SWNOVELS One Bossy Date: Chapter 23
I lay on Brock’s couch, talking to Dad over Zoom.
He looks better than he has in a long time, and they’ve got him walking all over the hospital campus.
“Are you sure you’re not getting too much exercise, Dad?”
“I moved my whole life until I couldn’t. Feels damn good to be back in the game.”
“I know. I’m just worried about you,” I say.
“Yeah, that’s my number one concern, too, honey.”
“What?”
“Making sure you get it through your head that it’s not your job to fuss over me. You need to finally learn how to be young.” The way he smiles over the screen almost breaks me.
I’m about to sass back when Brock comes in.
I look up. His jaw is clenched and his eyes look hollowed out.
Oh, no. More bad news?
He sits down on the couch beside me but doesn’t look at me.
“Hey, can I call you back later?” I ask.
“What’s wrong?” Dad moves his phone closer like he thinks it’ll help see me better, blowing his face up huge.
“Nothing!” I throw back.
“Bull. Your voice just changed.”
“Oh, Brock just came home and I need to talk to him. Business stuff.”
Brock puts up a hand. “Don’t end the call on my account.”
“Are you staying at that man’s house?” Dad growls, a protective glint in his eyes.
I try not to laugh.
“Dad. I’m twenty-four, remember?”
I don’t give a real answer, though.
I never told him I’ve been with Brock this whole time, and apparently Maisy omitted that fact, too. Thank God. She’s earning her sisterly bribe this time.
“We’re gonna chat about this when I get home. If all goes well, I’ll be back in about a week,” Dad tells me.
“Sounds great, Dad. Take care of yourself.” I cut the call and glance at Brock. The way he’s bowed and tense gives everything away before I even squeak out, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing new.” He stands and moves away from me, still not meeting my eyes. “Piper, I was thinking, maybe it’s time you go visit your dad. I know the doctors are sending a rosy assessment, but wouldn’t you like to see him yourself?”
I sit up, clasping my hands.
“I mean, that’s what Maisy’s there for, and all she says is that he’s doing crazy well. He hasn’t walked half a mile for years. He’s eating and his energy is through the roof. They’ll be home in about a week, supposedly. He’s doing great, and it’s all thanks to you.”
Brock gives me a curt nod.
I frown.
What’s going on?
I stand and move toward him. His body language matches a wounded dog guarding its injury, and I don’t want to set him off. So I reach out slowly, running a hand up his arm.
“London,” he says, staring past me.
He gazes out the window at a few lazy sailboats on the water.
“Come again?”
“You should go to London. You haven’t had a chance to travel internationally much and my grandparents love you. You’ll have a mountain of content when you start up your videos again. Hell, you can stay with them—”
“What the hell? No!”
He throws me a worried look before his face sets like stone again.
“Okay, I get it. You don’t have to stay with them; I’m sure they’d put you up in a complimentary room at the Winthrope London. They’re odd birds, even if I love ’em to death—” He stops and shakes his head. “Especially Gramps. But they own thirty other gorgeous properties in the UK. You can have your pick.”
I stare at him until he meets my eyes, and it scares me.
He’s so cold. Distant. Frightened.
“Brock…are you trying to get rid of me? If you don’t want me around, just say so. I’ll go home. You don’t have to send me across the freaking ocean if it’s space you’re after.”
“Not space, Pippa,” he growls, pulling me into his arms. “It’s for your own good—until this shit with Finch gets sorted. Can’t risk him sending his little minions to hound you with cameras or God knows what else.”
“Finch? Did something else happen?”
His jaw tightens, but he won’t answer me.
My mouth twists.
“Yeah, I’m going home.” I spin around, reluctantly leaving his embrace, and head for the bedroom to pack up anything I’ve been stupid enough to bring here.
But before I get two steps away, he grabs my arm. “Pippa, no! I need you to listen.”
My heart stalls as I throw a look over my shoulder.
“Excuse you?”
“That came out wrong.” He pinches the bridge of his nose before he looks at me again. “Look, anywhere you go is more secure than here. Not less. Trust me, I’m not pushing you away. If I wanted ‘space,’ you’d already be gone. I just need you safe, and that means I need you out of Seattle for a couple of months—”
“A couple months? Brock, this is bonkers.”
“I think once the fashion show and the hotel conference are over, the immediate threat from Finch vanishes. I won’t be the reason he hurts you.” His eyes stab through me.
