actions. You treat me awfully and you expect me to have respect for you? To be grateful when you give me a second chance? You’ve shouted at me for being five minutes late in the past, William. Five. You’ve called my home in the middle of the night just because you can’t find some paper that I left on your desk the day before. You dislike it when I serve your coffee black and dislike it when I add cream. Nothing I do can possibly please you. And never, ever, have I ever felt motivated to do better, because no matter what I do, it’s never good enough for you. I’m done. So done with you and your bossing me around!”
I’m starting to get seriously annoyed now. “I’ve always been fair to you, India. Don’t turn this around and make it about me.”
India stands up, shaking her head. “Why am I still here? Why am I bothering to argue with a man who clearly has no idea how cruel he really is? Well, I don’t need to be here anymore.”
“You can’t leave. You’re my assistant.”
“Was your assistant. Keyword—was. I just quit. In front of your clients, so there were witnesses.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t have anyone else who can do the work.”
India smiles smugly. “Not my problem anymore, Mr. Walker. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going home.”
“India,” I growl softly, a tone that usually has her jerking back around to do my bidding.
Instead she’s gathering her stuff from the desk. I can feel my eyes getting wider and wider by the second.
And just like that, she walks out.
Just.
Like.
That.
I narrow my eyes, confused by the urge I have to chase her.
Obviously I won’t. There’s nothing more that I can do. I watch as she walks out of the office. And part of me is relieved to see her go. Relieved to know I won’t see those big, bright eyes nor the whole tempting package that is India Crowley anymore.
Fisting my hands at my sides, I watch her sashaying away and I know that she’s too good for this place. Too good for running around after me. Too good for being boxed in with a man who treats her so badly. And as she leaves, I finally understand everything I’ve been doing wrong—here and in my love life. Why has it taken something so dramatic for me to understand that I’m the problem?
I head back to my office in a daze. As I open the door, my clients laugh at my expression. I stand in the doorway, unable to figure out how to respond.
“I tried to tell you, Mr. Walker,” Theodore says with a grin. “Never mess with a powerful woman.”
* * *
Driving home takes longer than usual. I hit a bad stint of traffic and am delayed for over an hour. It gives me a lot of time alone with my thoughts. Most of them center on India.
How could I have been so stupid? So cruel and manipulative and completely oblivious to my own selfish behavior? Now I’ve lost the best assistant I’ve ever had. Not just that—I’ve lost a huge chunk of my ego. I guess I deserve that much, at least.
But the woman pushes my buttons in ways no one else ever has.
I wonder what she’ll do now. I’m concerned that she doesn’t have a job to fall back on. Will she be able to keep up with her rent? Will she get a similar job elsewhere, or will she do something more with herself? I hate myself for wanting to know, but after she walked out like that, I just can’t forget her. Something tells me that woman will be on my mind for some time.
I pull up in the driveway in front of my house. Not for the first time, I glance at the mansion before me and realize how big it is for just one person. Two stories tall with double ceilings, sweeping columns, large custom-made windows, thick wood doors and brass light fixtures. This is the product of years of hard work. Years of isolation and late nights at the office. I lock up my car and head inside.
Inside is pristine. The imported marble floors shine like mirrors. The windows are so clean, you think there’s nothing between you and the exterior. My cleaner—a woman in her late fifties whom I barely ever see—must have been here. She’s cleared all of my take-out cartons and organized all of my notes that I left scattered on the large oak desk in my study.
I decide after the day I’ve had that I could use a drink. I head to the fridge and find a bottle of champagne. It’s been there for over a year—my father bought it to celebrate my birthday but canceled our plans to go to some company party of his instead. I spent that night in the hot tub on the roof, pretending I was content with ordering takeout. I didn’t have any friends to invite along. Kit and Alex were busy. Heading up to the rooftop to get in the hot tub now feels more than a little like déjà vu.
The sun is setting over the Chicago skyline. I fire up the hot tub and strip naked. There’s no one to see me up here anyway. I slip into the bubbles and close my eyes, but even with the jets massaging my knotted back, I can’t seem to relax. It’s like the feeling of trying to catch your breath after a long run. I try to concentrate on the sensations of the water against my skin, but all I can see running through my mind is India’s face. The anger in her eyes.
The shock when I finally said something nice to her.
I don’t like the idea that someone could feel so strongly about me. Especially when I know none of the emotions she’s harboring are pleasant.
I’m so lost in my thoughts, it takes me a moment to realize my cell phone is buzzing.
After a few moments of deliberation, I ease out, grab a towel, get my phone from inside and pick up. “Walker,” I answer, not checking to see who was calling.
I can hear Rosie crying in the background and Alex trying to soothe her.
“Hey, brother. I didn’t plan to call and pester. Honestly. But, William? I need this. We need to leave. Like, right now,” Kit says. He sounds tired, concerned, and like he hates having to call me.
“And why are you...?”
“What do you mean why? You’re my brother. Alex’s sister has had an accident. I need to take her to see her. Alex is distraught. Are you really going to bail out on me when I need you?”
I inhale, frowning as a sliver of panic seizes my chest.
What do I even know about children? Is my brother insane? Or simply desperate? I wouldn’t put it past Kit to be lying through his teeth in order to get me to agree just so he can go on his honeymoon worry-free.
“Look, Kit, it’s not that I don’t want to help out—”
“Good. We’ll be by in an hour.”
He’s about to hang up when I stop him, the panic seizing me by the balls now. “Wait! So this is you asking me to babysit or telling me? Seriously?”
“I’m telling you, I need your bloody help.”
I grit my molars. Remembering what happened with India. Knowing that I’m an asshole. That it’s time to make a change. I see that now. Starting
