Boss in the Bedsheets - Kate Canterbary Page 0,107

the glances he tossed in my direction every few minutes and the pinched lines bracketing his mouth.

He was searching for answers I couldn't give him, assurances I didn't have. He wanted me to convince him I was okay, the connection we'd forged out of thin air was okay, everything was okay. I didn't have those words for him yet because I wasn't okay, not all the way.

We had so much to discuss but also nothing at all. I had a history behind me and the worst of my recent years showed up in our office this morning to demand more unpaid and uncredited work from me. What else was there to say?

So, I said nothing.

As we crawled through heavy summer traffic with Ash's glances pinging off the side of my face as I stared ahead, I wondered how I became that woman. The one who didn't notice she was being manipulated until she'd written several peer-reviewed journal articles and a graduate thesis without being able to claim credit for any of it. The one who agreed it was a good idea to abandon her academic plans because some guy told her she wasn't up to the challenge. The one who accepted a loveless, emotionless relationship because that guy promised her everything would be better after finals, after the internship, after field work, after defending the dissertation she wrote for him. The one who let him call her by her middle name and wouldn't let her attend university events with him because she was just too much. Too, too much. The one who ran away only to have her beautiful, safe new life interrupted because that guy wanted her to finish the paper that would give him the highest degree in the field and her absolutely nothing.

I was that woman. I couldn't even bury that truth under all the other sticky, thorny truths I possessed because Ash saw the whole thing play out in the middle of his office. He knew all my truths and now he couldn't stop himself from dousing me in pity and cautious concern, the kind that stared and frowned in a way that seemed to suggest I'd fall apart under those truths like a spent daisy.

He didn't even want to play the touching game.

It was late in the afternoon, nearly evening when we finally arrived at the hotel in the seaside town of Bristol, Rhode Island. Late enough to keep Ash's phone buzzing with near-constant calls and texts. He ignored them all, not that it reduced their frequency. We had a bit of time before we were due at the rehearsal but knowing Magnolia and Diana, they weren't taking any chances with Ash.

He killed the engine yet made no move to climb out of the car. Instead, Ash trailed his fingers down my arm and gathered my hand in his. "You don't have to do this," he said with a nod toward the stately colonial.

The rehearsal was being held at the historic Blithewold mansion, not this hotel, but I understood his meaning. I could play the Toxic Ex card and lick the wounds of my severed limbs in private if I wanted.

"If you're not up for it," he continued, "there's no reason you have to spend the evening around a bunch of loud people who will want to know everything about you."

"I'm all right, Ash."

I wasn't lying, not really. Part of me was quite well—and newly angry. Not only angry at myself but also at Denis for being such a major weasel. Another part of me was assessing the bumps and bruises incurred in the whole affair of leaving Denis behind and finally, finally standing up for myself. Some of those bruises were big and nasty. They were sure to turn putrid shades of green and yellow as they healed but the greatest myth about healing was that it didn't hurt. That was bullshit. Healing hurt like a motherfucker and nothing you could do would save you from that pain because it was inescapably essential to being whole again.

"Besides," I added, "if I'm not there, you know your mother will go berserk. She'll drive you up the wall with questions and she'll probably hold up the entire rehearsal because of it."

"I have several decades of practice with her driving me up a wall. I'd take that over putting you through an event you can't handle—"

"Don't do that," I interrupted. "I'd prefer if you didn't tell me what I can't handle. Your intentions are good but please