Chapter 20

The flight home is unbearable. Our seats aren't together this time, and I'm left fending off my anxiety while sitting beside a middle aged woman who is so large she takes up all of her seat and half of mine. The turbulence is worse this time around, too, the plane bumping and skidding through the tormented winds.

I try to distract my mind, but every time my thoughts move to something else, they inevitably fall back on Blake. I can't help but wonder if he requested to sit apart from me. My stomach churns at the thought. Or maybe that's the burrito I had at the airport.

The woman beside me adjusts in her seat, smashing my finger on the arm rest with her elbow. I wiggle it out from under her and curse, inspecting my finger for damage. The entire thing goes unnoticed by her, and I huff before shoving myself as far as I can towards the window. Wisps of dark clouds scamper past the small window, and I chant over and over to not look down.

This sucks.

It really, fucking sucks.

By the time we land, my hands are stiff and snow white from gripping my arm rests so hard. I don't bother waiting for Blake before going to our baggage claim. He didn't even give me a chance to explain myself, but if he wants to be apart from me, fine.

Two can play at that game.

There aren't a lot of people at baggage claim by the time I get down there, and I stare at the dark suitcases as they start brushing into view. The belt whines as bag after bag passes by at a snail's pace. My foot starts bouncing after a few minutes pass, my impatience getting the better of me.

I just want to get my luggage and get the fuck out of here. As far as I'm concerned, there's no reason for me to see Blake again until work on Monday. The man is infuriating. Yea, so I had Cade in my hotel room overnight. It's not like anything happened.

But he doesn't know that.

The voice in my head challenges me with a persuasive edge, and I brush it aside. Even if we had done something, it's not Blake's business anyway. Isn't he the one who just broke up with fagtoid Phil? It's not like we're together or some shit like that.

My prior guilt and trepidation begins to melt away to the heat of anger bubbling up inside me. A dark blue suitcase with a white stripe down the side comes into view, and with muscles taut with irritation, I hoist it off the belt.

If Blake is around, I don't see him. If he sees me, he doesn't try to stop me as I head out the doors of the airport and hail a cab. If my company wasn't good enough for him on the plane, than his isn't good enough for me on the drive home.

The cab driver gets out of the car and helps me put my bag in the trunk. When the two of us are back in the car, he turns around with a half-hearted smile.

"Where to?"

........................................

As well-played as I thought my idea was to travel home alone from the airport, it only makes things worse. The terrible flight manifests into a terrible weekend...and then an even worse first week back to work.

When another Monday rolls around, I have zero motivation to walk inside those doors at all. Blake's clinical kindness has down-graded to a state of indifference that even the most aloof people would find offensive.

It's not my imagination, either. I see the way people whisper when I walk past, their gossip circulating like wildfire how - in a matter of a few days - I fell out of Blake's good graces.

By the end of last week, I began to wonder if Blake noticed my presence at all. My eyes flicker to the time on the dashboard. With a heavy sigh I get out of my car, slamming the door shut behind me. A few other cars sprinkle the lot, but for the most part, it's a ghost town.

I do my best to avoid as many customers and fellow employees as possible, but by mid-morning my name blares across the speakers.

"Callum Greene, you have a call on line three. Callum Greene, line three."

I head towards the nearest work phone in the break phone and pick it up.

"Hello?"

"I need you in my office please. Now."

Click.

The call disconnects and I slam it back on the receiver. Just hearing Blake's voice sends unwanted waves of desire prickling across my skin. What the fuck happened to me in the past few weeks? I shake my head and trudge to Blake's office, my palms sweating with uncertainty.

I see the man on an-almost daily basis. So why has my confident ability to be around him dissolved to dust?

His door is ajar and I give it a tentative knock.

"Come in."

I step inside and suck in a breath. I haven't been in Blake's office in almost a week. Is the fact that I'm in here now a good thing? Or bad? Blake doesn't look up from his stack of papers as he mumbles for me to close the door.

After a beat of silence, he sets his pen aside and lifts his gaze. His guarded eyes settle on my face, and I think it's the first time he's looked at me – really looked at me – since were in Florida. I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks just having his attention on me again.

"Please, sit," Blake instructs.

I sit without question, my spine ramrod straight.

Blake fiddles with his cufflink and a deep frown creases the space in between his eyebrows. He shifts his eyes away from me, and I have the sinking feeling he's letting me go.

"Am I being fired?" I ask, my voice so timid it's humiliating.

"No, Mr. Greene. You're not being fired."

My shoulders sag with endless relief. Then curiosity takes hold and I start wondering just where this is headed. Blake leans forward, resting his elbows on the edge of his desk. He clears his throat.

"I believe I owe you an apology."

An apology?

My ears perk. This is it. He's going to apologize for being so cold and callous the past week. Maybe he'll even add in a comment or two about abandoning me and making me sit next to Fat Bertha on the airplane. I almost have to hold back a giddy chuckle as I wait for him to continue.

"My behavior while we were in Florida was unprofessional. Inexcusable even."

My grin slips. Wait. What?

"You are, first and foremost, my employee. I should have treated you as such," Blake continues, eyes never meeting mine. "I apologize for letting things get out of hand. I'm not sure what got into me. Maybe it was just the stress. But I assure you, Mr. Greene. It won't happen again."

My heart picks up speed as the full impact of his words unfold. He's not sorry for anything last week. Instead he's apologizing for the possessive moments, the stolen kisses, and the intimate touches.

He's apologizing for the very memories that consume my thoughts every night while I drift off to sleep.

Of its own accord, my tongue swipes across my bottom lip, a silent reminder that Blake's lips were against them at one time. I run a hand through my hair and slump back in the chair. I've ended plenty of 'flings' over the past few months. None of them amounted to much, but a few chicks ended up shedding tears as they left the confines of my bedroom walls.

Is this what they felt like when they left?

A gift wrapped pile of shit?

"Oh..."

My voice trails off. I feel like an idiot. What was I expecting to happen when I came in here? For us to pick up where we left off? To live out some sort of fantasy office romance?

Ha. Looks like the jokes on me.

The emotions tumbling through my body are so foreign and intense my head starts to pound in pain.

Blake looks at me again. The hardness of his expression is gone, and his eyes search my face with a hopeful gaze. He's looking at me as if he wants me to challenge his words. To give some indication that this isn't what I want.

Every inch of me wants to argue, to give up my pride and let him touch me as much and in whatever way he wants. It's all I think about, anyway.

But my pride doesn't work like that.

Instead it flares with every bit of strength it can muster, extinguishing my only opportunity to change the outcome through silent acceptance.

I swallow hard, trying to fight down the feeling of regret.

"It's all good," I say, my eyes focused on the corner of one of his file folders. "Already forgotten about."

I can't bring myself to look at Blake, though I can tell by the change in his position that he's disappointed. He picks up his pen and points the end of it towards the door.

"Wonderful," he says, his voice distant and cold. "I have work to do, now. You're dismissed."