Falling for Your Boss by Emma St. Clair

Chapter Five

Gavin

When I leave the office,I’m trying not to overthink the conversation with Zoey. Something was definitely off with her. Or maybe I just misread? But she seemed upset. Almost … angry.

It stung when she said I didn’t know her at all. She’s right in so many ways. I don’t know much about her personal life. But I know that she runs her hands over her hair when she’s stressed. I know she proofreads every email before hitting send. I know she keeps a secret stash of chocolate in her desk drawer, sneaking pieces only when she thinks no one is looking.

Except I’m always looking.

I try to shake off thoughts of Zoey as I head toward the north side of Austin, letting the navigation system direct me toward Nancy’s house. I helped her purchase the house years back, but I haven’t been out here since then. At that point she had followed me along to three different businesses. I felt like she needed a reward.

Maybe it’s strange that I bought my assistant a house and that I still have a key. But my relationship with Nancy is far more than a typical business one. Her sister worked on our ranch for years. My parents might be simple, salt-of-the-earth types, but they ran hundreds of thousands of acres. Hiring a cook and house cleaner wasn’t the same as it would be if I did the same here in Austin.

Patty was a fixture in my household growing up, almost like family. She made a lot of the meals but also ate with us. She cleaned, but also kept me out of trouble when Mom was busy with my younger brothers or the ranch duties. So, when I moved here and needed an assistant I could trust, Patty’s sister, Nancy, was the obvious choice. Not even a choice, really. A given.

Her house is a modest ranch on the north side of Austin. I passed a lot of families outside and signs in front yards for the high school football team even though it’s almost June. Football is king of all the seasons here.

This is the kind of life you missed out on, I couldn’t help but think to myself as I drove in, passing a house where a few children run through a sprinkler while moms drink and watch from folding chairs nearby.

I’d thought this would be my life with Eleanor. We married when I was twenty-eight and she was twenty-two. Just babies, really. I assumed I’d work to earn us this kind of life—the suburbs, a few kids, a minivan in the driveway. A full life, loud and full of laughter. Not the quiet one I now lead, just me and … work.

Our dreams, which I think were really just my dreams, went sideways, and for a few years we tried really hard. Or, I tried really hard. Eleanor … sometimes tried. After several trial separations, we finally divorced seven years later so she could be with one of her lovers. I wasn’t sure which one. He didn’t last long, so it didn’t matter if I remembered the names of the men she cheated on me with.

Why am I thinking about Eleanor? Oh, right. The suburban life I won’t ever have. There are perks of being single and wealthy. I don’t have many restrictions. My life is free and open.

And you’re completely lonely.

I ignore that voice, pulling into Nancy’s drive and unlocking the front door with the key I keep on my ring.

“Nancy?” I call, closing the front door behind me.

I hear a faint moan from deeper in the house. All the shades are drawn, and the house has a … smell. Kind of a mix of dust and something a little worse.

As I pass the kitchen, I have to cover my nose. Clearly, the trash needs to be taken out. Maybe something else too. A gray tabby cat appears, meowing with surprising volume and wrapping around my ankles, almost tripping me. I am not a cat fan. I don’t want to kick them or anything, but I’d be fine never seeing them outside of funny YouTube videos.

The cat suddenly breaks off and darts through a doorway, hopping up onto a bed that has a Nancy-shaped lump in the middle, her gray hair just visible over the covers. There’s a smell here too, and I do my best not to show any reaction in my face as Nancy peels down the covers.

“Kevin? Is that you?”

Kevin? I tilt my head, studying her face. Her cheeks are flushed still, and her eyes look glazed and glassy. “It's Gavin. I came to check on you. How are you?”

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” she says, and I blink.

I may have a house key. Nancy might be like a grandmother to me, but she’s never called me sweetheart. And I’m for sure not Kevin.

“Come and give your aunty some sugar.” She pats one red cheek, as though waiting for a kiss.

Not happening. “Uh, sure. Just a second. Let me go …”

But her eyes have already drooped closed and she’s snoring lightly. I step closer to the bed as the cat takes up residence on her chest, tucking its paws underneath it and staring intently into her face.

