Chapter 35

CHAPTER 35

SPENCER

I kicked around my penthouse for hours, trying to escape my own anger and frustration. I was beginning to understand why no one wanted to be around me. I didn't want to be around me.

There was a strange, uncomfortable burning sensation inside me. I thought about crawling in a bottle and trying to put out the fire, but I had a feeling that would only make things worse.

Going for a drive was another option, but that would just result in reckless driving that would put lives in danger. I was pissed but not suicidal or homicidal.

That left one option—sweating. A lot.

I changed out of my suit and put on a pair of shorts and a tank top. My home gym hadn't seen a lot of action in recent weeks. Maybe that was why I was so uptight. I needed to work out more.

I grabbed my ear buds and phone and headed to the gym. I put on my workout playlist and turned it up loud. The music pounded in my ears, drowning out everything else.

I started with a light warmup before hopping on the weight machine. I pushed my body to its limit. The machine creaked and groaned under the strain of my intense workout, the weights clanking together with each repetition. My muscles burned with the exertion. The intense and rhythmic beat of the music blasting in my ears pushed me harder. Sweat dripped onto the padded surface of the machine. I pushed through each set, determined to exhaust myself both mentally and physically.

The home gym was my sanctuary—a place to blow off steam and clear my head. The steady rhythm of my heart pounding in my chest, the sweat dripping off my brow, and the feel of the iron in my hands were all I needed to focus on. It was just me and the weights, a perfect escape from the chaos of everything else.

Once I was finished with the weight part of my workout, I felt a little better, but the burning anger was still there. I grabbed a hand towel and wiped my face before walking to my treadmill.

I stepped on, starting with a slight incline at a three. I cranked up the speed, feeling the burn in my legs as I pushed myself to run faster. The sound of my feet pounding against the treadmill created a rhythmic beat. Sweat poured down my face as I increased the incline, challenging myself to go further.

As I ran, my mind wandered back to the argument with Graham. The memory fueled my pace, making me push myself harder, as if I could outrun the frustration and anger that simmered inside me. I needed this release, this physical exertion to match the turmoil in my mind.

With each step, I felt some of the tension ease, but the physical release wasn't quite the same for my brain. It was in overdrive. I couldn't stop thinking about my partners. Their betrayal. Their accusations that I was the one bringing the company down. I could take a lot of bullshit, but there was no way they actually believed that.

Did they?

I pushed harder, running faster and faster, the treadmill whirring beneath me. The burning sensation in my muscles matched the fire in my mind. The treadmill strained against my weight and speed, but I pushed it to its limits, wanting to push myself harder than ever before.

But no matter how fast or how hard I ran, I couldn't outrun my troubled mind.

I increased the incline even more, feeling the strain in every muscle as I forced myself to keep going. The sweat poured off me in rivulets, mixing with the burning anger that seared through my veins.

I was at the end of my session, lungs burning and muscles screaming, when my phone rang. The call came through my wireless headphones, interrupting my flow. Without thinking, I answered.

"Hello?" I panted, trying to catch my breath.

"Spencer, darling! It's your mother," her voice came through, full of the excited energy that I used to fall for hook, line, and sinker. Now, I knew better. This was how she started off a call when she wanted something.

"Mom," I said, turning the treadmill off and waiting for it to stop. I hopped off, still trying to catch my breath.

"Are you okay?" she asked. "Are you running?"

"I was."

"It's so good to hear your voice," she gushed. "We miss you so much. Your father and I were just talking about you over breakfast this morning."

I wiped my face with a towel, rolling my eyes. "How are you?" I asked, although I probably knew the answer.

I walked around the room, feeling the tingling in my legs. I kept moving, walking out to the kitchen to get some water.

"Oh, we're fine, dear. Just fine. But how are you? We haven't heard from you in ages."

The preamble went on, like I hadn't heard it a hundred times before. She told me about the weather and seeing a dolphin. Part of me wondered if anything she was telling me was true. This little rundown of her life in Florida tended to sound the same anytime she called. Maybe I was just being jaded.

I could sense the shift in the conversation as she ran out of things to say. This wasn't a social call. It never was. She didn't ask me how work was. She didn't ask if I was dating anyone or if I was healthy.

Because she didn't care.

She started to tell me about some of their friends and a recent party they went to. I opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water. I gulped it down before grabbing the carton of orange juice. I could smell my own body odor and wanted to get into the shower.

