Page 78 of Bridesmaid By Chance
She shakes her head. “No, it’s not.”
“Because I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m sorry if…if I hurt your feelings. I know I can be an ass when I’m stressed, but you know I can’t do anything about us.”
She pats my chest. “It’s fine, Hudson. Don’t sweat it. Now, unless you have anything else to say, I’m going to bed.”
Don’t sweat it?
Oh, I’m going to sweat about it because this Sloane roller coaster I’ve been on has not been the easiest. The moment she walked into my office, ready to be my assistant, I knew I was in trouble, but I never thought it would turn into something this intense.
It’s already beyond complicated because I feel the need to take care of her, to treat her well, to make sure she has everything she needs, yet I need to keep her at arm’s length. I need to set a boundary because there is a great possibility that if I let her get too close, if I let her break down my walls, I could become attached.
And I can’t be attached.
Not with who she’s related to.
Not when I’m carrying around a load of baggage.
Not when I just need to stay focused on the business.
And, fuck, we haven’t even gotten to the heart of what we need to do when we’re in London. We’re at the tip of the iceberg. If we’re already irritated with each other now, imagine what it’s going to be like when we’re knee-deep in dancing and meetings. Not to mention, what happens after this? Is she…is she going to continue to work with me? The thought of her not coming back to the office when we return makes my stomach hurt. I know I can’t have her. I know she’s not mine, but I don’t want her to leave either. I’ve realized I’ve become comfortable having her close, seeing her every day.
Jesus, what has come over me?
With nothing else to say, because what really is there to say, I release her and turn to my side, getting comfortable with my pillow as I feel her turn away.
I’ve done some pretty dumb things in my life—like hiring Sloane to work for me in the first place—but this…marrying her, yeah, I earned the gold in the “dumb shit to do” Olympics.
I stare at my watch on my wrist, watching the seconds tick by as I pace the airport, next to our gate, waiting for Sloane to show up.
I fucking knew taking two cars to the airport was going to bite me in the ass, but I forgot my computer at the office like an idiot, so I told her I’d meet her at the airport.
And now that I’m here and she’s nowhere to be found, nor is she answering her phone, I’m starting to fucking panic.
What if she decided not to show up? This morning, when she was finishing packing, I gave her a hard time for waiting until the last minute because I was stressed watching her. And then I ended up being the one that forgot something. Did I push her too hard?
Of course you did, you fucking idiot.
You put her in this mess and now she’s not going to come because you can’t handle your stress appropriately.
And you’re the one calling her young…
I drag my hand over my face, visibly stressed as I check my phone again.
I’m going to have a heart attack. That is exactly what that feels like, a heart attack.
I stuff my phone back in my pocket, and I’m about to ask the gate attendant to call her name over the intercom when I hear the sound of her laughter. I turn around to find her arm linked through another man’s, heading right toward me.
What.
The.
Actual.
Fuck.
Tall with black hair and dark-rimmed glasses, the man looks like a knockoff Clark Kent.
“There you are,” Sloane says with ease as she releases the other man, walks straight up to me, slides her hand up my chest, and presses a kiss right to the corner of my mouth. I feel my breath hitch as she pulls away and then slips her arm around my waist and leans her head against my chest. “Devin, meet my husband, Hudson. Hudson, this is Devin. We went to college together.”