I wonder how close Nancy was to being eaten by her own cat. Based on its narrow yellow eyes, I think I’ve gotten here just in time.

I place my hand on her forehead and she’s burning up. A few bottles of pain relievers are on the bedside table, along with crumpled tissues and a tube of lip balm.

A few minutes later, I’m bagging up the trash in the kitchen as I talk to Nancy’s sister, Patty, on the phone. “I think she needs a doctor. Or at least someone here with her. She thought I was Kevin?”

Patty sighs. “My brother's son. He passed from cancer a few years ago.”

“Wow. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“That’s okay, sweetie. I’ll be on my way. Do you think you could stay there until I can get there? If I leave now, it should take three hours.”

Three hours in a house that smells a few degrees from death with a hallucinating Nancy and a cat who wants to eat her? Sure. No problem. But Patty and Nancy are essentially family, so I stay.

I manage to extricate the possibly murderous cat to the kitchen by opening a can of cat food. I may have dry-heaved once or twice. With a glass of water and a cool cloth for her head, I return to Nancy’s room.

The afternoon sun shines low through the cracked blinds. I can just barely see Nancy’s hair puffing out from under the blanket like some kind of animal pelt. She hasn’t so much as taken a sip of water. I didn’t want to make her take any medication, even as hot as she was, because I didn’t know how recently she’d had any, or if she’d be mentally clear enough to remember.

But I can almost feel the heat coming off her body when I pull the covers back. We need to get this fever down.

“Nancy,” I whisper, giving her shoulder a little shake.

“Mm?” Her eyes drift open a tiny crack, then she smacks her lips, and sits up so suddenly that I step back. “It’s five o’clock somewhere,” she says, shuffling around.

It’s not until she tosses a lacy, maroon bra at the side of my head that I realize what she was doing. I even caught the thing. On instinct.

And now I’m left holding a bra with two fingers as Nancy falls back asleep. Each of the cups could hold my whole head, and this is one fact I didn’t know and didn’t need to know.

Forget the painkillers. I’m out. Hopefully Nancy’s fever-addled brain won’t remember this moment.

I wish I could forget it.

With Nancy asleep, I spend the next three hours cleaning up. In the office, Nancy is pretty organized. I haven’t been here often, so I’m not sure if the current state is due to the fact that she hasn’t felt well even before today, or if she’s a lot messier than her sister

After I've scrubbed the dirty dishes, cleaned out the litter box (more dry-heaving), and picked up around the house a bit, I perch on the plastic-covered sofa and manage to find Sports Center on her television.

I doze off, waking when I hear the sound of the front door opening. Patty shuffles in, looking a bit more stooped than last time I saw her, but otherwise almost Nancy’s twin.

“How’s my boy?” she asks as I give her a hug.

I have to lean way down, but she smells familiar, and I remember a time when I hugged Patty with my head only reaching her waist.

“I’m doing well,” I say.

Patty pulls back and gives me a once-over. “You look good. For your age.” She chuckles, and I can only shake my head. “Is she in bed?”

“She is. I didn’t give her any pain medicine. She had a few bottles on the bedside table, but she wasn’t coherent enough to tell me what she’d already taken or when.”

“Thank you for checking on her. I’ll be fine. When are we going to see you again at the ranch?”

Patty no longer works there but always manages to show up for dinner or a visit when I come into town.

“I’ll be there this weekend,” I tell her. “I just spoke with Mom today.”

She smiles and pats my arm. “Well, then. You just might see me there. If Nancy’s feeling better, maybe I’ll drag her along. Now, get on home. You clearly need more beauty rest.”

When I arrive back home a few hours later, the house seems quieter than usual. It’s always quiet. Silent, really. Perched above Austin in West Lake Hills, there is little noise pollution. The city lights are in view, but it’s quiet. It should feel peaceful. I thought that’s what I wanted.

And yet I feel restless.

More and more lately, the silence has felt like a living, breathing thing. A presence in the house, accompanying me everywhere I go. I’ve started leaving the television on or letting my smart home play one of the stations I like.

