“You know what,” I say, my voice surprisingly strong. “Go fuck yourself.”
And with that, I walk out.
I deserve better from a boss.
I deserve better for myself.
And I deserve to be happy.
12
Lyle
Where the hell did she go?
Trolling the room, I look everywhere for her, but she's gone. I stand with a hand on the back of my neck, spinning in a slow circle, double checking to make sure I didn't miss her.
She's really not here.
“Lyle, you kn—”
“I'm sorry, David, you'll have to excuse me,” I say, patting his shoulder and walking away. I don't have time for shitty small talk, I'm looking for Dalia.
He stands still, and I can feel him watching me, offended that I'm not taking the time to have his little side conversation. I don't give a shit.
I need Dalia on my arm. I need her at my side. That's where she belongs.
Faces blur as I move through the crowd, searching for my girl.
Sandy is at the small bar, hitting a bottle of vodka. She's pouring her own shots, refusing to give it back to the bartender. I debate with myself for a second if I should go slow her down or just let her be.
Fuck it, she's a big girl, she can handle herself.
Our eyes connect briefly, causing her to hold the glass in mid-air. There's something in the way she looks that sends a ripple of annoyance through my veins. She's pissed off at something, and by the look in her eyes, it's me. She follows me all the way across the room, stalking me like a vulture circling its next meal.
But I'm not a dead man walking. I've never felt more alive.
Whipping my head forward, I refuse to watch her self-destruction. Whatever the issue is, she's on her own.
Walking in the opposite direction, I go out into the hall, Sandy's eyes still burning a hole in the back of my head. The door buffers the music as it closes, deafening the sound enough for me to hear muffled crying in the stairwell.
Pulling the metal door open, I see Dalia sitting on the lower platform, her face in her hands.
“Dalia.” Standing at the door, I wait for her to look up at me before approaching her. I don't want to startle her or upset her even more. I have no idea why she's crying. “What's wrong? Why are you crying?”
My poor princess. Her eyes are puffy and red, swollen around the edges. Her cheeks are streaked in tears, and black mascara is smudged beneath her eyes.
Is this her hormones?
I read that pregnant women get super emotional. Maybe that's what's going on here. She is carrying our baby.
Our baby. . .
The thought of my child in her belly does something to me. It makes me excited; it makes me want her even more that I already do.
“You don't want to know,” she says, wiping her eyes. Clearing her throat, she uses the back of her wrist to dry her cheeks.
“I wouldn't ask you if I didn't want to know.” Moving down the few steps, I sit next to her. “Tell me why you're crying.”
I don't touch her, not yet. I'm afraid if I do, I'll lose it. I won't be able to control this fire inside me. And she might not be ready for that.
“You really want to know?” Her voice teeters on erratic, growing louder and then dropping softer as more tears fill her eyes, glazing the surface like bubbles. “It's your fucking sister, she's the damn devil. That's what's wrong.”
“She did this to you? What the hell did she say?”
“She fired me, that's what.”
“Fired you? For what?”
Dalia tells me all about the confrontation in the bathroom, and how my sister had convinced her that I needed some space to focus at work, and how she threatened her.
Lies. All my sister told her were lies. There's not a sliver of truth in any of it. And I'm fucking furious she had the balls to try and destroy my family.
Because that's what Dalia and this baby are. They're my family.
“Dalia, none of that is true. I'm working the same as always. I'm excited about our baby, and for us, and for the future we're going to have; absolutely nothing she told you is true.”
She's still crying, the tears are dropping like giant raindrops onto her lap. She can barely catch her breath, heaving in gulp after gulp of air.
“Dalia, please, you're too beautiful to cry like this.”
“She fired me, Lyle—fired. Do you know how hard I worked for this? Do you know what I went through just to get here? And I fucking blew it. What the hell am I going to do?”
“I don't know if you realize this, but Sandy isn't the only boss around here. She can't just fire you. It doesn't work like that.”
She lifts her eyes to mine slowly, her cheeks glistening in spent tears. And still all I see is such beauty. In the swollen eyes, in the red cheeks, in the smeared makeup and heavy frown; I see nothing but perfection.
Dalia makes my heart go wild.
Gripping her chin, I hold her face so she can't look away. “I don't want you to worry about anything. You have so much talent. I'll never let you go just like that.”
She shakes her head, her lips lifting into a light smile. I have to kiss her. The urge is overwhelming, it's consuming me as I stare into her eyes.
Dalia looks so lost, so unbelievably lost that I just want to bring her home. I want her to know what she has right in front of her. I want her to feel what it's like to not have to work for something at all.
Because we belong together.
I watch her eyes as I lean in
