Never Bargain with the Boss (Never Say Never Book 5)
Never Bargain with the Boss: Chapter 27

I’m numb.

Maybe it’s a defense mechanism my body’s activated to keep me from falling apart, or maybe it’s because I’m cold. The car’s heater is on, keeping things toasty despite the chilly December night outside, but I’m cold on the inside. Frozen. Dead.

That’s what it is. Not numb. Dead.

Still, I keep driving, the other headlights a blurry show I mostly ignore.

Eventually, I go through a drive-thru and park in the lot, forcing myself to swallow the tasteless French fries. Stupidly, I wonder if Cameron and Grace ate dinner because I never finished cooking it. Are the peppers and onion still on the cutting board in the kitchen? Probably not. Janey took care of me and probably took care of that too.

It’s like there’s no sign that I was ever there. My room is empty, I stripped the sheets from the bed and left them and my towel in the upstairs laundry room hamper, and there’s not even a Tupperware of leftovers to show that I cooked. I’m just… gone.

I’ve never thought about what remained in my wake any other time I left. But this time is different. I care. I want to have mattered, to have made a difference, to have existed for them the way they still do to me.

I drive some more, not wanting to stop. I don’t know where I’m going or what I’m doing. In fact, of the hundred miles I’ve driven tonight, I think I’m within ten miles of home.

No, not home. Cameron’s house.

I’ve been circling it, unable to break its gravitational pull on me. But my eyelids are getting heavier and eventually, I’m going to have to sleep. Reluctantly, I pull over at a hotel off the highway and go inside.

Getting a room is fairly quick, and mostly painless once the clerk stops his ‘so happy you chose us tonight’, overly-friendly act. I think he can tell that I didn’t choose to be here. I just need a place to go.

Once I have my keycard, I bring everything upstairs and dump it all haphazardly before taking my boots off. That’s as far as I get before I collapse into the stack of pillows and start bawling.

I cry for what I found and what I lost. For what Cameron fixed in me and for what he broke. I cry for Grace, knowing she’s going to be confused and worried when I’m not there. I even cry for Cameron, because I don’t want him to be hurt, or scared, or angry, and he was all of those things tonight.

Mostly, I just cry because it’s the only thing that releases this knot of pain in my chest.

I wake up the next morning, hoping that it was all a nightmare.

What clues me in instantly that it wasn’t just a dream, but is in fact reality, is the trash bag of my things lying on the other bed. It triggers something deep and dark inside me, and I hear Austin calling me ‘throwaway’ again.

He knew that’d hurt me. It’s why he said it.

And as a rule, I don’t use trash bags when I move because of that trauma. But I’d been in a hurry last night, confused and betrayed and spinning out, so I’d yanked my treasured clothes from their hangers and stuffed them into my suitcase randomly. When it was full and I still had more to pack, I’d done the one thing I swore to never do again and grabbed a trash bag.

I’ve got nothing but time now.

That’s true. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I booked this room for tonight too, figuring I’d need a place to decide my next move. Am I going to stay here? Travel? Take a break? It’s strange to think that only a few months ago, I was having these same thoughts and it felt like life had led me right where I was supposed to be when I got the job with Cameron and Grace.

Now, the questions and their potential answers feel like they’re leading me further and further away from what I want.

You don’t always get what you want, Riley.

Isn’t that the truth?

First things first, I throw the blankets off and crawl out of bed. Bleary-eyed, both from sleep and crying, I grab the trash bag and dump its contents onto the other bed. “I’m not a throwaway,” I tell the bag, but the declaration is weak at best, a lie at worst.

It’s stupid for a piece of plastic to mean so much, but it does. It feels like such a regression, of me, of how far I’ve come, of my self-worth.

The room looks exponentially messier, but it feels better without that visual of a trash bag with my belongings stuffed inside. I’m angrily wadding up the bag when there’s a knock at the door.

I learned my lesson all too well, and this time, I look through the peephole. Janey, Kayla, and Miranda are standing in the hallway, staring back at me.

I can’t answer. Not now. Not like this. I’m too sensitive, too raw, my scars tender from the fresh cuts over damage I thought I’d healed. I step back from the door, fidgeting with the bag in my hand.

“We know you’re in there, so you might as well open the door, Riley,” Kayla declares. I’ve heard her being friendly, giving her brothers shit, and being polite. This version of Kayla is none of those. She sounds like a cold, hard bitch, and I wonder if this is the professional version of her. Cameron told me she’s a beast in the boardroom and takes special delight in mercilessly correcting people when they underestimate her.

I’ve never underestimated her. I thought she was amazing. I wanted us to be friends and hoped we were on our way to developing that type of connection.