I’ve started thinking about selling the place and moving somewhere I can see other people, hear sounds of people moving around. Proof of life.

Growing up on a ranch, we didn’t have the sound of cars or planes or any other things. But it was never silent. The wind, the horses stomping their feet, the cattle lowing. Ranch hands talking, doors slamming, my mama singing Ella Fitzgerald or Patsy Cline. Last time I came home, she was singing Katy Perry and I almost keeled over right there in the kitchen.

“What?” Mama had said. “The girl’s got talent behind the doe eyes and her you know whats.”

She had moved her hands over her chest and out, the universal sign for breasts, and then I did keel over, laughing as I clutched the kitchen island until Mama started snapping a dish towel at my behind.

An ache starts behind my ribs as I get ready for bed. I can’t explain exactly why, but family is on my heart. Specifically, my lack thereof. My life is amazing. I’ve accomplished a lot. I have people who love me. But right now? It’s just me in an empty house.

Maybe it’s time to forget my whole anti-marriage stance.

Maybe it’s time to finally sell Morgan-Beckwith.

Maybe it’s time to stop thinking about what-ifs with Zoey and move on. Or make the what-ifs a reality.

I’m not sure which option scares me more.

It’s all these maybes and the dull ache that has me pulling out my phone. There isn’t a reason to update Zoey on Nancy. Not really. But Zoey did ask that I keep her posted.

Isn’t it just common courtesy to check in?

I’ve had Zoey’s number plugged into my phone since the week I started at Morgan-Beckwith, but rarely have excuses to text her. I secretly hoped our rare professional texts would somehow slide into real conversations on their own. As though after reminding her to file something, we might easily segue into talking about what Netflix shows we’re bingeing or what she’s doing Saturday night. Because nothing says let’s chat casually quite like a text asking about Excel spreadsheets.

Before I can overthink it, I type out something decidedly not professional and tap send.

Gavin: I saw Nancy. She’s alive but it was touch and go.

The moments stretch out, allowing me to realize how stupid I was for messaging her at all. She’s probably asleep. And what kind of text was that? Definitely not funny. I was going for not professional, and I think I scored there, but …

The phone buzzes.

Zoey: WHAT?! Gavin, is she okay?

I grimace. Yep, total text fail.

But she texted me!

Gavin: Sorry—she’s fine. I was making a joke.

Zoey: About Nancy being sick?

I groan, rubbing a hand over my eyes. Zoey might be younger, but somehow, I’ve been reverted to the teenage boy trying to see if a girl wants to go out. Or go steady. Whatever the kids are calling it these days.

So, I do the logical thing. I double down on my attempts at humor.

Gavin: When I got there, her cat looked like it was about to start eating her. So, I do think it was a close call.

Zoey: In that case, glad you saved her.

Gavin:Thanks. Her sister, Patty, is there now. She can deal with the cat issue.

Zoey:BTW, I’m not a cat person.

I grin, feeling like I accomplished something. We are texting. Unprofessionally. And I only sounded like a pretty big idiot, not a giant one.

Gavin: Me neither. Do you like dogs?

Lame. So, so lame.

But flirting via text is not my area of expertise. When I was dating Eleanor, texting was barely a thing. I mean, people texted, but phones weren’t an extension of people the way they are now.

Which reminds me again about the age gap between me and Zoey. She probably has tons of guys texting her all the time, using the right gifs and lingo. I spend the time waiting for her response doing mental math, guessing her father’s age. I don’t like the way the figures go. The reality is that he could be just a few years older than me.

But! He could also be one of those guys who became a dad late in life. I’m sure that’s it. He’s got to be pushing seventy. No way he’s also in his forties like me. Because that would be … horrifying. Maybe worse than the bra situation with Nancy earlier.

Zoey: I only like dogs if they don’t have tons of hair. I’m not into shedding.

Gavin: Big or small dogs?

Zoey: Big.

Gavin: So, not a hairless dog you could put in your purse, then?

Zoey: LOL. No. No. No.

Zoey: I despise purse dogs. My brother dated a girl with one. It ended quickly, thank goodness.

Gavin: How old is your brother?

