Chapter 18

“Dammit,” Adrian growls, flinging open the file drawer he just slammed on his finger.

He swallows a second string of curses, unsatisfied with his initial vulgarity. The day had started badly and had continued to spiral. He’d woken up to a text that instantly put an end to the buoyant mood he’d been in since last week Friday.

He hasn’t been able to get Beth out of his mind since the moment she’d inadvertently tugged his bottom lip with her teeth. He pictures her again, arms fumbling nervously at her sides, curls tumbling around her face as she looks up at him.

He feels a rush of anger swelling in him but it’s quickly replaced by guilt. What right does he have to be angry? And who exactly is he angry at?

Maybe his anger is just a disguise for something else. Fear. Fear of dealing with something he’s spent the better part of a decade running from.

Disgusted, he shakes his head and drags a hand over his face, trying desperately to sort through the confusion.

Amy’s voice echoes from the intercom. “Mr. Dane, would you like me to order you some lunch? Your two o’clock just called and is running a half hour late, so you have a little break.”

He pushes the button of the intercom on his desk phone to respond. “No, Amy, don’t bother with lunch.” He pauses, contemplating whether to proceed with his plan. “Could you please send for Ms. Parsons?”

He has to follow through; do what’s best for her and forget about himself.

“Yes, Mr. Dane.”

He places the receiver down and stares blankly at the wooden surface of his desk. His relationship with Beth has advanced much quicker than he now realizes he can handle. She has utterly invaded his life. But that isn’t the problem, is it? The problem, the real one, is that he likes having her here, coiled around his heart and squeezing. He likes how, when she’s around, he thinks of the future rather than the past, or sometimes doesn’t think at all, just got lost in the smell of her skin.

If he can lose himself in her, if simply being in her arms made him forget everything else, then he’s in bigger trouble than he thought. Spending time with someone, passing the hours, is different from needing someone. And he can’t allow himself to need her. He can’t pull her into the mess of his life.

If he gives in to his intense feelings for her, then hurts her, it’ll kill him. Just like it had killed every time he intentionally failed to acknowledge her when their paths crossed around the office. It had taken everything in him to stop himself from telling her what an amazing job she did with her presentation with her practical and innovative ideas.

But the thought of hurting her… It’s all the motivation he needs to reel all his emotions in.

A shiver shakes his arms. If he continues down this rocky path of thought, he’ll be crushed under the sheer pressure of it and end up doing something stupid. Like, tell Beth everything he’s thinking.

What is he going to tell her?

I can’t be with you anymore because I…because I…

What? Because he can’t allow himself to have feelings for her? How would he explain that to her?

He angrily jerks his mind away from those thoughts. It doesn’t matter. Because he won’t tell her. He can’t. But imagining the pained expression on her face when he tells her off wrenches his heart.

He’d practically forced her to be in his life and now he’s just going to throw her under the bus.

A knock on the door distracts him from the mess inside his head. His stomach clenches and his heart rate increases. The door cracks open slightly and Beth sticks her head into the room. “You asked for me?”

“Yes. Yes. Please come in.”

She settles into the chair to his left and he realizes that was the chair she’d chosen on her last visit to his office. He allows himself to wander about this, knowing that he’s merely looking to postpone the inevitable.

She’s looking at him with a conflicted expression. Like she’s not sure how to feel.

“I…I asked you here to…” What the fuck is this. He never stammers.

Just fucking say it.

He takes a deep breath. “This can’t continue, Beth.”

She blinks a few times. “I…I don’t understand.”

“I’m sorry I’ve let it get this far but I’m your boss. You’re an employee, and I signed your checks. Regardless of the absence of an actual no-fraternization policy, interoffice romance is always messy, especially when one of those employees was the boss. This is why I personally have a zero tolerance rule on interoffice dating. Romances, sexual relations of any kind—they’re all off the table,” he says, shaking his head.

God. He sounds like an absolute asshole. He doesn’t believe half the shit he’s saying. He never had a rule like that, mostly because there hasn’t been a need for it since he has never felt a desire to be involved with an employee. He’s just spewing all this nonsense because he’s too much of a coward to say what he actually feels– that for the first time in a long time he can see himself developing actual feelings for another person and it scares him.

He continues, filled with so much regret he can hardly breathe. “There are no guarantees that this would lead to anything and if something goes wrong, we’d both feel the fallout. I don’t want you to be disappointed and I don’t want to put you in a messy situation.”

He waits for some form of confusion or protest when he finishes. He’s prepared for it, but there’s only a moment of pause before she blinks and nods.

“Okay.”

He lifts an eyebrow and studies her, unsure if he should feel relieved or wary. “I appreciate your understanding,” he says, his gaze still trained with uncertainty on her as she rises from her seat. She catches his expression and smiles tightly.

“Of course. You might not know this, but if anyone were to understand work rules, it’s me,” she says.

“Then that’s a relief to hear. And thank you again for understanding,” he says, unable to take his eyes off of her. “I do appreciate it.”

“Well, I appreciate the opportunity just to work here,” she said breezily. “Is that all you wanted to discuss with me, Mr. Dane?”

Mr. Dane. His instinct is to invite her to call him Adrian, but he refrains. “Yes,” he says. “That’s all. You’re free to leave.”

“Great. Thank you again for everything,” she says on her way out. “And have a good night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You too,” he returns, as he watches her walk stiffly toward the front door. Every fibre of his being wants to cry out for her to stay, but he holds it together. Better to let her go now, like this, before either of them got into this thing any deeper.

“I’d better be doing the right thing,” he growls under his breath.