Lila

That night Lila couldn't sleep. She tossed and turned in bed until even Rupert meowed at her in complaint. She groaned and rolled over again, staring at the ceiling.

​​

She'd gone to bed two hours ago, but had swung wildly between anger at Dane that he'd been so cold towards her when he left, and deep sympathy because he'd obviously been in a lot of pain from telling his story. The reason his story had been so powerful was because he'd been open with feelings that--Lila suspected--he didn't usually share. She knew part of the reason he was so highly sought after for interviews was because he had always hidden the truth about his past. He was always aloof. Always focused on the business.

Everyone was intrigued—curious about him. Rumors had flown around him for years, but he'd never confirmed (or denied) any of them. But today he'd let those reporters and all the people watching, inside his head. His heart. She was proud of him for that. And she understood. She struggled to talk about her past, also.

But his reaction afterwards…his unwillingness to talk at all, to let her help him. She knew he'd struggled to keep his temper in check, had even tried to keep her away so he wouldn't get angry. But he'd been so…heartless.

Every time she remembered the cold satisfaction on his face when he yelled and she'd pulled away from him—the one thing she'd sworn she'd never do. But she had felt his rage in that moment in a way that was different than the other times. As if his anger was breaking him, this time, instead of the other way around.

Over the other days since she started, his rage, though intense, had always seemed more self-destructive. Like he'd been angry to keep people away, he wouldn't get broken. She hadn't wanted to give him a reason to give in to that today, because he'd been hurt. He needed to know others could value him. Want to help.

But if she believed that look on his face, the things he'd said before he left...he hadn't cared about her at all.

By the time the clock read midnight, she gave up. She knew she wasn't going to be able to sleep. And it was his fault!

The more she thought about that day, the angrier she got. She'd been trying to help. Trying to be kind! Who did he think he was, always yelling and intimidating. Being so cruel to people who were there to support him? How could that rage inhabit the same mind and body as the man who'd shaken at that podium over the pain his mother experienced, his passion for caring for those weaker than him?

Did he really think he was so much more important that he didn't have to care who he hurt to get his way?

Lila sat up, ignoring Rupert's squeaked complaint. She looked at her phone. Should she do it? Should she call him? He'd listened last time. Maybe she could get through to him again. And if she couldn't, then the real question became: Did she want to keep working for this man who ran so hot and cold, who was so obviously broken? A man who might break her if she wasn't careful?

*****

Dane

Taking time off work was the worst thing he could have done. He'd been pacing the Penthouse within twenty minutes of getting home, at a complete loss.

By five, he had his favorite clothes on, and he'd opened a bottle of wine. That had helped. He'd enjoyed the rich red while he cooked himself dinner, then enjoyed it some more while he ate dessert. And while he surfed the internet.

He'd told himself opening a second bottle wasn't a big deal. He wouldn't finish it.

But at some point he had finished it. He couldn't remember now what he'd been doing when he realized it was all gone. That had been a shock. He didn't drink often, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten drunk.

He raised his head to look out of the large windows, and the lights of the city spun.

That wasn't good.

He'd made a pot of coffee and taken a shower. Sort of watched a late night movie.

Now it was past midnight and he was still sitting on the couch, half-drunk, but at least the city wasn't swaying outside the window anymore. And his phone was in his hand, and at some point he'd thought about texting her. And now he couldn't quite remember why that was a bad idea.

DELILAH

He texted carefully. The buttons were so small compared to his huge hands.

I'M SORRY FOR BEING RUDE TODAY.

IT WAS A TOUGH DAY

I'LL DO BETTER TOMORROW

He read it back a couple times and nodded to himself. That couldn't do any harm, could it? Of course not. It was only right. He was the boss. He needed to be polite.

He pressed send and for the first time that day his heart felt lighter.

When someone knocked at the door he was still smiling at the phone wondering if sending another one would make him feel even better. Did it work that way?

Then the knock sounded again and he remembered he had to answer it. He pushed off the couch and trotted to the door, vaguely aware that it was very late. But he was awake, so it didn't matter. The staff had probably seen the light under his door and were just checking on him. They were so nice.

He swung the door open, trying not to look drunk. Since he wasn't. Anymore.

He blinked. And blinked again. "That was fast," he said, surprised.

Lila stood at his door, holding her phone, with some kind of blanket wrapped around her shoulders, gaping at him.