Apparently not, because I have no doubt she’s here to have me sign an NDA and severance package contract, something I’ve done before for employers. She’s here to be Cameron’s iron fist.

I might as well get this over with, so I stiffen my spine and open the door. “How did you know where I was?”

It’s a valid question. I’ve been here less than twelve hours and obviously had no plan to come here, picking the first decent hotel I saw when I felt the tsunami-size crush of tears coming, but I think what I really mean is why are they here and not circling around Cameron.

Janey looks at me like I asked her how they knew the sky is blue because the answer is obvious. “Cole.”

The tears start again, and I’m instantly a blubbering disaster. “Sorry, I’m a mess,” I tell them. Well, mostly Janey because she’s the one who immediately wraps her arms around me.

“Be a mess. It’s fine,” she whispers soothingly, not caring that I’m getting snot on her fuzzy sweatshirt when it likely has Emmett’s breakfast on it somewhere too.

“We’re all a mess, the world is a mess, the universe is a mess. I think messy might be the proper order of things,” Kayla agrees, waving a hand in cynical exasperation as she struts right in. Even at this early hour, she looks impeccable in heels, tailored jeans, a cashmere turtleneck, and a wool overcoat, with perfectly curled hair and fresh makeup. I think this is her version of ‘casual’. Though, considering it’s a weekday, I’m surprised she’s not dressed for work. I’m surprised she’s not at work and is here, which again reminds me that she probably has some paperwork for me to sign.

Miranda follows her, and I feel her concern when she lays a warm palm on my back. “Oh, honey.”

I glance at Kayla. “I think your brother would disagree with you on principle.”

She rolls her eyes and huffs, “My brother is a fucking idiot.”

I blink, not expecting that.

Miranda tuts, at least slightly. “Now, Kayla, don’t speak poorly of your brother like that. Let me do it. My son is an idiot, Riley. I’m sorry. I did the best I could, but there are things broken in him that I had nothing to do with.”

“What?” I look from one to the next, more confused now than I was before.

“Can we sit down and talk?” Miranda asks gently. I think I nod, or maybe I just don’t say no, because she scoots the pile of clothes on the bed out of her way and sits down, crossing her legs like she’s sitting on a throne, not the ruins of my life.

Kayla drops her coat on the desk and takes the cheap wooden chair, and Janey guides me to the other bed. I sit, and she plops down right beside me. It feels like this conversation is about to suck really badly. But if I’m ever going to feel anything other than hurt again, I need to process this, and Janey’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a best friend so I appreciate her presence.

“What happened last night? I heard Cameron’s version last night when he came over to pick up Grace, but⁠—”

I interrupt to ask, “Are they okay?”

She nods, but her eyes say she doesn’t really think so. “They’re at home today. Cameron didn’t want Grace to go to school. I think he needs her close.”

My eyes fall to my lap. It makes sense that he’d want to wrap Grace up in bubble wrap and also keep her in the bubble of his arms too, but it only makes me feel worse.

Guiltier. Because I brought this to their door. It’s my fault.

“Can you tell us what happened?” Janey asks again, and Miranda nods in agreement. They have a plan, that much is obvious, but rather than feel manipulated by it, I’m glad. At least someone knows what’s going on because I sure as shit don’t.

“You know the part with Austin?” I clarify. Janey was there with the police, so she heard it all, probably several times between them talking to me, Grace, Cameron, and Cole. And I assume she’s shared that with Miranda and Kayla. They all nod, agreeing. “After that, Cameron asked what had happened and I told him about Austin showing up sometimes. He asks for money and tries to manipulate me, but never anything dangerous. Until yesterday.”

I go quiet, the terrifying reality of his pushing the door open and invading Cameron’s home hitting me again. He acted like it was no big deal, but it was a huge escalation of whatever power play he always tried to make with me.

“Cameron,” Kayla reminds me. “Tell us what my idiot brother did.”

Somehow, her calling him names again both helps and hurts. I shake my head. “He’s not an idiot. He’s protecting Grace, something I should’ve done. I just never dreamed Austin would…”

“No, you’re not blaming yourself for something that man did.” Miranda’s sweet, motherly nature is gone, replaced with the no-nonsense tone she must’ve used to keep five boys and Kayla in line over the years. “Or something Cameron did.”

“I’m not,” I tell them. “This is my fault. I knew Austin would show up eventually, and I didn’t say anything. And when I saw him at the grocery store, I still didn’t tell Cameron, or even Cole. I tried to handle it on my own the way I always do, but it was different this time. I didn’t want to risk what I was building here, what I’d found in them and all of you.”

I hang my head, ashamed that I selfishly put them all at risk because I’d been too scared to ask for help. Help they would’ve gladly given.