“And I’m not leaving you high and dry in the middle of this crap. If he’s after me, then I’m already too involved. Dad taught me you don’t run from bullies.”
“This isn’t a damn playground fight,” he bites off. “Pippa—”
“Brock. I have a job here. A life. Dad and Maisy are coming home, and I also have you. I should stay.”
He paces the room like a lion.
I want to reach out for him, but he’s trapped in this bubble of pain and worry. I swallow thickly, trying to find the right words to make him listen to reason.
“I know you’re just looking out for me, but I’ve made up my mind. I can’t leave.”
He jerks to a stop and looks at me with anger flaring in his eyes. “That’s exactly what you’ll do.”
I stiffen.
“No, I’m not.”
Snarling, he squares his shoulders and crosses his arms. “It’s not a request. Effective immediately, you’re on administrative leave for the next sixty days. You’ll decide where you’d like to go and tell Keenan so we can make the proper security arrangements. Anywhere but Seattle, I don’t care.”
Oh my God.
He can’t be serious?
But he is. The rough, ragged lines in his face leave no question.
“Who the hell do you think you are? You can’t just wave your hand and banish me.” My voice shakes. I’m flipping bristling.
“Who does it look like? Your boss.”
“Boss or not, you can’t just order me around. Do you tell anyone else where to go every time some crisis erupts?”
“There’s never been a crisis like this, so no. If I had to protect them, I would in a fucking heartbeat. I’d also offer them the same two months of paid vacation to make sure they’re safe,” he says, still glaring.
Holy hell.
I need to choose my next words very carefully.
“You do a lot for me, Brock Winthrope, and I’m grateful. But you don’t have the right to move me around like a pawn.”
“Then leave if you won’t listen!” he snaps, stomping across the room.
He throws an arm against the windowsill and bangs it loudly, staring out at the ocean, his body heaving with huge, angry breaths.
I’m too stunned to move.
Did he really just say that?
I don’t realize my mouth is hanging open until it starts trembling and every breath hurts.
“What was…what did you say?” I ask quietly.
“Fucking leave, Piper. Get the hell away from me and go somewhere safe,” he growls over his shoulder, never turning to look at me.
He’s obviously upset.
I wait for over a minute for him to correct himself, to come to his senses, to drag his mountain of a body across the room and apologize and assure me we’ll get through this like we should—together.
Only, it never happens.
“You’re still here?” he rasps, his eyes watching my reflection in the window.
Oh, not for long.
I should have done this a long time ago before I had any childish hopes that this not-relationship could possibly last.
I don’t worry about packing. I just turn sharply and head for the door.
“Piper, where are you going?” he calls after me.
I ignore him. I have to get the hell out of here before he sees me break.
Because when the tears come, they will be ugly and blinding.
“Piper, wait.” I don’t even hear his heavy footsteps until he’s behind me in the hall. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. But if this is the only way you’ll make the right decision—”
“You want to talk about decisions?” I spin around to face him so he can see the agony he’s carved in my face. “My mind is made up. I’m leaving, and not because you’re forcing me out.”
“I’m not fucking forcing you,” he grinds out. “You’re not going home, are you?”
“That’s not your business.” I storm away with stinging tears already cutting tracks down my cheeks.
“You’ll be alone there like a sitting duck. You saw how that fucker snuck his camera guy onto my property. Be mad at me, whatever, but don’t be fucking stupid.”
“Too late,” I say, sniffing harshly. “I was stupid enough to be with you!”
“Piper, goddamn. Don’t make me send some poor security guard to your doorstep.”
“Do it, and I’ll call the police.”
I want to go off on him for going all stalker, too, but I don’t have the energy.
I’m the kind of tired a good, long sleep won’t fix.
I’m heartbroken and barely holding it together.
He yells at me as I walk away, something about having a car waiting. I have half a mind to get an Uber, but my eyes hurt so much that staring at my phone will feel like an ice pick to my brain.
Somehow, I keep moving my legs.
I almost stumble over Andy’s long body by the front door. The dog looks up with sad black eyes and whimpers.
Way to break my heart a little more.
Why are animals always too good at reading human feels?
“Sorry, boy,” I whisper, crouching down quickly to stroke his head as he sniffs my arm.
Then I’m flying out the wide front door, down the long driveway and hill, and slipping through the gate.
Brock’s temp driver is parked right outside as promised. He rolls down the window when I come up to it.
“Are you going to take me where I want to go or only where he says?” I ask roughly.
