King Hunt (Boys of Brisley 1)

“Yep. Sure did.”

“Gross.” She stared up at me again, choosing her next words as carefully as she could. “What are you going to do?”

Another question so loaded that I didn’t want to go near it.

“What can I do? Not exactly like there are a lot of career options around here. I’m gonna go to work and hope to fuck he stays in the executive suite.”

She took a long swig as she shook her head. “You’re braver than me. I’d probably have run for the hills the moment I saw him. Did he see you too? Did he say anything?”

“No. At least I don’t think so. I think I kind of blacked out.” I started to shake again as the memories came fast and relentless, but not of that meeting. No, these were memories of the day he’d left me and kicked me out of the home we’d shared. Of the chill in his eyes as he said those words. The bags of mine that he’d already packed, waiting for me when I got off work expecting to come home to loving arms and a hot meal. The tragic, regrettable way I’d begged him not to make me go. The way he’d warned me from the day we’d met that one day, he’d leave, and the way I hadn’t believed him until he followed through.

“Zepp!”

My head snapped up so hard it hurt my neck. “Huh?”

“You want to talk about where you just went? Or do you want to just drink until you forget all about it and watch Family Feud?”

Both of those options sounded terrible, and despite the early hour, I felt like I’d been awake for days. “Honestly, Ky ... I just want to go to sleep. If I have to deal with him first thing in the morning, I need all the rest I can get.”

I leaned down and kissed her cheek quickly, then disappeared into my room, ignoring the way she called my name like she was trying to call my bluff. It wasn’t a bluff, not this time, and I was asleep within minutes of my head hitting the pillow.

Tomorrow would wait.

~

“BRYCE! YOU’RE UP.”

I set my pen down gently as I turned to face Paul. His weaselly little face and weirdly poofed hair irritated me on a good day, especially since he never addressed me with any sort of respect — but today, I was more worried about the man I’d be dealing with when I got past him. “Right. Of course.”

Okay, breathe. This is fine. You’re fine. It’s all fine. It’s just a one-on-one to meet the new boss ... like I didn’t already know him as well as a person could ever know someone else. Fuck, fuck, fuck-me-in-the-eye I don’t want to be here.

The fact that I didn’t trip was a miracle, and I breathed a little easier once I was seated inside David’s new office, despite the storm cloud making permanent residence above my head. For now, it looked exactly the same as it had under his predecessor: tacky white walls, abstract art masquerading as decent decor, boring grey filing cabinets filled with papers no one had looked at in a decade. The only difference I could immediately pick out was the man in front of me — the man I couldn’t seem to look in the eyes. “You wanted to see me, Mr. Sorrin?”

“We didn’t get a chance to speak yesterday. There were a lot of people around. How are you, Zeppelin? You look good.”

I straightened my spine and thanked all those hours I’d spent running through the park trying to escape my own head. Play it cool. Don’t do anything stupid. Just get done and get out, and go die somewhere else. Like on the roof or something. Maybe jump in with the dump truck when Roger takes the trash out. Just anywhere but here, anywhere but right in front of him.

Again, I adopted that carefully-crafted smile. “I’m good. Great, really. Did you need something? I was kind of busy. Just that time of year.”

“I just— things aren’t going to be awkward, right?” His flippant tone and annoyingly blue eyes made me want to reach across the desk and strangle him, but I kept my composure.

“Of course not, Mr. Sorrin.” I'm never calling you ‘Sir’ again. “Honestly, I assumed we'd skip this part since we already know each other. I figured you’d want to focus your energy on the rest of your new employees.”

“Right, and I will.” He sat back in his chair and watched me in a way he’d done a thousand times, like if he stared long enough he’d be able to read my mind. “Well, I won’t keep you any longer, but if you need anything you know where to find me. Hey, you can be my work-wife.”

It took a second to sink in.

What in the actual fuck did he just say to me? “Your what?” I blinked, left hand curling into a fist as my right gripped the arm of the chair I was sitting in like it would stop me from launching myself across his well-organized desk and clawing his infuriatingly blue eyes out. “That’s a joke, right? You’re fucking with me? I’m being Punk’d?”

David chuckled. “You’re still funny. See you around, Bryce. No slackin’ off because you know the boss.”

The audacity of that man was un-fucking-matched. Work-wife. “Don’t you have an actual wife?” I blurted out, face red-hot and heart hammering.

He opened his palm on his desk and scoffed. “Well, yeah. That’s not... don’t you remember Happy Endings?”

Some rational little part of me recognized that he was talking about the TV show, but the much larger, more dramatic part of me chose to hear that in an entirely different and completely unprofessional context. I stood, barking a laugh that sounded a little like an insane cackle. “Oh god. Like holy Satan’s shitballs, you haven’t changed at all. I—” Don’t. Don’t do it, fucking don’t — “I quit.”

“You what? You can’t quit... I mean, why? It was a joke!”