get through.

My friends are still mad at me. Everyone woke up on Monday morning at the hotel and found I was missing.Sterling thought I went to see my friends, my friends assumed I was banging my new husband into next week, and the truth of the matter was that I came face to face with some uncomfortable and strange feelings. I panicked, then I fled.

Something shifted between the two of us as we snuggled in bed eating five star room service and chatting with each other about my obsession for flamingos and the fact that Sterling wanted to be an Olympic break dancer when he was a kid. The stumbling block there, of course, being that he never took a single break dancing lesson in his entire life.

I wasn’t sure what to do. So I took my laptop and like the very serious business woman I am, I hid.

I’ve set a calendar date this morning for ten for Sterling and I to sit down and reset our boundaries. I thought four days would be enough, I thought I’d be ready, that I’d be fine when he walked into my office, but when the door handle rattles, my stomach dances like there’s a murder of crows in there, and they’re all pecking each other to death.

Death sounds good right about now.

Ouch. I wince. Because surely such dark humor is some kind of trauma from Dad’s recent passing. I can’t just be that fucked up.

Death doesn’t actually sound good about now, but I do wish I had the capacity to disappear from my office and not have to face the ferociously beautiful man walking toward my desk. I’ve never run from anything in my entire life, not once, but the “flight” urge is strong right now.

And then I take him in, and my heart threatens to collapse in on itself.

Where his normal, warm smile usually resides, he’s got a brittle smile pulled taut across his face. His eyes are underlined with a clear, dark sign that he hasn’t slept, and his skin is pale. Is he sick?

I lean forward, clasped hands on the table. “Are you okay?”

He slumps onto the chair across from me, leans his elbows on his thighs, spears his fingers into his hair, and... Laughs. Maniacally.

“What gives you the impression I’m not okay?” He slaps his thighs, sits back in his chair, and hooks his hand around one of his ankles, bringing it onto the knee of his other leg.

“Forget it.” He spreads his hands. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Blackwell?” His voice is cold, detached, and the fact that he hasn’t said my full name niggles at me more than I like to admit.

I blink, once, twice, and a third time to buy me a moment. I’m missing something. Is he upset I left? Is he upset I haven’t seen him since our wedding night? Something else entirely? Did something happen to his mom or sister?

I blink again, swallowing hard before I open my mouth and attempt to speak. “I think we need to reset our boundaries.” My voice sticks, forcing me to clear my throat. “Re-familiarize ourselves with the rules. And figure out a game plan for you moving into my apartment this weekend.”

He stares at me like I’m growing another head right in front of him. “Fine. Understood. I’ll get the guys to help me on Saturday before the club opens. Anything else?” He braces his hands on his thighs, like he’s ready to stand up and leave, but I’m not finished.

Those flutters in my chest feel like panic, like I haven’t had my fill of his sunshine before he leaves. Except this Sterling standing in front of me is anything but sunshine.

I twist my hands together, fingers tangling behind the desk so he can’t see. “Th-that’s everything I have.”

He grunts and turns to leave.

“Sterling, please. Whatever’s bothering you, we can fix.” It’s like every word that comes out of my mouth seems to be the wrong one. “Talk to me.”

He casts a glare over his shoulder. “Now you care?” He won’t look me in the eye, and I fucking hate it. “Where were you Monday when I woke up after getting fucked in the ass? Did you care then?” He shakes his head. “If you cared you’d have at least checked in.”

My jaw hits the floor.

“I suppose I’m partly to blame. I should have been a bit more explicit in my aftercare requirements. But I can’t say I expected or even could have predicted waking up the morning after my wedding with the bride nowhere to be seen.”

Shame coats my body making my muscles heavier and my desire to sink into the floor and disappear even stronger. Fuck. I left him.

Something sharp stabs at my chest. I fucked that man, and while I snuggled him to sleep, I made the assumption he’d be fine, and I just... left.

Shit.

Why did I assume he’d be fine? Because he’s a man? Because I needed him to be okay because I was freaking out? Because I was trying to convince myself that there was nothing really between us?

A question burns at the back of my tongue. “Did you drop?”

He brays out a laugh. “Look at me. Of course I fucking dropped.” There isn’t an ounce of anger in his voice, only hurt and disappointment. “You weren’t there when I woke up. I thought—I don’t know what I thought. But I crashed pretty hard waking up with my domme having high-tailed it out of not only the hotel, but apparently my whole life. Fordays.Was it that bad?” His voice breaks. “Did I do something wrong?”

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