Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
She’s here?
I spin around, hunting for clothes in my living room. “Oh, okay.”
“I can just leave their bags on the porch but I figured if he was home it’d just be easier,” she says, apologetic.
I rub my eyes. “Their bags?”
“They didn’t want to take their overnight bags to school. I guess I kind of understand; it’s a pain to lug them around.”
That’s a fair point. A lot of times she’ll drop the bags off in the morning or in the afternoon when she’s had the kids for a sleepover. I spot a sweatshirt on the carpet by the couch. I make a run for it as she says, “Sorry. I shouldn’t have bothered you, Sabrina. I don’t really know what hours you keep or what the rules are about calling you for this,” she says. She sounds flustered for the first time, like she’s crossed some sort of line with the hired help.
I wince as those words flash through my brain.
Hired help.
Yep, that’s what I am. I’m the hired help, and my tits are flying free because I banged my boss last night. Fine, he didn’t technically bang me, but…semantics. As shame courses through me, I jam on the sweatshirt, stuffing my arms through it then readjusting the phone. “I’ll be right up,” I say, then hunt for jeans. But I don’t have any pants out here. My stomach tips as I hang up and tiptoe furtively back to my room, opening the door as quietly as I can.
I don’t want to wake him and explain this shitshow.
Tyler rustles in bed, but the man isn’t a lover of sleep for nothing. He doesn’t wake—just snores a little louder as I slide open a drawer quietly and grab a pair of leggings. I dart into the bathroom, yank them on, then douse my dragon breath with some mouthwash. A ten-second gargle later and I’m grabbing a hair tie and yanking my hair into a messy bun. I stuff my phone into the pocket of my leggings then race up the stairs to the front door, swinging it open when I realize—I grabbed Tyler’s hoodie from the floor. It’s the same color as mine, and I’m swimming in it. It hits me mid-thigh.
But there’s no time to change.
I flash back to all the times I’ve performed on the ice.
When I wobbled during a competition. When I missed a jump. When I fell flat on my ass and had to get right back up. You pick yourself up and you smile, then skate on. I paste on the brightest never let them see you sweat grin ever and skate on. “Good morning.”
Elle blinks, looking down at my clothes. “Oh, I didn’t mean to…” She thrusts the kids’ bags at me. “Here.”
I take them and set them down in the foyer. “Thanks.”
She waves a hand like it’s nothing, then she tears her gaze off of my torso and focuses squarely on my eyes. “If you could just let Tyler know that I dropped them off. And that he doesn’t need to return any of my text messages or phone calls about them. We’re all set now.” She spins around, ready to fly down the steps. But then her shoulders pinch and she turns back toward me, holding up a finger. “Though he does need to return my messages about Christmas because I should definitely be able to put the kids on a flight to New York on the twenty-third or the twenty-fourth. I’ll get unaccompanied minor tickets,” she explains quickly.
I freeze.
I didn’t know she had the kids right before Christmas Eve. Sure, he mentioned they were discussing holiday plans, but I didn’t know what those plans were. He didn’t share them with me. All I know is the last hockey game before Christmas is in New York on the twenty-third.
Christmas is around two weeks away. I don’t know if he expects me to work. We didn’t talk about this. It never even came up, and now I feel so unbearably stupid.
What kind of employee doesn’t ask their boss what the plans are for Christmas? Do I have the day off? The week off? What kind of boss doesn’t tell the employee if they have the day off?
My chest feels like concrete.
Is this what happens when you start sleeping with your boss? You just take all sorts of things for granted? My head throbs and I barely listen as Elle tells me the details.
When she’s gone I shut the door, feeling sick all over. I have no idea what to do next. And I definitely don’t know what I’m going to do in a couple weeks when I’m all alone out here in his house, and he’s in New York for the holidays.
I trudge into the kitchen, trying to get my bearings. I stare briefly at the living room. There’s no tree yet, but will he even do that? I don’t know. Maybe I’ll just be alone in a tree-less house. I guess that’s fine too.