Falling for Your Boss by Emma St. Clair

Chapter Fifteen

Gavin

“Wakey, wakey,”a voice says, yanking me from the very pleasant dream I was having. One where Zoey was here, running her hands through my hair. Wrapped in my arms.

I don’t like the jarring surprise of seeing Thayden instead, drawing open the curtains so that the room floods with light.

I groan. Everything hurts. Mostly, my head, but my throat feels raw as well, and I ache all over. But I can tell by the sheen of sweat that my fever has broken. I try to scroll back through my memories, but they’re getting confused with my Zoey dream.

“What’s going on? Why are you here?” I ask. “And shut those curtains, please.”

“You need to shower,” he says.

I can’t argue. I feel sticky, and the sheets are damp. “Fine. But again, what are you doing here?”

“You missed breakfast and weren’t answering your phone.”

My phone. Where is my phone? I need to call the office. If I missed breakfast, I missed going into work.

I stand on legs as wobbly as a newborn giraffe. Thayden could offer to help, but he just leans against the wall, looking like he’s about to start laughing. Jerk. I’m trying to remember why we’re friends and I can’t.

My phone isn’t on my dresser or the counter in the bathroom. I finally locate it in the pocket of my pants, which are crumpled on the closet floor. My place is a mess. And my phone is dead.

I plug it into the charger by my bedside table and sink back down on the mattress. I feel weak just from walking to the bathroom and back.

“You think this is funny?”

“You would too if you knew all the details. I’m guessing you don’t remember much of the last twenty-four hours?”

I run my head. “It’s a fog. Dreams mixed with reality. I went to see Nancy, came home and went to bed early. I guess I got sick sometime after that? If I missed breakfast—wait. Is today Friday?”

Thayden nods and the reality of missing not one but two days of work sinks in. Then there’s all the missing time. I try harder to grasp at any memory.

Mostly, I keep seeing Zoey from my dreams. Zoey bringing me water. Zoey’s fingers in my hair. Zoey … standing in my room when I got out of the shower.

Realization is an icy wave crashing over me. If I were dreaming of Zoey, it would not be these kinds of details. I wouldn’t be sick in bed with her feeding me pain relievers.

My eyes fly to Thayden’s, and the jerk laughs. I need a new best friend. Too bad I can’t put out applications for those. I’ve found that faithful friends are pretty hard to find, so I might just have to make do. But back to my dreams … or memories? I’m not remembering my dreams but actual things that happened while I was feverish.

Oh. No.

“I see that it’s coming together,” he says.

“Is she—is Zoey … here?”

His smile grows. My phone lights up on the table and I scramble for it, feeling like it must hold the key to unlock this nightmare. I’ve missed a ton of phone calls and texts, but I’m looking for the last communication I sent out. My last phone call or text.

And there it is. My heart beat slows like I’m pumping molasses through my veins.

I need you.

I texted that to Zoey last night. And now she’s in my house.

An energy I didn’t know I had comes over me and I’m in the shower within seconds, hearing the echo of Thayden’s laughter from my bedroom as I scrub off the slick of fever on my skin, ignoring my headache.

“I’m so glad you find this funny.”

“Sorry. But when the unflappable Gavin Brownell becomes flapped, I have to take some small pleasure in it.”

I’ve never showered so thoroughly, so quickly. And still, when I see myself in the mirror, I look like something dragged out of a freshly dug grave.

And Zoey saw me like this. She smelled me like that.

I want my fever back, so I can pretend none of this happened. Pulling on some jeans and a T-shirt, I emerge from my walk-in closet and begin stripping my bed.

Thayden looks at his watch. “Fastest you’ve ever gotten ready.”

“Want to give me a hand here?”

“Not really.”

I grunt. “I’m going to remember this the next time you need help.”

“I could make you coffee?” he offers.

The headache seems to pulse hearing the word coffee. I’d like to kick Thayden out, but right now, I’m not too proud to accept help. “Yes, please.”

He disappears into the kitchen and I get the sheets and my clothes into the laundry room, only to realize that a load was done last night. Zoey must have washed one set of sheets already.

I lean my head against the doorframe, pushing it maybe a little harder than necessary.

Because suddenly, new memories hit me. Mini golf. Those are my last not-as-hazy memories, but they aren’t good. The whole shirt-off thing in the parking lot, her brother’s jabs about our age difference. I remember feeling hot, starting to realize I was sick.

Did I really throw a twenty-dollar-bill at her and run off?

It’s bad. So bad. So incredibly humiliating that I can’t imagine anything worse. I need to apologize. I need to get her a gift. I need to relocate to Europe. I hear that the climate in Italy is lovely. And if I drink enough wine, maybe I’ll really forget all this happened.

