Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Or against the wall.
Sometimes in my car.
Anywhere we could manage it.
Over the last few days, I’d barely checked my phone, running from meeting to meeting and crisis to crisis. Alex had still texted throughout the day despite my lack of response, and I’d loved seeing them, even if I didn’t read them until the end of the day. Knowing he’d thought of me and taken the time to make contact was everything.
Today, I heard nothing but crickets.
And it fucking hurt.
Why didn’t I tell him? Why didn’t I thank him and reassure him I received and loved every text, even if I couldn’t read them right away? Did he feel as shitty not hearing from me as I did today, without seeing his name pop up on my phone?
How many times could I fuck up before I lost him?
By the time I returned to my office, the sun was setting over Boston, painting the sky in shades of gold and amber. Somewhere in the city, Alex was probably eating dinner alone because I’d chosen this office over him.
Again.
I sat in my desk chair and swiped my finger over my laptop’s trackpad, waking the screen. There waited the completed email to the university registrar I’d abandoned many hours before. I stared at it for a solid ten minutes with my heart lodged in my throat. I needed to hit send, but I couldn’t make my finger move to the send button. It was the final piece in my commitment to another four months of this hell.
A hell I’d dragged Alex into but saw no way for us to escape.
I forced myself to hit send and let my head drop into my hands. My family measured success in profit margins and market shares. My parents drilled that mindset into me practically from the moment I exited the womb. But sitting there, surrounded by the trappings of a billion-dollar empire, I’d never felt more unsuccessful or unsatisfied in my life.
My phone chimed, and like earlier, all I could think was, Alex. I grabbed for it with so much force, I bobbled the phone and nearly sent it flying across the office.
“Fuck.” One second of delay in getting to Alex’s text felt too long. When I regained control over the phone, I tapped the screen with my heart pounding like a heavy drum solo.
My mother’s name gleamed up at me from the lit screen. Not Alex. My mother.
My heart sank so fast my chest tightened to the point of pain. I inhaled through the discomfort as I opened her message.
Your father expects you for dinner tomorrow at seven. He cleared it with Donna. He wants detailed updates.
Of course he did. The stroke left my father weaker than a kitten, unable to even sit on his own in the beginning. After undergoing intensive physical therapy, he was now able to perform basic tasks independently. Activities of daily living, the therapists called them. Feeding, dressing, and grooming tasks all required extra time. Some needed assistive devices or minor help from my mom, but he was slowly regaining some independence. What remained a challenge was speaking. The speech therapist noted that his expressive language was most affected, while his receptive language remained largely unaffected. So when I told him about the failed prototype tomorrow night, he’d fully understand, even if it took him longer to process than usual.
Fantastic.
What were the chances I could convince Alex to come with me? Did a miserable evening with my snooty parents count as a make-up date?
Definitely not, but maybe we could duck out early, and I could spend the rest of the night groveling.
I responded that we’d be there.
Just you since we’ll be discussing business.
No.
Your father is so proud of you.
Any hope I’d built crashed through the fifteen floors below me, exploding in a ball of fiery despair at the ground level. I leaped to my feet and stalked across my office, only to turn and trudge toward the windows. Back and forth I stomped, spiraling until I probably wore a deep groove in the carpet. It felt like the universe, my portion of the universe, was doing everything in its power to fuck with my relationship.
I didn’t want this. I wanted Alex, and I wanted to become a teacher. I wanted time to spend with my man, time to explore the path I chose, not one chosen for me by a man who valued money and status above all else.
I’d made a terrible mistake the day I agreed to step into my father’s role as CEO. I caved to family pressure and let guilt dictate my decision. The job was supposed to be temporary, not a career, but with each passing day, my role at the helm of this company felt permanent, and the life I desired slipped away a little more.