Chapter 23

23

June

There's silence on the other side. Before he can reply, I hang up. Then lay back in bed and stare at the ceiling. Oh my god. That insult just slipped out of my mouth. I can pretend I didn't mean it, but fact is, I do. Blame it on the fact it's too early in the morning for my brain to have forged a connection with my mouth.

After returning from the nightclub, I spent half the night tossing and turning. I fell asleep in the early hours, only to spring awake when the alarm on my phone buzzed, followed by my electronic clock—bought specifically for this purpose and charged back to the company, thank you very much. And I felt so horrible, in that space between sleep and being awake, that when I reached for my phone to call my boss, I was so pissed off with him… And it's not only because I loathe waking up early in the morning. Hearing his voice triggered me.

I can't believe he had the temerity to walk onto that dance floor and try to stake his claim on me, when he's the one who's declared his intent to marry another woman. And after he asked me to book them for lunch at the very restaurant, he took me for a meal. That was our restaurant, damn it. It wasn't a date, but it sure had felt like one. And he'd made the effort to find out about my diet preferences, too. And when I worked late in office, he made sure I was dropped home. I could be forgiven for thinking he cared for me. Only, he doesn't.

How dare he claim I'm his? When... He can never belong to me.

I fist the sheet between my fingers and try to calm my pulse rate. Deep breaths. It's going to be okay. It's going to be okay. But if it isn't?

I've pissed him off. I bet no other employee has called him an asshole—not to his face, at least. But I did. I bet he's going to punish me. He's going to spank me, for sure. And oh my god, I'm going to love it. And…

Hold on… What kind of a game am I playing? He's almost engaged. And I can't stop baiting him. The man's taken, and I can't stop thinking of him. In fact, I can't stop myself from chipping away at his control and hoping for his retaliation. I want him to retaliate. I want him to…discipline me. A shiver squeezes my thighs. I can't be enjoying this. I can't. This is all wrong. I can't have erotic fantasies about this man… Not when he's going to be engaged to someone else.

My phone buzzes, and I gasp. My heart bangs into my ribcage. I sit up and grab my phone. It's his number on the screen.

Ohmigod. This is it; he's going to chew me out for what I said. He's going to fire me over the phone, probably. It stops buzzing, then starts again. My fingers tremble. Answer the phone. You insulted him; now, you're going to live with the repercussions. And if I do, I'll listen to whatever he has to say.

I'll love the fact that he wants to punish me for my impertinence. I'll look forward to turning up in the office and seeing his dark, grim face. I'll shiver in anticipation all day as he avoids me and only communicates with me via email. And every time I see his name in my inbox I'll tingle with eagerness.

I'll get him his lunch, and he'll barely acknowledge me, and by the time evening rolls around, I'll be so starved for his attention, and so needy for his gaze, so wanting to be the center of his focus that I'll do anything—anything he wants—just so he rewards me. And this, despite the fact he doesn't belong to me. And he never will, he's made that clear.

What are you going to do about it? Pick up the phone, listen to his voice and be swayed enough to turn up in office? My throat closes . Or are you going to save face? Are you going to show him, he can't take you for granted?

The phone stops vibrating. I breathe a sigh of relief, then jump when it starts buzzing again. I can feel his anger radiating off of the screen. I wrap my arms about my pillow and stare at my phone. It stops. And this time, it stays silent. Which is almost as bad.

I can sense his displeasure, his disappointment in me. I can hear his voice in my head, growling his disgruntlement. Can sense his pull. Can sense him glaring at the phone in his hand. I reach for my device, then pull back my hand.

No, I will not do this. I will not give in to this temptation. I might be submissive, but I am not a pushover. I have my pride. And that is not something I will ever give up.

Goosebumps erupt on my skin as I realize the consequences of my non-action.

I'm done. Over. I will not be putting myself in any situation that could allow him to put me in the position of being the other woman. Ever.

A ball of emotions blocks my throat. I feel tears prick the backs of my eyes and blink them away. I will not cry over this man. He has no feelings for me, and never will. He's made it clear there can be nothing between us. And now, I believe him.

