Page 34 of Texting the CEO's Obsession
“Sweetie, you can’t let this overwhelm you,” Taylor says, her voice gentler.
She’s always been the only person who can calm me down when I’m worked up like this—although my mystery man did a pretty alright job of it that night in the bath. This is about a million times more intense. I don’t know if I can handle recounting everything I heard again.
Especially not over text, where I’d have to stare the reality of it in the face as I wrote it. I wish I had the balls to just actuallycallhim. We haven’t exactly gotten to that level of communication yet, and the fact that he hasn’t bothered to try or even ask has me doubting how he’d take it if I simply called him.
“I know,” I whisper miserably.
Taylor pauses for a few seconds, and when she speaks again, she sounds certain of herself. “Let’s get your mind off things for a bit, yeah? You need to chill out for a while.”
I laugh weakly, leaning back from my steering wheel and reaching for the pack of tissues I keep in my center console. I’m not really any more stable than I was a few minutes ago, but I know the structure of how Taylor handles things, and that’s easy to latch onto.
My freakouts always go the same way: I panic, call Taylor, and spew everything. She calms me down enough to function, and then we figure out something to distract me until I can think rationally again. Only then do I make any decisions or plan how to deal with whatever happened. It’s become a foolproof pattern. It’s never failed me before.
Taylorhas never failed me before.
This isn’t just exhaustion or burnout stretching me thin like usual. I’m pretty torn up even now that I’ve calmed down a bit. I don’t know what could possibly take my mind off this long enough for me to actually reset and relax properly.
“What did you have in mind?” I ask, my voice still shaky but more solid as I dab the tears away from the corners of my eyes.
“Do you feel up for going out?” she asks, a thread of excitement in her voice. “My friend got invited to this private auction thing, but she and her husband can’t make it, so she gave me the tickets. It’s a super exclusive club. You usually have to fill out a ton of forms and an application, and they only accept, like, five percent of applicants or something. They’re fundraising for survivors of sexual assault. And there are going to be so many people there.”
I nearly groan at the suggestion—another upscale cocktail party is absolutely not what I want to be dealing with right now, but it will, unfortunately, distract me.
At least I know what to expect from events like this.
Champagne, fancy finger foods, and self-important stories from people I’ll never talk to again. Honestly, the more I consider it, the more relaxing the thought of it is.
I won’t have a single second to think about my feelings about work if I go to this.
“I don’t exactly have the bank account to participate in an auction,” I say with a soft laugh.
Taylor sees it for the platitude it is and pushes right past it.
“Then just enjoy the drinks and make fun of people’s stupid stories with me,” she teases. “It’ll be fun,andit’s for a good cause. Come on, say yes.”
I snicker into my phone, rolling my eyes and feeling just a little lighter.
The promise of a drink or two and a heaping dose of distraction is enough to wear any thought of rejection away. Plus, it’ll probably exhaust me enough that I’ll be able to get some sleep tonight instead of staying up and worrying. Not that I’ve ever not worried about something.
Socializing always drains me.
“Pushy,” I joke, a resigned sigh following the word. “Fine. I just have to let Nick know that I’m taking the rest of the day off. It’s not like I have any more meetings today anyways. Text me the details, I’ll be home shortly.”
“Yes!” Taylor cheers. “I’ll meet you at yours. Drive safe.”
“Always,” I agree before we say our goodbyes and hang up.
I’ve never been the type of girl to just cut out on work early, but after the shit I’ve been through over the past week, I need it. Plus, it’s Friday. What happened to corporations having half-days on Fridays?
I’m either going to wholly regret agreeing to all of this or I’m going to have the night of my life.
Three guesses which.
CHAPTER 11
NICK
Idrum my fingers impatiently against my desk after sending off my fifth email of the hour.
