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I miss the way we all loved each other.
Our world seemed to be so perfect for such a long time. I will never forget the way that we all seemed to get along. Everything we did together just felt right. I remember movie nights and hanging out in the park. Dad would take us on walks. He’d always let me sit on his shoulders, and I miss that.
I miss so very much.
“What happens next?” I whisper to myself in the darkened room. I don’t really know what I’m supposed to be doing next. I don’t know where this goes. Where do I go from here?
One day soon, everything will be okay. I know that.
I hear Beatrice and her boyfriend out in the living room, so I start playing on my phone. I should watch a movie or do something to distract myself, but instead of pulling up Netflix, I start scrolling Instagram. Ryan’s profile is public, and it mostly features pictures of him in professional settings. The profile is very carefully curated. I won’t be shocked if Damien runs it.
Although, there’s one series of pictures of him and his brothers that really catches my eye. The three of them are standing side-by-side, arms around each other. They’re all wearing suits. There’s a second picture behind the first of their father. I read the caption and realize that this is from their dad’s funeral. It’s strange to think of rich dudes posting on social media, but it’s the modern year. It’s not like we’re living in the Stone Age when you could only talk to people by, you know, seeing them face-to-face.
My finger slips and I heart the post.
Shit.
I quickly press the heart again, removing my “like.” Hopefully, Ryan isn’t on his phone right now to see my social mess-up. He doesn’t need to know that I’m a complete weirdo who can’t control her social media scrolling. He’ll get to know me soon enough without me causing any trouble like that.
Only, I’m not so lucky.
Almost immediately, I get a text from an unknown number.
So you like what you see. Interesting.
I know it’s him. I just know it. It’s a local area code. Besides, it would make sense that he would have my phone number. I’m his assistant, after all. Maybe it’s weird that I don’t have his, but we always just message each other online.
There’s never really been a need for me to have his private number, although now I’m wondering why I never saw the need to push for it.
Another text comes through.
Aw. Unliked. Am I that hideous?
I reply before I can talk myself out of it.
Sorry.Misclick.
It’s so lame. I shouldn’t have sent something so silly, but I can’t take it back even though I want to.
I stare at my phone and a second later, another message appears.
Which time was the misclick? When you liked me in a suit or when you didn’t?
I sigh. He’s so damn hot. I kind of hate the visceral reaction my body has to him.
I tell myself it’s okay even though it’s not. I’m not supposed to like my boss. I’m not supposed to feel like this about him.
I type a response and delete it. Then I do the same thing again. Finally, I decide to say anything at all. Being awkward is so much better than being silent.
Which would you prefer?
I click send before I can think too hard. This is my new strategy: not thinking. I don’t have any misled understanding that I’m cool or suave or good with men. I’m just normal. I’m just some random girl who happens to be awake and alone, so it would make sense that Ryan would text me.
I wait, wondering what Ryan is going to say, but a moment later, he Facetimes me. I stare at the phone, wondering what to do. I’m wearing a pink tanktop, booty shorts, and slippers. That’s it.
No bra.
No panties.