"What do you need, Mom?" I finally asked, trying to keep my irritation in check while getting the phone call over and done with.

She hesitated, then sighed. "Well, we miss you, Spencer. We were thinking it would be wonderful to come see you. You know, spend some quality time together."

I could almost hear the gears turning in her head. "You know where to find me," I said, already sensing where this was headed.

"I can't use those silly websites to book flights," she said, her voice tinged with mock self-pity. "It's so overly complicated. And your father, well, you know how he is. Every little extra charge for luggage or booking a window seat makes him fly off the handle."

My legs ached as I stood in the kitchen, my workout having taken its toll. I sighed. "Send me the dates you want to come, and I'll book the flights."

"Oh, thank you, Spencer! Your silly parents would be lost without you."

I could already feel the headache forming behind my eyes at the thought of my parents descending upon me. The last thing I needed right then was their particular brand of chaos disrupting my life. But as much as they grated on my nerves, they were still my parents, and guilt had always been a powerful motivator in our relationship.

The call ended not long after she mentioned they had brunch plans with some friends. I hung up feeling completely drained.

I shouldn't worry about my parents cramping my style. They weren't coming to see me. They were coming to see their friends and remind me I was their son. They'd expect a fancy dinner and a check to go home with. I wasn't foolish enough to believe they were coming to see me because they missed me.

I grabbed another bottle of water and headed to my room to shower away my own stench. I turned the water to lukewarm and stripped out of my sweat-soaked clothes.

The warm water cascaded over me, washing away the sweat and tension from my intense workout. I closed my eyes, trying to block out the impending visit from my parents. It was always the same—their demands, their expectations, their disregard for my boundaries. But as much as I tried to steel myself against their arrival, deep down, I knew that old familiar pang of guilt would creep in. I'd give them more money and off they would go once again.

After what felt like an eternity under the shower, I reluctantly turned off the water and stepped out, wrapping a towel around myself. My legs were already sore.

I made myself a quick microwave dinner and fell into bed. The workout had done its job. I was exhausted. I barely had a chance to breathe before sleep claimed me, pulling me into a beautiful, dark abyss.

The next morning, I opened my eyes and groaned. "Fuck."

I regretted the workout. Sadly, even though I fell asleep almost instantly, I woke up around two in the morning with the worst cramp in my calf. From that point on, I struggled to get any sleep. Every muscle in my body was screaming. When the sun came up, I finally rolled out of bed and very carefully got dressed. It hurt to tie my tie. It hurt to put on my shoes. Hell, it hurt to breathe.

I made my way into the office, with a body full of aches and pains. I avoided eye contact with everyone. Today would have been a perfect day to call in sick. I had thought about it, but I didn't want Graham to think he had pushed me out.

"Ow, ow, ow," I groaned as I sat down at my desk.

I opened my laptop and booked the plane tickets for my parents, then sent my mother the ticket information. As expected, I soon received a text from her. It was a frowning face emoji with a message. "You're going to put us old folks in economy?"

I knew they would expect first class. I supposed part of me hoped she would just text to thank me. But unfortunately, there was always a hangup.

Gritting my teeth, I called the airline to adjust the tickets and move them to first class. While I was on hold, I glanced around my office and noticed the folder with Marlow's writing on it for the water bottle product sitting on my filing cabinet. Someone must have taken it out of the trash before the cleaners came through last night.

Frowning, I picked it up and flipped through it. As I waited to talk to an agent, I started reading Marlow's notes. To my surprise, the more I read, the more I realized she might be onto something.

Damn it.

The agent finally came on the line. I made the necessary adjustments to the tickets. I sent my mother the updated information. Instead of thanking me, she sent a smiling face emoji.

I rolled my eyes, biting back frustration. I leaned back in my chair, staring at Marlow's file. Maybe I had been too quick to dismiss her idea. I flipped through the notes again, giving them my full attention.

Janet popped into my office. "Can I get you something?"

"Water. Coffee. Advil. And one of those burritos from the fridge if there are any left."

"I'll be right back," Janet chirped as she hurried out of the office.

I sighed, my mind still mulling over Marlow's notes. There was definitely potential there, a spark of creativity that could breathe new life into the company. It was risky, but maybe it was exactly what we needed. It wasn't the kind of thing our company would typically be involved with.

When Janet returned with my requested items, I barely registered her presence as I delved deeper into Marlow's ideas. The more I read, the more excited I became. It was like a puzzle clicking into place, each piece fitting perfectly to create a picture of success.