So why am I working for him? It's the money, of course. I flick on the bedside lamp, then navigate to my bank's app on my phone.

The second deposit has come in from the company, so I have enough to pay off the fees on the second year of my sister's and brother's university fees. I've also paid off Irene's rent at the retirement complex and on my own apartment for next three months.

All in all, this should buy me enough time in which to find a new job. It may not pay as well as this one, but nothing could be as difficult as this. Surely, there must be other opportunities out there.

The thought of emailing applications to companies, most of whom will never bother to reply back to me, has my guts churning. A sinking feeling opens up in my belly. It won't be easy to find another position, as I already know, let alone one that pays as well as this job, but I need to push forward.

If I have an iota of self-respect left, I'll leave his employment. I can't control myself around him, that much is clear. The only way out is to put physical distance between us.

A notification pops up on my phone screen. I pick up my phone, open my email, and my gaze widens. The adoption search specialist has replied to me.

Dear June,

Lovely to hear from you. And thank you for sending through the information you have so far. You're right in that it's sketchy, at best. I went through it, and unfortunately, there just isn't enough to make a difference in the search. In my experience, when the birth file has so little to go on, it normally means the birth mother does not want to be found.

Sadly, our organization does not have the resources necessary to dig into your case and find anything new. In fact, the kind of resources your case would require are cost-prohibitive for most people.

Based on experience, I wouldn't want to take your money when the outcome of your case may not be satisfactory for you.

I wish I could offer you more assistance. Wishing you the best in your search,

Marina Smith

I swallow. When I emailed her, I didn't expect a response so quickly, but here it is. My eyes burn. I thought her services would be too expensive for me to afford, but it never occurred to me that she wouldn't want to take up my case at all. A ball of emotion squeezes my chest.

I click out of the email, then place the phone back on my nightstand and lay back. I didn't realize how much hope I'd placed in this possible avenue of discovery until she turned me down. There's a hollowness inside me, which I normally manage to ignore. But the email has brought old wounds to the fore. I hoped engaging her services would help me learn more about myself. But that will have to wait.

My throat closes. I try to breathe, but my lungs burn. Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. Now, I'll never find my birth mother. I'm no better off than I was before. In fact, I feel worse . It was a shot in the dark to email this adoption search specialist. So why do I feel like my world is imploding? The pressure builds in my chest, in my throat. Tears stream down my temples and into my hair. I turn my face into my pillow and allow myself to cry in earnest.

This rejection from the adoption search specialist, on top of the realization that I can't have anything more to do with my boss, is a sucker punch. I'm crying... Not just for my inability to find my biological mother, but also my inability to make him love me. Why doesn't he want me? Am I so unlovable? Is that why people keep casting me aside?

I truly thought I could have him in my life. I hoped he'd come to feel about me the same way I do about him, like the force of my love would be enough to make up for the lack of his. I know he never made any promises, but tell that to my heart.

He was clear—spanking me in the boardroom or taking me out to dinner didn't mean anything. But it did to me! My stupid heart interpreted his wistful looks and contradictory statements—and actions—and conjured a future in which we were together.

Perhaps, it's my background that makes me seek out men who are unreachable? Maybe, I like setting myself up for failure, so I don't give them a chance to walk out on me. The boys I was attracted to growing up were always the kind who were out of reach. It's why I never managed to have a relationship before this. As if I can actually call this a relationship?

And I've repeated the pattern by wanting a man who's made it clear he doesn't want anything to do with me.

What are you going to do about it, hmm? Are you going to, once more, get up and go into work and book a table so he can take his fiancée to-be to dinner? Are you going to be at your desk when she visits him in his office? Are you going to be the silent bystander as they slowly fall in love? Are you going to be in the audience when she marries him?

Argh! I curl my fingers into fists. I need to do something about this. I angrily brush away my tears. I'm done lying in bed crying about this situation. I'm done with him . He can go fuck himself.

I sit up, flick on my bedside lamp, then snatch up my spectacles and jam them on my nose. I grab my laptop, and fire it up. Then, I shoot off the email.