“You’re the boss’ woman. This isn’t a prison bus, ma’am. If you’re unhappy, he’ll have my head, so just say where.”
I shake my head.
The tears fall in hotter, angrier beads as I crawl in the car, slam the door, and sob into my hands. At least the driver has the tact to leave the privacy screen up for a few minutes while I pull myself together.
“Where to, Miss Renee? And if you don’t mind me asking…what did that sorry S-O-B do?” the driver asks.
If I weren’t so devastated, I’d laugh.
“Nothing worth repeating,” I say numbly. “Can you just take me to this address?” I rattle off Jenn’s place.
As we start moving, I look back at the house, this huge looming silhouette in the evening sun tucked behind the shadowy trees.
Somewhere up there, I know Brock is staring out at me, anger and grief bleeding out of him.
“It didn’t have to be this way,” I mutter.
If this stupid, fearful, overly protective man could have just opened his heart, I’d have stayed through the apocalypse.
But he wouldn’t give me a chance, and now stress and bitter memories are all he can deliver.
Will I see you at work tomorrow?
I stare at Brock’s text without blinking.
No, jackass. You will not.
“I’m so sorry.” Jenn gives me the biggest sympathy eyes ever. “I feel like this is partly my fault…”
I laugh around the lump in my throat. “Your fault? How?”
“I shouldn’t have egged you on. I thought it was cute and you seemed so happy.”
“Y-you warned me,” I stammer, wiping my eyes. “Brock Winthrope, king of office tyrants. Remember?”
“Well, yeah. But when I saw you two were actually into each other… I joked around. I may have helped kindle some false hope, and I should’ve known better.”
“No, Jenn. The only voice of reason I needed was in my head. When I basically walked into him in the office that day, I should’ve walked right out and found another job.”
I sigh until my lungs rattle.
“Pippa, you needed money. Nobody faults you for that. How’s your dad doing, anyway?”
“Really well. No bad interactions with the gene therapy yet, and he’s more or less healed from the fall. They’ll be home next week. I would have told you sooner, but I was kinda busy with Brock ruining my life.”
“Oh, honey…” She leans toward me, pushing the box of tissues closer. “Can I ask you a question, though?”
I nod, blotting my eyes.
“Can you just walk out and give notice? You don’t think he’d make you pay for your dad’s stuff, do you?” she asks.
“No, but he should. And I still have the same money problems. I don’t know how many long-term studies there are to really know what life could be like for Dad in a few years. We’re about to find out if this is a long-term cure or a gimmick.” I shake my head. “He seems okay for now, at least. That buys me time to figure something else out. I can’t keep working at Winthrope.”
“I don’t blame you. It sucks that you came up with the whole review strategy and somebody else will take the credit when it’s done.” She shakes her fist comically.
“You had a huge hand in that, Jenn. You can have my performance bonus. I never wanted to be stuck in a nine-to-five anyway. Who knows how long I would’ve lasted without that big stupid bear of a man.”
My throat tightens again, but I hold in dry, rasping sobs until I’m out of tears.
I don’t even know when I pass out on the sofa or when Jenn throws a fluffy blue blanket over me.
When I wake up, everything hurts. Jenn lounges on the other end of the couch, stuffing ice cream into her mouth.
“Oh, you’re awake. You hungry?”
My stomach gurgles. Definitely not.
“I’m fine…”
“Rocky Road?” She passes the pint over with the spoon jabbed in the middle. “When you can’t eat solid food, a big pile of ice cream is the next best thing.”
“Deal.”
I sit up with a groan and take the pint. I don’t realize how starved I am until I’m shoveling in one heaping bite after the next, washing my worries away with chocolate and marshmallow fluff.
“Oh, whoops.” I don’t look up until it’s halfway gone. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to take your ice cream…”
“We’ve got three more pints in the freezer. Had a feeling I’d better stock up,” she says with a grin.
What are best friends for?
“I’m just too lazy to get up and grab another one, and you seem—distraught.” Her tone drops an octave on that last word. “You were too upset to talk much earlier, and I don’t mean to pry. But can I ask what actually happened?”
I tell her everything between more spoonfuls of Rocky Road. Brain freeze is a great way to dull the heart pain.
“I still don’t understand,” she says when I finish. “He thinks this Finch dude will send goons to follow you home or something?”
