Page 7

7

BILL

A nd I thought fucking Tate had already knocked all the wind out of me.

“You’re quitting?” I ask.

“I was planning on putting in my notice when we returned from the conference.”

Well that explains his boldness tonight. HR violations and weird dynamics with your boss are meaningless when you’re leaving the company.

“I didn’t want to tell you during MCI because you had so many important meetings and were negotiating that big partnership deal. And…it’s not an easy thing, quitting a job and a boss you like.”

This is business. It’s not personal. But when you’re lying naked with your assistant, how can you tell the difference? The idea of losing Tate stings hard.

“Where are you going? How much are they offering? I can beat it.” I don’t want to lose Tate. Not only because he’s a phenomenal assistant. How can I get through a day of work without seeing his sunny face in the office? How can I build trust and a shorthand with a brand new person?

“It’s not about money.” Tate turns on his side, props himself up on his elbow. “I’m going to be the EA for a CEO of this biotech startup that’s developing breakthrough cancer treatments. They just raised a new round of funding based on some promising drug trials. I feel a calling to them.”

“Because of your grandmother,” I say.

“You remembered?”

“Of course. You told me when you asked for donations for that 5K you ran.”

“But that was one time over a year ago,” Tate says.

“And you have that picture of her on your desk, next to your stapler.” I love glancing at it whenever I pass his desk. It’s of him and his grandmother at his high school graduation, Tate smiling proudly in his pimply-faced glory, a boy who wants nothing more than to make his grandmother proud.

“How do you remember all of this?” Tate creases his forehead.

“Because it’s you,” I slip out, maybe the most intimate thing I’ve shared this evening. In the office, Tate doesn’t talk about his personal life much. He’s very professional. I gladly hoovered up whatever details he would share. I had a deep desire to know more about him.

He bites his lip and looks at the wall.

“You’re the boss. You’re not supposed to care about your assistant,” he says.

“I guess I’m not a good boss then.”

“You’re the best boss I’ve ever had.” He glides a hand across my chest. His eyes burrow into me.

I scoop him into a kiss. Our lips touch softly, and I savor the salty taste.

“I miss her everyday,” Tate says, his eyes getting glassy. He picks at a stray thread on the comforter. “My parents were between jobs a lot of the time, so she basically raised me. She was so proud when I graduated high school. Ridiculously proud. She kept a wallet-sized copy of that photo on my desk in her purse and loved showing it to people. I finally said to her one day, ‘Grandma, it’s just high school graduation. Literally everyone graduates high school.’ But she didn’t. She told me she had to drop out to work when her father died. She got married soon after. ‘When I see you in that cap and gown, I see you living the life I never got to.’ Cancer got her a year later. She didn’t get to see me graduate college. That would’ve blown her mind.”

I give his arm a squeeze, finding myself incredibly touched by the story. Tate has never opened up like this to me, and I want to be here for him in every way I can.

“My grandmother made the best pierogies from scratch. I have the recipe, but it never tastes the same. At least when I try, the kitchen smells like her, and I’ll close my eyes and picture her there.” A wistful smile flits on his pert lips. “She was taken too soon. Working at Seneca Bio is me trying to help all the other moms and grandmas out there in my own little way.”

“I get it. Home and auto insurance isn’t saving lives.” I kiss his shoulder, another intimate touch I can’t resist. Tate’s story about his grandma makes me want to hold him against me and tell him everything will be okay.

“She’d like you,” he says.

I beam with the compliment. I’ve never met the woman, but I hold her in very high regard.

Tate snorts a laugh. “A gay man gushing over his grandmother. Perfect post-coital conversation. Yikes.”

“I like getting to know you.”

He drifts a finger down my chest as if doodling on me. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Are you close with your family? You never mention them. You don’t even have me send birthday gifts.”

The familiar anvil that sits on my chest returns at their mention. There’s a reason I avoid talking about my family, but a magic is in the air between us right now. There are no boundaries, only freedom.

“Well, my dad is dead. And my mom and I don’t talk.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Both are kind of good things. My dad was an asshole growing up. He was angry and had a drinking problem. A bad combo. I bore the brunt of a lot of his anger. Mom acted like everything was normal. She wanted the world to know we were a happy family.”

Tate puts his hand to his chest. “Bill, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. Thank God I had hockey. It was the perfect outlet for my anger and a place where I could escape my folks. Dad got drunk one morning and fell down the stairs when I was away at college. My first reaction was relief.” I am still ashamed about feeling that, despite our tortured history. Why was I admitting it to Tate? Because Tate’s face was so open, I could tell him anything.

“Mom remarried a year later, and we lost touch. She moved to North Carolina with her new husband and stepkids, stopped calling. I think I was too much of a memory of my dad, and she wanted to leave that era of her life behind completely. And history fucking repeated itself when my ex-wife ditched Rowan and me.”

Fuck. I rub a hand over my face. This is why I don’t like talking about these things. It sucks all the air out of the room. How did we go from talking about pierogies to my drunk dad and vanishing ex-wife?

“I’m sorry, Bill,” Tate says, his voice a light in my sudden cloud of darkness.

“I’m the one who’s sorry. And you thought grandma was bad post-sex talk?” I sit up and continue rubbing my head. We were having this amazing night, and I went ahead and ruined things.

Tate massages my shoulder and kisses along my neck. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

“That was the last piece of the puzzle. Now you can move on knowing the whole story about your boss.”

He wraps me in a hug, his pale arms a sharp contrast to my dark chest hair. His touch lights up my soul, a hand pulling me out of the momentary darkness.

“I see how you are with Rowan. I see how you are with everyone. You are kind and thoughtful. You haven’t let the past destroy you. You are living the life your parents never got to.”

The words land deep in my heart, lifting the anvil. I hadn’t thought of it that way. My whole life, I feel like I’ve been trying to escape my past as if it were some unbeatable monster. But maybe I stood up to it and broke the cycle.

I couldn’t have been as successful in my CMO role without Tate by my side. He has an innate ability to help me bring out the best version of myself, and I’m realizing that doesn’t end at the office. My heart tugs at the thought of losing him in my life.

“You’re sure about leaving? Startups can be volatile,” I say.

Tate nods yes. As scary as it is, he’s being driven by a bigger purpose.

“I’m really going to miss you.” A flash of fear blanches in me. Except for my daughter, I’ve never admitted that to anyone. I stayed tough so that I didn’t need to miss anyone.

I glance at the floor, afraid of his reaction. Tate lifts my chin to face him and plants a tender kiss on my lips, one filled with years of history between us.

“The night isn’t over yet,” he says with a familiar smirk.