I didn’t tell her that I don’t even like thinking about or looking at myself. Not since that day at least.
But Aspen doesn’t need to be burdened by that. She’s my only ally at W&S and I intend to keep our relationship close.
When I asked her not to tell Daniel about any of this, she gave me a look, but she nodded.
The last thing I need is for Daniel or anyone from my past to get involved in my business.
I left England for a reason and I intend to keep it that way.
That is, if I don’t end up killing my boss and being charged with second-degree murder.
Inhaling a deep breath, I carry the documents he demanded to his office. Now, I just need to knock and then go in. He doesn’t demand I wait for his approval anymore.
He’s on his laptop, typing at a rapid speed, completely and utterly focused on his task.
I try not to get ensnared by the view, by how his lean fingers fly gracefully over the keyboard or how his brows slightly dip when he’s on a task.
I try not to ogle his masculine face or broad shoulders that nearly burst through his shirt. Or how the cuffs are rolled over his powerful forearms, which are now veiny, unlike when we were younger.
I really try.
But most days, I fail. Most days, I keep thinking there’s no harm in looking.
I’m just…looking.
Not dreaming, hoping, or fantasizing.
That foolish side of me was brutally murdered a long time ago.
“Are you going to spit out what you’re here for or do you plan to stand there like a second-rate statue?”
I’m used to his cold shoulder by now, but I can't help the heat that burns my cheeks or the clamping in my stomach. Thank God he’s focused on his laptop or he would've caught me ogling the hell out of him.
He finally spares me a glance, his eyes closed off, frosty as arctic ice. It’s as if he wants to shake me or choke me these days. I don’t know which, or why he’s awfully hostile.
I’ve been trying my best.
But that’s never enough for the perfectionist jerk.
“Are you sick, Ms. Adler, or do you look like a dreadfully undercooked squid for sport?”
Inhaling a calming breath, I walk up to him and place the documents on his desk, resisting the urge to throw them at his illegally attractive face. “I finished the draft, proofread it, and sent it to the paralegal and emailed her a copy. I also squeezed in a ten-minute meeting with her tomorrow before lunch. Your dry cleaning was sent to your house and I emailed you a summary of the cases HR sent you.”
He flips through the pages while I’m speaking. He usually skims any work I do and still finds mistakes and snobbish remarks to say.
This time, however, I’m sure he won’t. I got Aspen’s expert view when we had lunch together today. She offered to help when she found me foaming at the mouth and calling Daniel a thousand colorful creative names.
So I spent the entire afternoon doing everything else on the list he sent me through the day.
It’s seven in the evening, two hours after the time I should’ve left, which is a record compared to the past two weeks. Since I used to leave extremely late, per his majesty’s orders. Sometimes, after they turn off the lights in the whole building.
Today, at least, I’ll be able to get back at a reasonable hour and actually cook something decent for Jay.
I feel like I barely see him these days and although Mrs. Potter watches over him, I’m still worried. Not to mention what he must’ve felt after he saw the court’s mail. He doesn’t tell me these things, but I know he hates his father as much as I do.
He’s scared of him, too.
As much as I am.
“Are you waiting for an award, Ms. Adler?”
I focus back on Daniel. “What?”
“You’re either slower than a vintage train or you prefer to play daft on a regular basis, both of which need to disappear if you want to remain in this position. Now, answer my earlier question, do you want a pat on the back or a biscuit for doing your job?”
“No, sir.”
“Then what are you waiting here for?”
“C-can I go home?”
“Get the fuck out of my face.”
I jolt at the abrasive tone. What the hell is wrong with him lately? He acts as if my existence is the work of the devil and he’s the angel sent to wipe me out.
Or maybe it’s the opposite.
I glare at him, then leave, biting my tongue so that I don’t explode on him. I’m finally going home early, so I won’t allow my temper to ruin it.
On my way out, I call Jay and tell him to get the ingredients for pasta out of the fridge.
He acts cool, but I can hear the excitement and glee in the little rascal’s voice.
As soon as I get home, Mrs. Potter hugs me and tells me he’s been such a good boy, then goes back to her place. Jayden and Lolli jump from the sofa and he hugs my waist. His face hides in my chest for a long moment. “Missed you, Nikki.”
“Missed you, too, baby.” I throw my bag on the floor and wrap my arms around him. Sometimes, it amazes me that he was a baby not so long ago, but now, he’s all grown and will probably become taller than me in no time.
“I’m no baby.” I can hear the scowl in his tone, but he doesn’t pull back.
“Yeah, whatever.” I ruffle his hair. “Have you taken your medication?”
“Yup!”
“That’s my good boy. Want to help me cook?”
He looks up at me, showing me a toothless grin. “Hell yeah.”
“Wait, look what I got you.” I rummage through my bag under the watchful eyes of a curious Lolli, then produce a key chain.
Jay gasps, snatching it from my hand as his pupils turn into saucers. “Kevin!”
Is that the name of the Minion? Well, I guess. I found it at a stand on the side of the road and had to buy it for him.
Jayden has always been obsessed with the Minions ever since he watched Despicable Me as a toddler. The small collection he assembled over the years is the first thing he packs whenever we move and he even makes sure they’re safe and sound by peeking in the drawer where he keeps them every night and morning.
“Thank you, Nikki.” He hugs me again. “He’s going to be happy to join the family.”
I shake my head as he adds them to the “Minions drawer.”
After changing into a comfortable woolen dress, Jay and I get to work.
He’s more like my cheerleader and a sloppy salad chopper, but he oohs and ahhs over everything I do.
I’m more meticulous about cooking and I find great pleasure in it. Jay always tells me I should be a chef, but he’s honestly the only one who has tasted my food, and he’s a bit biased. Besides, just because I love cooking doesn’t mean I should pursue it professionally. Though, a part of me has been secretly yearning for it.
Maybe after Jayden grows up.
Despite Jay’s awful sous-chef techniques, we make it work in less than thirty minutes, and then we have our dinner.
He prepares the table, which is basically him lighting the cheap Walmart candle that we save for special occasions. Like his birthdays.
I stopped celebrating mine when I fell out of grace.
“What’s the special occasion?” I motion at the candle.
He rolls his eyes. “You getting a job, duh.”