That’s when I hear screams. High, girly ones that don’t sound like Zoey at all. They sound like a child.

I run into Thayden in the kitchen and we both stare toward the open glass doors leading to the pool, just in time to see Zoey toss a girl into the pool. The momentum makes her stumble and she falls in right after.

“What—who?” My power of speech function seems to be out.

Thayden is the cat who didn’t just get the cream, but broke into a dairy and swam in a vat of it. “Oh, Zoey apparently has a daughter. Did you not know that?”

“No,” I manage, watching as two blonde heads bob around the pool. They’re arguing, though I can’t hear their words clearly.

“We should probably go out there,” Thayden says.

“I need a minute.”

Thayden claps a hand over my shoulder as he walks toward the other side of the house. “Your coffee is ready. I’ll get towels.”

Zoey has a daughter? Zoey has a daughter.

I’m watching the scene in the pool as layers of emotion drift over me along with a million questions. I’m wondering why she never mentioned it. I'm wondering how she managed childcare on the salary we pay her. I’m wondering who the father is.

I’m wondering why I feel so calm about it.

The arguing turns to splashing and giggling, and I see a beautiful smile stretch across Zoey’s face. It’s brighter than the sun. Warmer too. It ignites something in me, a spark of feeling but also a dream I long ago gave up. The dream where I wanted to be a dad. I wanted laughter in my house, not silence. Splashing in the pool. Mess and noise and life.

I’d thought that would happen with Eleanor. We’d talked about it, but it never seemed to be the right time for her. I argued that I didn’t need to work, that I saw nothing wrong with me stopping my business altogether for a time to raise a child with her.

Not that she worked, but she didn’t want to give up her lifestyle. Which consisted mostly of parties thinly guised as charity work.

The happy feelings start to slide into bitterness, so I shove away thoughts of Eleanor and just focus on Zoey. She tosses the little girl, who goes flying and comes up sputtering and laughing, wet blonde hair plastered to her face.

Is it presumptuous that I’m thinking how I’d like this to be an everyday occurrence? Zoey in my house, in my pool. The silence that’s been so thick replaced with these sounds instead?

Sure. It’s presumptuous. I doubt that Zoey is any more endeared to me after seeing me at my worst than she was before. I’ve never been able to crack the code of what would impress her.

Still … she came when I texted. And she stayed. She took care of me. Would people normally do that for their boss unless they had some kind of feelings?

“Ready to get out there, champ?” Thayden appears and shoves an armful of towels at me. “I’m headed out. But please update me later. Can’t wait to hear how it all works out.”

“Thanks for nothing,” I call after him.

“I made you coffee! Gave you towels!” he says, just before I hear the front door slam.

The noise has garnered the attention of Zoey and the girl, who are both staring at me wide-eyed. I noticed that Zoey has a black eye, which triggers half a memory. I think we talked about that last night? I can’t quite get it clear.

With a deep breath, I walk out to the pool, my eyes not leaving Zoey’s the whole time.

There’s a look in them I don’t quite understand, one that has disquiet unfurling in my gut. I try to push it away, like the dizziness that’s making spots on my vision. Can’t pass out now.

“Hi,” I say, coming to a stop by the pool’s edge. What a stupid way to start a conversation.

“Hello,” Zoey says in a wobbly voice.

I keep my eyes focused on hers, especially when I realize that her light gray blouse is practically see-through. She must realize that too because she crosses her arms over her chest. The girl has drifted closer to Zoey, looking almost frightened, and when her shoulder brushes Zoey’s, Zoey wraps an arm around her.

I sit down on the nearest chaise lounge, wondering if my height made me more intimidating. I’m also still pretty dizzy.

The silence is palpable with something I can’t quite put my finger on. Clearing my throat, I bounce my gaze between Zoey and the girl.

“I don’t really remember the last day or so. It’s a bit … foggy.”

Except for the part where you ran your fingers through my hair in my bed. I won’t forget that part, even if the edges of the memory are unfocused and hazy.

“If you introduced me, I don’t remember.” I smile down at the girl, who blinks at me with deep brown eyes. “I’m Gavin,” I tell her.

Her eyes find Zoey’s, like she’s asking for permission or help. There is something here that I’m missing, and it’s an uncomfortable feeling, especially when I’m already so off-kilter.

Zoey squeezes the girl a little closer. “Gavin, this is Ella.” She pauses, and it's like I’m blindfolded, waiting for someone to land a blow but unsure where it’s coming from.

“Ella is your daughter.”