Masochist

Damian

I cannot explain why I thought interrupting whatever she was thinking about with mention of work was a solid plan. Her reaction confirms it was a stupid idea, but I promised to be honest going forward, so I rush to explain. “Now that you know you were hired on your own, there’s no reason for you not to take the job. I can be objective and keep work separate.”

“Damian. The way I left the other day… people will talk.” Her shoulders slump as she exhales a long breath. “I don’t think it’s possible to redeem myself.”

“They already hate me. You can tell them whatever you want.”

She turns her head to stare into my eyes. “I wouldn’t tell them anything but the—”

“Truth.”

The weak smile she flashes gives me some hope that she’s considering it.

“You deserve this job. But if Mitchell hits on you, I’m firing him.”

Her smile turns into a snort-laugh, which is apparently Genie’s signal to join in. She jumps up between us, snorting and licking faces.

For the first time in the three years I’ve lived in this space, it feels like home.

Tuesday at work doesn’t feel as daunting. That could have something to do with having a long weekend and spending yesterday with Angel and Genie, but I’m more inclined to think it’s because she’s coming into the office today.

I’ve tried to avoid the angry glares of some employees, but a few were intense enough I felt them without needing to see. I’m not sure what they think I did to Angel—obviously something worse than what actually happened. Or maybe I’m imagining it and their glares are the same as they’ve always been. The same looks that told me I was public enemy number one from the first day I moved into the corner office.

I haven’t done much to change that perception of me.

Paxton buzzes through the intercom to tell me Angel is here. She’s supposed to meet Mitchell and Elliot in fifteen minutes, so I wasn’t expecting to see her until after.

“Send her in, thanks.”

Angel walks through the door wearing that same pink sweater she wore when we walked along the waterfront. She looks innocent and sweet, but I know she has a hidden fire behind her dark eyes. “Am I interrupting?”

I stand and walk around my desk, wanting nothing more than to hold her in my arms. I promised we’d separate work life from our relationship, though. “No, not at all. What can I help you with, Miss Blake?” I lean back against the desk with my arms crossed so I can stop them from wrapping around her.

She tucks a rogue curl behind her ear from her position just inside the wide-open door. “Is this okay? Me being here? It’s weird, isn’t it?”

The temptation is intensifying, but I have to keep these work boundaries intact. Otherwise, she’ll feel even more weird.

“We talked about this. It’s fine with me.”

“Yeah, you said that. But do you mean fine fine, or does this really not bother you?”

I push myself from the desk and walk toward Angel, stopping two feet away. Just within arms’ reach. “You’re really fine fine, and I’m happy you’re back.”

The trepidation she was wearing disappears as a smile spreads across her lips. “Okay. I’m trusting you to tell me if things get weird, okay? I can find another job.”

“We’ll keep work at work. But after work…”

A throat clears from behind Angel, making her jump. I look up to see Mitchell leaning against the doorframe.

“Sorry to interrupt. Are you joining us today, boss?”

I shake my head. “Just tying up some loose ends before Miss Blake comes in to save your project.” Why do I sound so petty? This isn’t me. I keep saying it’s not me, but then it keeps being me. I’m not this guy. “Let me know if you have any issues you need my input on, but otherwise, I’ll trust you all to get the project completed by the deadline.”

“Will do.” Mitchell waves his hand to have Angel follow him.

Before she leaves, she shoots me a wink, and it’s pathetic, but that blinking brown eye is going to replay in my head for the rest of the day.

Angel’s time at the office is short and without issue. I’m not sure what she said to everyone else, but it appears she’s won them over. The earlier tension and angry stares have diminished somewhat. I’ll take it. At least I haven’t gone further in the opposite direction again.

My email pings, notifying me of another message, which feels like one more thing to add to my to-do list. This one, however, isn’t business related.

It’s from Jacob Taylor. The man formerly known as my father. The man who married my mother, insisted on creating a family, then disappeared without a word for twenty-one years. I stare at my computer screen for long enough, my eyeballs feel dry by the time I blink. My mind is reeling as my mouse hovers over his name, begging to be clicked.

