Page 148 of Boss of Me

He gives a harsh snort. “Yeah.”

“Oh, my God,” I whisper, staring at him in horror. “I am so sorry, Gunner.”

“Not half as sorry as I am, believe me.”

I want to go to him, take him in my arms and comfort him. But he seems beyond consoling, and in that moment, I can’t help wondering if he blames me. He’s been spending so much time with me this past month. Would he have made such a colossal error if he’d been more focused on work? Have I become a costly distraction to him?

I watch as he splashes more whiskey into the crystal tumbler and carries it over to the windows. He leans back against the glass with his arms at his sides, his drink dangling from his fingertips as his eyes travel over my body with slow deliberation.

“You look nice,” he finally murmurs.

“Thank you.”

He taps his finger against the cut rim of his glass. “You should’ve worn the red shoes I bought you. That would’ve been a better choice.”

His remark stings more than any of my mother’s criticisms. “I’m sorry you don’t approve of my fashion choices,” I say tightly. “I’ll try harder next time.”

He grimaces. “Fuck, I’m sorry. That was a dickish thing to say.”

“It was,” I coolly agree. “But you’re under a lot of stress right now, so I’ll give you a pass.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes closed, and swears under his breath. “I fucking hate losing money.”

In a flash of insight, I see his father in his own cushy executive suite, reeling from a catastrophic financial loss. He’d started drinking after that. Then came the gambling. Was that the future Gunner feared when he looked at his dad? Did he believe, like his mother, that he possessed the same self-destructive impulses?

I watch uneasily as he raises his drink to his mouth. He pauses to stare into the amber liquid, his fingers clenching and unclenching around the glass. He looks like he wants to crush it in his hand, or hurl it across the room.

I nervously shift from one foot to the other. “Maybe I should?—”

“Shit.” His eyes flick to my face as if he just remembered my presence. “How’d your speech go?”

“It went well. Everyone was impressed.”

“Good, good.”

“I can tell you about it later.”

He nods distractedly, his mind half a world away.

I start backing toward the door. “I’ve obviously caught you at a bad time?—”

“It’s okay.” He drains the whiskey and plunks the glass down on the bar, then holds out his hand to me. “Come here.”

“I’m fine right where I am.”

He frowns. “Mar?—”

“I should go. Really. You’re in crisis mode and you need to focus on?—”

“Dammit.” He closes the distance between us in three powerful strides and wraps me up in his arms, holding me tight against his chest. Even at the end of a long day, he still smells good. As if I needed another reason to want to punch him.

He drops a kiss on the crown of my head and buries his face in my hair. “I’m sorry for being such an ass. This day has been one big clusterfuck, but I’m happy to see you.”

I can’t resist snuggling into him, pressing my cheek against his chest and listening to his strong heartbeat. He has the power to hurt me like no one else, which makes my love for him so dangerous.

He gently strokes my back before settling his arms around my waist. “I’m speaking at a tech conference in Munich next week,” he murmurs, nuzzling the side of my neck. “Why don’t you play hooky and come with me?”

“I don’t know, Gunner. Are you sure I’m qualified enough?” The bitter words are out before I can stop them.