I imagine Zoey as the big sister, being the one in charge. No way does she have the personality of the baby of the family.

Zoey: We’re twins.

I stare down at my phone. Zoey is a twin? It blows my mind a little bit.

Zoey: But I’m older. By two whole minutes.

Zoey: And each of those minutes counts.

I smile at that. I was right, and I agree that the two minutes matter. I bet she rubs it in his face often.

Tension I didn’t know I had is easing in my shoulders. After two years, this feels like some kind of milestone. Now, we’re getting into the personal stuff. Earlier today, it stung when she accused me of not knowing her at all. It wasn’t an accusation really. Just a statement. But it felt like a blow directly to my chest. She was right though, and now that I have her talking to me, I want to remedy that ASAP.

Fact number one: She likes big, hairless dogs. Is that a thing? I’ll google it later.

Fact number two: She has a brother, a twin. He dated a girl with a purse dog and is two minutes younger.

Gavin: Was the purse dog the deal breaker?

Zoey: I’m not sure he even noticed the dog. That was a while ago. He’s dating my best friend now. Totally reformed. He was something of a player. Something we do NOT share in common.

My brows shoot up. Her brother and her best friend … That’s the kind of thing that could go really well or really badly.

When Eleanor and I divorced, I lost basically all the couple friends we had, even though she was the one who had been running around. I definitely didn’t miss them. But a best friend and a twin brother? And he was a player?

It eases a worry I didn’t know I had that Zoey is telling me she is not a player. The idea of her dating other guys makes my stomach roll.

Gavin: How is that for you? Having him date your best friend.

When she doesn’t reply right away, I have to wonder if that was too personal. All of this is more personal than we’ve been, so it feels like I’m already walking out on a thin branch, waiting for it to crack and send me crashing to the ground.

But then my phone buzzes in my hand.

Zoey: I’m so happy for them both.

She doesn’t have to type the but. I can read it in what she said and didn’t say.

Gavin: But what? You can tell me anything. No judgment in this space.

Zoey: Are you my priest now? Is this confession?

I chuckle, shaking my head at the idea.

Gavin: Definitely not. I considered it as a career choice, but the collars were too tight.

Gavin: Consider me a friend.

Gavin: For now.

Yep. I went there. And I don’t regret it. Not even a little bit. Instead, I wish I’d done this years ago.

I shouldn’t be thinking this way or acting on it while I’m still her boss. But I stuck a block of C-4 into Pandora’s box and all that remains is a little smoke and ash. These feelings are not going back in. We are not reverting back to just a boss and employee. Nope.

I’ve been single for so long, I stopped hoping for this. For a woman to get my heart rate up. For someone who made me feel more, want more. For the feeling of waiting by a phone for a call, a text, anything. I had forgotten the rush, the way a smile seems permanently fixed on my face.

I’ve been content for so long with so little, that even this friendly, not quite flirty, conversation has me all worked up and ready to trade in my monk status.

Zoey: They're just so HAPPY.

I frown, trying to read between the lines.

Gavin: And you … aren’t happy?

I’ve definitely overstepped now. But I don’t regret asking the question. If I’m going to do this thing, and this text conversation had ensured that I am, I’m going all in. I can talk purse dogs. I can talk hard feelings.

If Zoey wants to open up to me.

Zoey: I’m not sure. I’m happy about some things.

Gavin: But not relationships?

My heart is trying to climb out of my chest as I wait for the response.

Please say you don’t have a boyfriend. Please say you don’t have a boyfriend.

Zoey: They were my two best friends. Now they have each other. And I’m the third wheel.

She didn’t exactly answer the question. But wouldn’t it stand to reason that a boyfriend would keep her from being a third wheel? I’m going to go with yes.

No boyfriend. For now.

It’s strange though. Can the word boyfriend apply to someone who’s my age? That sounds so … immature. Whatever the label, I’ll take it.

Zoey: Like, tomorrow. It’s our birthday. We have this tradition, and it’s always been just the two of us.

Gavin: Let me guess—he invited her.

Zoey: Yep.

Gavin: And you don’t have someone to take?