No.

Whatever he has to say now, I’m not interested. I drag the email to my trash folder, irritated by the “Please read” subject line. If he found my email address, he could have found my phone number or work address just the same. Emailing is a coward’s way of saying whatever he wants to, but that’s what I’d expect from the coward I share half of my DNA with.

A knock at my open door draws my attention. “What?” My shoulders slump as soon as the word comes out. I look up to find Mrs. Brady from the accounting department. “I’m sorry, Tara. What can I help you with?”

“Have I caught you at a bad time? I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“Not at all. You just caught me wrapping up a… personal matter.”

“Ugh. You know what helps with those?”

I raise an eyebrow, surprised by her forwardness. A stark contrast from other employees here. “What’s that?”

She responds as she walks toward my desk. “Whisky. A good top shelf bourbon and some peace and quiet. There’s nothing you can’t sort out with that combination.”

I resist the urge to smirk as she drops into the seat opposite me. “I’ll take that under advisement. What can I do for you?”

She slaps a manilla folder on the desk. “There are a lot of miscellaneous expenses in this report from one of your teams. I can justify a few, but when half the budget is marked as miscellaneous, I feel more like a mafia bookkeeper than a reputable ad agency. If you catch my drift.”

“Caught it.” I open the folder to look at the expenses, immediately spotting the error. “We had a freelancer do work on multiple projects. Somehow the entire cost was added into this account under miscellaneous rather than being split. I’ll sort it and get this back to you by the end of the day.”

“Don’t rush. I’m leaving early today. I’ve had it up to my eyeballs with dollars and cents. If I don’t get out soon, I’m liable to burn this place to the ground just for a day off.”

My instinct is to laugh, but Tara’s face is determined and resolute. I can’t tell if she’s kidding.

“Right. Well, I’ll speak to the team managers and get it sorted ASAP. Anything else?”

Tara releases a grumbling sigh as she stands, using both armrests to push herself up. “No, that’s it for now. I’ll let you know if anyone else makes any major screw-ups.” She turns to walk to the door, stopping just short. “You know, you’re not as bad as everyone says.”

I’m not sure how to respond to that. Can I ask her what people are saying about me? No. No one wants to be the rat. “Uh. Thanks, I guess.”

She exits my office right as my phone chimes. A sickening feeling makes my stomach tighten. If it’s another email from Jacob, the man I’ve spent my life trying to prove wrong, I’m going to need some of that whisky Tara mentioned.

My nausea disappears as soon as I look at my phone and see Angel’s name lit up with a photo of her and Genie I snapped yesterday.

Angel: How awkward was it when I left?

I chuckle at her message because my encounter with Tara was a little awkward—and concerning—but there’s been no awkwardness surrounding Angel’s return. Still, I decide to play with her.

Damian: It’s torture. Had to listen to Mitchell talk about how hot you are for twenty minutes. So I fired him. Report to me tomorrow.

My phone rings no more than twenty seconds later.

“Hello.”

“Damian Taylor, you better be joking with me.”

So much for my attempt at a prank. I laugh, unable to control it after hearing the indignation in Angel’s voice.

“Yes, I’m joking. I haven’t even seen anyone from your team since before you left. How did it go?”

“Fine. Well… yeah. Fine. They’re using some of my copy suggestions, which was surprising, but the rest has to be truthful enough to comply with industry standards, right? So I’m trying to focus on what they asked me to do.” She exhales, which makes me think her words and her feelings are not in alignment. It makes me worry she’s already compromising her promise to herself after a few days in this industry.

“Do you want me to—”

“Don’t even think about it. I’m serious, Damian. I was just answering your question. You don’t have to swoop in and save me. Got it?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” My mood shifts as the infuriating memory of an email from my estranged father resurfaces. Angel has been so open with me, but I haven’t explained to her about my past. About the things that have shaped me. Maybe before I can tell her about the broken parts of my past, I should share the whole parts of my present. “Are you free this weekend?”