Page 33 of Brassy Bigwig

CHAPTER ELEVEN

DIMITRIOS

I’ve dug quite a hole for myself. I didn’t intend to completely blow shit out of the water the way I did. I planned to come in here and gradually work my questions into the conversation in a way that wasn’t clearly accusatory. When the elevator doors opened and I saw her again, I lost it. The memories of that night came back to me. The agony I felt when I woke up and realized she was gone was back with a vengeance.

I was excited and ready for this move after deciding it was time. When I woke up on Tuesday, though, the coincidence of it all hit me like a Mack truck. I flew out of bed and ran straight into the bathroom, emptying my stomach of what little was in it. It couldn’t be as simple as fate. It was happening again, but this time I was going to be one step ahead of her.

“I don’t know if that’s something I can do,” she answers, breaking my heart. “I don’t know if I can forgive and forget how easily you went off on me without even attempting to have an adult conversation first.”

“I meant to. That’s why I came here. That’s why I packed up my entire life and moved to New York. Because I liked the idea that a relationship between us was possible. When those doors opened and I first saw you, I wanted to let it all go. I didn’t want to believe you could be the same as her. But the closer I got to you, the more I was reminded of what happened in the past. The angrier I became. And the quicker I lost control.”

I really wanted to bend her over the desk and angry fuck the answers I needed out of her, but it’s probably best I keep that to myself.

“I haven’t let my guard down around anyone since then. I haven’t wanted to be with anyone until I saw you sitting across the pool in Greece.”

“You can’t sweet-talk your way out of this.”

“I know, I’m just trying to tell the truth.”

“I won’t sleep with my boss,” she insists.

“And I don’t want to sleep with my assistant ever again.”

“So where do we go from here?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t want you to quit. If you promise not to be a blackmailing whore, I promise not to be an arrogant asshole.” I smile, letting her know I was joking, but it’s not returned.

“If you don’t want me to quit, then I guess you’d rather have me as an assistant than a girlfriend.”

“That couldn’t be further from the truth, but I think we have a prime opportunity to get to know one another. We’d get to spend more time together this way.”

“That’s a pretty big reach. You realize that, don’t you?” Her smirk tells me she’s fighting hard to keep the smile from her face.

“I know,” I admit.

“I don’t know what I want to do. A lot has happened in such a short period of time. We’ve, essentially, only known one another for a week—a day, really—and I feel like we’ve gone through the entire gamut of emotions. I need to sort through them all.”

“I understand,” I tell her.

“Is there anything else you feel I should know about you before making my decision?”

Fuck.

“No,” I tell her.

The fact that I cheated on my ex-wife—or that I have an ex-wife to begin with—has nothing to do with this. Would telling her help her make a decision? Maybe. But I don’t know if she would be won over by my honesty, or if it would only push her further away.

“I’m going to take the rest of the day off. All of your meetings were rescheduled, per your email, so it should be a quiet afternoon for you.”

“I’m still on vacation. How about you take the afternoon off—paid—and have lunch with me?”

“I already ate lunch. But thank you for the paid time off.”

With that, she stands from her seat and marches back toward her desk.

“Chloe?”

She turns and looks at me but doesn’t speak. I stand and meet her in the doorway of my office.

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