Gavin: Like a boyfriend?

It’s not smooth. It’s clearly fishing. But I have to know, and I have to know NOW. Before I get too excited about what might simply be friendly texting.

Zoey: No boyfriend.

Zoey: I’m too busy at work. My boss is kind of demanding.

Heat rises in my chest as I stare down at her words. Zoey has no idea how demanding I’d like to be. With her. Not in the office.

I have a choice to make as my fingers hover over the screen. I can keep things light. I can listen to the guy waving the flag and maintain my speed. We can just be a boss and employee talking, friend to friend, outside of work.

Or I can take a leap. One I probably shouldn’t take. But the cautious part of me is waving a warning flag on the side of the track, telling me to slow down. I’m ignoring him. He’s such a buzzkill. I’d rather shift into a higher gear and flatten the gas pedal down to the floor.

I already asked her if she had a boyfriend. What’s a few steps more?

Gavin: Maybe you should turn the tables on your boss.

I bite my lip, waiting for her reply, watching the screen in anticipation.

Zoey: ... okay. How do you propose I do this?

Exactly the opening I was hoping for.

Gavin: You should be demanding. Demand that he go with you to your birthday.

Gavin: To keep you from being the third wheel.

I should have stopped with the first text. I’m no Thayden, having exactly the right words at the right time, delivered in just the right way.

But I don’t want to pretend to be someone I’m not. I fell into that with Eleanor, trying to mold myself into the man she wanted me to be. I didn’t even realize how much, not until it was over. When I looked around at the wreckage that was my life, I didn’t recognize it. Or myself.

Zoey: You think my boss would make that kind of sacrifice?

Gavin: Doesn't sound like a sacrifice from where I’m sitting.

Zoey: Spending time on a birthday double date with me and my brother and his girlfriend?

Gavin: I don’t know about your demanding boss, but that sounds good to me.

Zoey: Shouldn’t my boss have better things to do? A girlfriend to hang out with?

I consider doing a victory lap around my bedroom. Now Zoey is the one fishing for info on me.

Gavin: I have it under good authority that your boss is single.

Gavin: VERY single.

I can almost hear Thayden’s groan in my head. He would rip the phone right out of my hands and put me into lockdown for being so ridiculous. Especially if he knew that in my head, I heard that in James Bond’s voice.

I’m single.

Very single.

Zoey: Interesting. I could have sworn he made weekend plans with someone today and said I love you.

Ahh. So much makes sense now. She overheard my conversation with my mother and thought I was talking to a girlfriend.

Zoey was jealous.

I have the Cheshire Cat of smiles on my face now.

Gavin: Your boss could have been talking to his mother.

Gavin:(And yes, he loves her and is planning to visit her this weekend. )

She starts to type something and stops. Starts and stops. I’m not sure whether those little dots and the phrase Zoey is typing is a blessing or a curse. It makes me want to climb out of my skin while I wait.

Zoey: That’s sweet.

Is sweet a good thing or a bad thing? I thought women liked it when guys were kind to their mothers. Or maybe that makes me a mama’s boy? I for sure don’t want her thinking that.

Gavin: So, tomorrow night? You want a fourth wheel? Asking for a friend.

The pause before she texts me again feels like a century. Has the clock ticking in the kitchen slowed? Am I being sucked into some space-time continuum?

My phone buzzes, and when I glance down, my heart doesn’t just skip a beat but skips into the next city over.

Zoey: I guess I could consider taking my boss. Though it might be a conflict of interest.

Gavin: There’s no conflict here. Only interest.

I don’t want Zoey to feel pressured to respond, especially considering I just lit any semblance of professional boundaries up in flames, so I quickly text again. One turns to two, and I hate to give this up, but I do need to sleep.

Gavin: I better get to sleep if I want to have any chance at beating you tomorrow.

Zoey: Sleep or no sleep, you have no chance at beating me.

Gavin: Is that a challenge?

Zoey: Just a fact.

Gavin: Guess we’ll see tomorrow. Goodnight! And happy early birthday, Zoey.

Zoey: Thanks! Goodnight, Gavin.