Unwanted Heat

We haven’t discussed my nightmares except for the first week I employed him, when I had no choice. I was having another one of my nightmares which I guess had gotten loud and he came barging into my room with his gun drawn. Scared me shitless, but after I cooled down I realized he reacted exactly as I hoped he would if something happened in the middle of the night. We had a brief conversation in which I informed him I have nightmares fairly regularly and we have never spoken about it again. Very few people know that I experience nightmares on an almost daily basis-in fact I can count on one hand the number of people outside of my immediately family who are aware of them, two of whom are my employees. Very few people who know that I suffer from nightmares are aware of the context, although I suspect that most assume they relate to my time with my birthmother.

Our run pattern varies from day to day; Carter insists that I don’t run the same route regularly, as he is afraid it puts me at risk. Any pattern we take has us running past Sweet Dreams Bakery recently. Carter started this after he learned who the beautiful woman was that we inadvertently drenched and where she works. I haven’t gone into the bakery, but I find myself glancing at the window every day hoping to get a glimpse of her. A few times I have seen her at the register, other times she either isn’t working or is in the back.Content rights by NôvelDr//ama.Org.

Carter purposely slows down when we approach the bakery knowing that I’m going to look for her but he doesn’t say anything. It’s one of the things I appreciate the most about him: he keeps his opinions to himself unless I specifically ask him about it. Like now, as I barely get a glimpse of her brunette hair through the window of the bakery, I’m sure Carter is wondering what the hell is wrong with me and why I don’t just go inside. We would have a convenient excuse for going in: we could need bottled water, a cup of coffee or even breakfast but of course we never go in.

I don’t know anything about her, but I know I could never be what she needs. The way she looked at me that day with her big, innocent brown eyes, I knew that I was no good for her. She is the type of woman who wants to bring a guy home to her parents, who wants and expects to be romanced by a guy and one who expects long term commitments when she goes out. She wants everything I can’t give her and can never give her. The only thing I can give her is a fantastic, hard fuck one night and maybe a call when I need a release again. One look at her and I know that she would never settle for something like that, so why even bother?

“Sir?” Carter pulls me from my thoughts when we somehow end up back in the foyer of the condo. How we ended up here, I have no clue. Apparently I let my thoughts of Ms. Rose distract me for the last three miles of our run.

“We’ll leave for PFS in twenty. Can you ask Julie to have my breakfast ready in ten?” I request.

A quick shower and even quicker breakfast has me at PFS long before most of my employees. I’m typically the first person here but every so often someone will beat me to it, like today. Alex works nearly as hard as I do, putting in close to the same number of hours I do at PFS. Minutes after I arrive, he barges into my office setting a cup of coffee in front of me before he sits down. We don’t have a standing appointment, but this has been our routine for the last year or two when we are both in the office at the same time.

“You did it again, Parker,” he sighs.

“Who did I piss off this time?”

“No one in particular… except a few reporters,” he tosses the latest gossip magazine on my desk.

“UGH… what bullshit is it this time?”

“You’re on page three.”

I thumb through the first few pages before I find a picture of myself taken just two nights ago at a benefit at the local children’s hospital. The headline reads “What is the billionaire playboy hiding?” I quickly skim the story speculating yet again that I am hiding something related to my sexuality which is the reason I can’t keep a woman. The reporter goes further than most, hinting that my last relationship with her was simple a facade designed to keep the dogs off my trail so I can keep my secret hidden. While she provided no comment to the press regarding our relationship, the reporter goes so far to state it is because I must have bought her silence, likely coming with a hefty price tag since she has refused to comment on anything after our breakup more than two years ago.

The reporter suggests that my secret could be anything: from hiding the truth about my sexuality, to a porn addiction, to taking part in something that is illegal. I close the magazine and throw it in the trash without reading the article any further. The reporter failed to mention that I had provided a generous donation to the children’s hospital which is why I was attending that event to begin with. Instead of focusing on the great research that the hospital is doing, they focus on the fact that I attended the event alone. “Damned if I do, damned if I don’t,” I sigh in frustration.

“We need to discuss the shipping company,” he quickly recognizes that I’m done discussing this garbage. “I’m hitting a brick wall with them; I think they might respond better to you. Maybe you can set up a dinner or something to wine and dine them? We’ve been at a stale mate for the last couple of weeks over this, they always seem to respond better to you-“