Page 93 of Boss of Me
“Okay,” I whisper distractedly.
We happen to be standing by a large mahogany table near the window. He sets the ice cream down, then wraps his hands around my waist and lifts me onto the table. I scoot back and sit lotus-style with his long shirt tented over my knees, concealing my bare crotch.
He nimbly climbs onto the table so that we sit facing each other with the carton of ice cream between us. It reminds me of Molly Ringwald and Jake Ryan in the final scene fromSixteen Candles, an eighties romcom that Ember and I watched with our mother more times than I’ll ever admit.
“How’d your call go?” I ask Gunner. “Everything okay?”
“For now. Just need to keep a close eye on some unfolding developments in the European energy market.” He feeds me more ice cream, watching with that smoldering intensity as I swallow the mouthful of fudgy bliss and groan.
“My mom would so not approve of what I’m doing right now. I can just hear her tut-tutting me, ‘Now how many times have I told you, Marlowe? A moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips.’”
“Screw her,” Gunner growls.
“Easy foryouto say,” I tease, gesturing to his godlike body. “Youdon’t have to worry about cellulite and?—”
“Stop it. There’s not a damn thing wrong with your body. You’re fucking beautiful from head to toe.”
I nearly swoon right off the table.
“I wasn’t fishing for compliments,” I say shyly. “But thank you.”
“Just speaking the truth,” he replies, fixing me with a steady, gentle gaze. “We all have an inner critic. Growing up with a toxic parent can magnify those voices in our head, the voices that tell us we’re not good enough, that we’re doomed to fail no matter how hard we try. Don’t give your mother that much power over you. She doesn’t deserve it. No one does.”
I stare at him, marveling that I’ve found a man who seems to understand me on a deep level that transcends physical intimacy. It’s a little scary. Okay,a lotscary.
Glancing away from him, I toy with the spoon buried in the ice cream. “It’s hard to believe someone as accomplished as you could ever doubt your worth.”
“You’d be surprised.” He’s still watching me, searching my face with a thoroughness that’s a little unnerving. “Tell me more about your relationship with your mother.”
A jagged pain tightens my chest. I lower my eyes to my lap, reluctant to wade into the troubled waters of my childhood.
Gunner waits silently.
“She’s never liked me.” My voice catches on the words. “Even when I was little, she was always super critical. No matter how hard I tried to please her, I couldn’t do anything right. After my dad died, she abandoned any pretense of caring about me. My sister was her favorite and she made no attempt to hide it.”
“I’m sorry.” Fury laces Gunner’s quiet tone. “You didn’t deserve that.”
A wry, sad smile touches my lips. “Unfortunately for her, the worse she treated me, the more Ember loved and protected me.” I swallow hard, allowing myself a moment before soldiering on. “Shortly after Dad passed away, Mom donated his record collection to charity even though she knew he would’ve wanted me to have it. I was devastated, and Ember was so furious she didn’t speak to Mom for two whole weeks. Honestly, I think her silent treatment bothered Mom more than my tears.”
Gunner reaches over and takes my hand, his thumb playing circles along the back of it. His tender compassion makes me want to keep talking. So I do.
“She’s always been status-obsessed. She came from a typical blue-collar family in Pittsburgh. Both her father and grandfather worked in the steel mills, and she hated that life. She had big dreams and ambitions. Going to law school was her ticket out of middle-class mediocrity, she used to say. Working at a prestigious law firm opened up a whole new world to her. Suddenly she was going to the opera, attending fancy dinner parties and hobnobbing with bigwigs. She planned to marry some rich guy and become part of a power couple.” I pause, smiling faintly. “She married my father instead.”
“The band teacher,” Gunner murmurs. “She married for love.”
“Yes,” I say softly. “It was definitely love. They were good together. Really happy. But after Dad died . . .” My voice trails off, throat tightening.
Gunner gently squeezes my hand, comforting me without words.
I lick my lips. “Anyway, she wanted me to become an attorney like her, but I had no interest in practicing law. When I told her I’d be majoring in music, she got mad and refused to pay my tuition. Given her high income, I didn’t get much financial aid, and my partial scholarship only covered some ofmy expenses. To pay for the rest, I got a housekeeping job at a hotel. I also spent four semesters as an assistant to the chair of the music department. Having to work two jobs felt unfair at the time, but it wasn’t. Putting myself through school made me stronger. It made me work harder and not take my education for granted. It taught me how to survive on my own.”
Gunner brings my hand to his lips and kisses the back, gazing into my eyes. “You’re absolutely incredible, you know that?”
I smile softly. “That’s high praise coming from someone like you.”
“Someone like me?”
I gesture to the nearby wall showcasing framed covers ofForbes,Fortune 500,Moneyand other magazines featuring articles about Gunner. TheForbescover has a photo of him and Maverick in killer suits, standing back to back with the captionmeet the twin tech titans of silicon hills.
