Thankful For Her

“You’re hard,” she says, breaking my reverie.

I look down at Peggy on her knees. Her eyes are on the outline of my cock, which is hard but only because I was just thinking about my dream girl. I put my hands over myself and glare down at her. My hard-on quickly slips away.

“Not for you. Get the fuck up.”

My hands start to shake. She stumbles to her feet and runs out of my office as fast as she can in heels. I pick up the glass paperweight on my desk and throw it as hard as I can. It hits the mirror across the room and glass shatters everywhere.

“Fuck.” I run my hands through my hair. Her face flashes through my mind again. I swear I can feel her hands on my chest. Her fingers digging into me as I grip her hips. The smell of sex filling the air.

It’s too real.

I pick up my phone and text my driver. When I walk out of my office I see Peggy sitting at her desk typing away.

“You’re fired,” I tell her as I move toward the elevator and hit the button for the lobby. I step on and look at her. She’s staring at me, anger clear on her face. “Security is on the way.”

The doors slide closed and I email human resources about her no longer fitting with the company. I also tell them to change her passwords and make sure she gets out of the building within the next twenty minutes.

I have a feeling she might cause a stir. The woman always gets what she wants, which normally didn’t bother me before today because we worked together. She was always getting me what I wanted when it came to business. But I should have thought further ahead and about what would happen if I ever had to let her go. I can’t think about that right now.

The driver gets me to my dad’s in record time. As I push open the front door, I come up short when I see Porsha sitting in the front sitting area with Sarah by her side.

“Girl. Long brown hair. Gray eyes. Who is she?” I say without even greeting Porsha.

She has to be real. There isn’t any other explanation. I can’t live like this. I feel like I’m slowly dying. She feels too much a part of me to not be real. I can sense it deep in my soul. “She was at your Thanksgiving party,” I add. “I spent the night with her in my room.” I grit out the last part.

I don’t want to share that intimate detail with Porsha, but I have to know. I’m going insane.

Sarah looks down at her feet for a moment before she looks back up and meets my eyes. “I have blonde hair and brown eyes. We spent that night together.” She stands, taking a step toward me.

I reel back in horror. “Liar,” I spit at her. I wouldn’t touch her if my life depended on it.

“Who is she?” I try again, looking past Sarah to Porsha.

“I have no idea what you are talking about, Hunter. You spent the night with Sarah, then didn’t even have the decency to call her after. I mean, it’s been weeks. I thought you were a gentleman.”

I turn to walk away from them. I don’t have time for this bullshit. I head toward my dad’s office, and I hear the click of her heels behind me.

“Don’t fucking follow me!” I shout. The clicks stop for a moment.

“This is my home, Hunter,” Porsha says defiantly.

I pause and turn around to face her. “This is my mother’s home and if I were you I’d watch your tongue. Or you and that daughter of yours will be out on your asses,” I throw back, then resume walking.

When I push into the doors of my dad’s office he isn’t there. I look over at the bar and debate making myself a drink, but I know it won’t help. It doesn’t make me dream of her. It doesn’t lessen the pain that’s been building. If anything, it makes it worse. I walk behind my dad’s desk and sit down.

I let my head drop to my hands.

“Son?” I look up at my dad’s voice but freeze when I see the framed picture on his desk.

I stand up and grab it with both hands, staring down at it. “It’s her!” I yell, and all the air leaves my lungs.

Chapter Seven

Autumn

I lean over the toilet and all my breakfast comes back up. This is the fourth morning in a row this has happened.

“Autumn, I really think we should go see a doctor,” my stepmother June says as she holds my hair back. I take the washcloth she hands me and wipe my mouth with it.

“Please. I’m not ready,” I admit as I stand and go over to the sink to wash my face and brush my teeth. I look up into the mirror. I look thinner, but I know I’ve lost weight over the past few weeks.