“So, your position is,” Kayla starts, back in her professional, all-business tone. When I peek up, her posture is rod-straight, her eyes cold and hard, and her hands are steepled at her waist. “That after a lifetime of being let down by the system, being clearly shown that you can’t trust anyone, that people leave you with such regularity that you use dark humor as a coping mechanism, going so far as joking about being a death curse⁠—”

“Kayla,” Janey hisses, interrupting Kayla’s laundry list of the way life has failed me and glancing back and forth from her to me because that ‘joke’ she’s talking about is one I said to Janey and Cole when they told me that my biological dad had died mere days after meeting me for the first time, so they’ve obviously been talking about me.

But Kayla ignores her, like a lioness going in for the kill. “Your position is, that after all that, and your somewhat successful handling of a tenuous situation for over ten years—including when you were an actual child—that you should’ve run to Cameron and Cole like some damsel in distress at the first sight of the man you stood up to like a boss and put in his place less than twenty-four hours ago?”

She makes it sound different. She makes me sound strong. I am, I won’t deny that when it’s a hard-won strength, but it’s not a full picture. It’s much muddier than that and we all know it, even if we’re pretending to not acknowledge it. But I had all night to think about this, and a lifetime spent on trauma-focused self-therapy from Dr. Google, so I feel like I’ve got a pretty good grasp on what happened last night. Not the part with Austin, but the part with Cameron.

“Cameron’s right. He told me he would always put Grace first, and he absolutely, one hundred percent should. I should have too. Because it could’ve been her that opened the door yesterday, not me, and things would’ve been so… so different if that’d happened.”

The three women glance at each other, and I can feel their horror at the imagery that creates. I know it too well because I’ve been playing it out in my head on a loop ever since Cameron suggested it.

“Cameron might’ve acted harshly, but he’s not wrong,” I continue. “He lost Michelle, and last night, he could’ve lost Grace. I’m sure he felt like he almost did, which sliced open every one of his scars. Sending me away is his trauma showing up in full-force.” Kayla narrows her eyes, not liking where I’m going with this any more than I do. “But just because I understand why he told me to leave doesn’t make it okay.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Miranda agrees, though she suggests hopefully, “Maybe you two can talk? You have such a good grasp on this—it’s impressive, really—but my son needs a little push to open up about his emotions. I tried, back when…” She pauses, and I can almost feel her fighting off the block she’s had about Michelle’s name for the last nine years. “Michelle passed, but it didn’t go all that well.” She looks haunted about whatever happened back then.

A little push?

I wrap my arms around my knees, thinking as I hug myself the way I wish Cameron had hugged all my pieces together last night. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

“We fell in love. Neither of us meant for it to happen, but it did. Slowly at first, and then all at once. But I don’t think he really wants to love me. Not fully, not properly, not through good and bad, which is what life is. That hurts so much, but it’s the truth.” I look at Miranda, hoping she understands why I can’t just prompt Cameron to cope the way I want him to. It won’t work, but also, it’s not my place. It’s not my role. Mostly, I shouldn’t have to. “I’ve had a lot of hard lessons taught to me by life, but eventually, I want to be able to trust that my person has my back, and Cameron… doesn’t, no matter how much I wish he did. I don’t think it’s selfish to want someone who can give back the energy, care, and love that I give.”

You could hear a pin drop in the room. The silence of their agreement is nearly deafening.

“Is he still in love with Michelle?” Janey asks delicately.

I shake my head. “Not in the way you mean. He will always love her. He should. But that’s not what holds him back. He’s scared. Of being vulnerable, of experiencing that loss again, and the surefire way to never lose is to never care. Grace is it for him, and that’s okay. I just thought maybe…”

I trail off, not needing to say what I thought because we all know. I thought we were building something greater… a family, a home, a future. And if there was more time, or we’d been together longer before this happened, it might be different. But it’s not.

It is what it is.

“I’m going to kill him,” Kayla announces.

Janey shakes her head. “Don’t say it out loud. Cole says that negates my plausible deniability.”

They’re trying to lighten the mood, but there’s no use. We all know this is it.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do, or where I’m going to go, but I’ll let you know, okay?” I tell Janey.

“The hell ‘you’ll let me know’,” she balks, mocking me. “Cameron might’ve fired you, but I didn’t and I expect you to be at my house as soon as you’re ready. Emmett can’t wait to play with his Aunt Riley and show you his new trick. He switched from tummy to sitting all on his own yesterday,” she informs me proudly.

I give her a sad smile. It’s a kind offer, generous even, and maybe I’ll take her up on it for a little bit. But we both know I’ll move on. There’s nothing holding me here now, so it’s time to go.

Again.