For all the bolstering in my stance, my knees turn to water at the forlorn, wounded way her voice cracks.
“Shit, Baby Girl, no. Nothing with you is ever a waste. I’m an impatient bastard is all. I looked at your shower soap sitting on the shelf yesterday morning, and all I could see was another shower, across town, with that same soap in it. The idea of you having a place anywhere but beside me just feels wrong. You know it does. Tell me you’re okay with moving in with me.”
I don’t ask her to forgive me for being an autocrat. Apology indicates remorse, and when it comes to the moves I’ve been making to ensure Lyric can’t leave me, I have none. Besides, this is just the first time I’ve gone overboard tying her to me. If I start apologizing now, there’ll be no room left for forgiveness when she finds out the really, really big snare I laid.
Her small nod and cautious smile are all I need to feel vindicated in playing lord and ruler with her life. Lyric loves me. In time, she’ll understand everything I do is for her, for us.
“Great. The movers are scheduled for the weekend. We’ll spend tomorrow morning at your old apartment tagging the items you want brought to the house. I’ve arranged to have the rest donated to that mission you had me give funding to when you first started. Remember the one?”
“Oh, the one that takes in whole families, so homeless households don’t have to split up?” The idea of ensuring transient families could shelter together hadn’t ever occurred to me until Lyric made it one of her first community enrichment projects when she came to Monarch Renewables.
Her attention to the little known areas of public wellbeing and civic improvement is one of the things that convinced me Lyric belongs in leadership at my company. She’s got a few weeks left before she completes her undergraduate program, but I’m already confident she can make a tremendous impact here.
In retrospect, I probably should have made her a job offer when I first saw her resume on the copy machine. Whatever job she was applying for definitely can’t match the benefits package I’d offer her. Water under the bridge at this point.
“I like that idea, Price. Thank you. Would you be okay if I went home early this afternoon? The iced cider I had earlier this morning isn’t sitting very well in my stomach. I think I need to lie down for a bit. I’ll take my laptop and work on the bid for Henton City’s water filtration system upgrade.”
I can’t help the way my eyes drift to her stomach, wondering if it’s a reaction to a beverage or if she might actually be pregnant. I know what I want the answer to be. I also know that makes me a colossal asshole.
Chapter8
Lyric
“Lyric, come here.”
We’ve only been at my apartment for a few minutes, and Price has already taken over. He ordered me to sit on the sofa and make a list of the pieces of furniture I wanted to bring to his house while he started boxing up stuff in the kitchen he knew I cared about. Things like my gran’s cookbooks and mom’s tea set she gave me when I moved out. There’s nothing that should require his drill sergeant tone, commanding me to get in there.
Especially not with the way he’s been treating me since I asked to go home early yesterday. Not only did he easily agree, but he warped into hyper speed to take care of me and coddle me. He even took the rest of the day off to bum around the house with me and nap.
It gives me confidence we’ll work through whatever the weirdness is that’s happened the last weeks. I want to tell him about the baby, but a stubborn piece of me insists I should wait until I know why he’s been so secretly trying to make this happen.
“What is this?” His tone is so formal and stiff. He sounds the way he does when he talks to other people. Not me. I force my eyes away from his tense expression to find the thick packet of paperwork from the school clenched in his fist.
“I, uh, I applied to a few graduate programs when I realized all the upper managers at Monarch Renewables have advanced degrees. It seemed prudent at the time.”
“When was this? You didn’t tell me.”
“I guess about two months ago I sent in my application, the essay, and my resume.”
“Your resume? Of course. Your resume would be necessary as part of a graduate school entrance process. Fucking fuck. Why didn’t you tell me? Ask me for help?”
I think if he’d been angry, my frustration would have fired up to match his. He’s not mad, though. His hand keeps rifling through his hair in agitation, pulling at the dark strands. There’s a pinch in the set of his jaw, and his eyes look as though he’s being actively haunted.
“It seemed like something I should do without using your connections to get in. You know? Stand on my own merits. Doesn’t really matter now, anyway.”
I wish I’d thought ahead enough to put the damn envelope in a drawer somewhere, so Price wouldn’t find out. Now, I’ve got to face the hurt of keeping this from him, and I can’t imagine he’ll let me get away without giving the reason I haven’t sent in my commitment and deposit.
“Of course, it matters, Lyric. Even if you didn’t want my help, I would have wanted to know what your plans are, so I can support you and be in your corner. At least, it’s not too late to celebrate. Here, use my pen and fill this out right away. You can’t delay on these things. The school might take it as an indication you’re choosing a different program.”
The way he switches gears, from upset to authoritative and competent, gives me whiplash. In the back of my mind, the problems plaguing us weigh heavily. Price pulls me against him, his hug softening the jagged edges inside me. Maybe, it’s the pregnancy hormones, or maybe, it’s the stress of our first rough patch, but my body sags against him as if I’m finishing the home stretch of a weeklong finals marathon.
“I don’t want to fill out the paperwork right now or even think about the grad program for a little while. Could we just watch some TV and hang out for a bit?”
We both have miles-long to-do lists, but Price picks me up and carries me over to the couch in front of the television set and sits down with me in his lap. He grabs up the remote and flips through my streaming services to land on one of those contest shows where regular people compete against obstacle courses over water.
He leans against the back of the sofa with me curled up in his arms as if he’s not a wealthy business owner. He could be doing any number of super important money-making tasks at this moment. Instead, he’s smoothing his hand up and down my back and watching me as if I’m more interesting than anything to ever be on a screen.
“I’ll always give you anything you need, Baby Girl. That’s my promise. You want to ignore the world and watch shows, that’s what we’ll do. You want me to buy an island in the middle of the ocean, so you can really hide from the world, I’d do that, too. Name it, and it’s yours.”