“Who knows. He wouldn’t say. But I can’t deny he has good reasons to be worried… you know the pictures of us that got publicized? Finch wanted to engineer a scandal for Winthrope Resorts. All so he could win this stupid award, and I guess Brock thinks Finch might have something else up his sleeve—”
“For you? But why? Does this freak have no limits?”
I scrape out the last bite of ice cream and swallow.
“Between Brock’s paranoia and the way Finch creeps around, you tell me.”
“Yikes. Could it be more personal?” she wonders. “Unless he thinks screwing with you would upset Winthrope. And if he thinks that, the bosshole all but admitted it by sending you away.”
I stare at the empty ice cream container, fiddling with the spoon.
“…I still don’t know how much he cares about me. It never made sense, Jenn. A freaking billionaire model with a hotel empire at his beck and call. This was never meant to last.”
“Don’t say that!” she hisses. “Um, sorry. I just think that the fact he was actually nice to you means something. Before you, I didn’t think Winthrope had a kind bone in his pinky.”
“The whole thing is weird, what with the way the story broke while we were at that conservation thing in LA” I admit. “Seems fitting. I was in an awesome dress I never would’ve bought in a million years on my own. He knew everyone in the room. Finch nailed him right where it hurts—and he used me to do it. But I wonder if Brock is more upset about that or the fact that this idiot got the jump on him…”
Jenn looks at me slowly. “Before you decide, maybe you should talk to him.”
“What?”
“You could call him,” she says again. “Ask for more deets about what he’s so worried about?”
“Since I left, he’s sent one text, Jenn. And that was just asking if I’d be working tomorrow. I’m not calling him unless he gets down on one knee. He knows where to find me.”
She sighs, sinking down in her seat.
“You’re right, but this sucks. I’ve never seen you so down before. But maybe you should cut him out and just focus on your dad.”
With a shrug, I set the ice cream pint on the coffee table in front of me and pull my knees up to my chest, hugging my legs.
“What else is wrong? Besides, um, everything,” Jenn asks with a sad look.
“I’m glad Dad’s feeling better, but I hate that Brock paid for it. I don’t want a permanent connection to that jackass.”
“That’s one way to look at it,” she says.
“What’s the other?” I ask.
“Most heartbreaks just end with nothing to show for them. But yours may have bought you more time with your dad.” She’s quiet for a minute. “Hard to believe he sent your dad off for a rare treatment that he paid for and had his driver tag along if he doesn’t care about you.”
I shake my head fiercely, not wanting to give in.
“But you’re thinking like us. You know, poor people. Money is nothing for Brock. He doesn’t care.”
“Then why would he step up and do it?”
I shrug.
Because he was caught up in the same impossible fantasy—and now we’re both spinning back to Earth.
With tiredness overwhelming me again, we veg out in front of Netflix until I pass out on the sofa again.
The next time I open my eyes, there’s a dull grey light streaming in and faint traffic noise.
Jenn is up, plodding around and getting ready for work.
She steps out of her bedroom in a black pencil skirt with a white blouse and blazer. “Morning. Are you going to be okay alone? Should I call in sick? I’m always down for a mental health day.”
“I’ll live, but thanks. Save your PTO.”
A couple hours later, my phone vibrates, pulling me from another rough sleep.
Please be Brock. Please be Brock.
It takes a few seconds to check my own desperation.
How pathetic.
Good thing, too, because when I glance at the screen, it’s not the king of all jerkwads.
Jenn: I don’t know if this makes you feel better, but he looks like total shit today.
It helps.
A little.
Just not enough to peel my potato body off this couch so I can eat or shower. It’s more like a shot in the gums. It numbs the pain that’s still coming.
A second text comes through.
Jenn: I hear him yelling at everyone, and he keeps walking by your desk like he’s just waiting for you to show.
But the third message is the best by far about an hour later.
Jenn: Aaand he just asked me if you’re out sick. I told him you moved to Fiji with your rich travel boyfriend from TikTok. He stormed off to his office, swearing under his breath.
You’re awesome, I send back with a laughing emoji.
Brock Winthrope stole my heart and pulverized it.
I won’t let him steal my happiness. I learned a trick after Mom left to help cope with losing her and later, Dad’s health issues.
I take out my phone and open a blank notepad so I can start making a list.
I’m thankful for: 1. My awesome family 2. Dad getting better. 3. Jenn and her ice cream therapy. 4. I’m still alive. 5. …
Ugh.
After staring at the screen for five minutes, I give up.
It’s not working its usual magic when every last possibility begins and ends with Brock damn Winthrope.