Night Owl (The Complete Serial) by M.C. Cerny

Author:M.C. Cerny [Cerny, M.C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-02-20T16:00:00+00:00

Banging at my door disrupts the dark thoughts. Depressed, I slog over to the peep hole and look out. Some smart ass has their hand blocking the hole. Exasperated, I rolled my eyes, already knowing who it is. “Who’s there?”

“A special delivery for Miss Cole.” Sure it is. The hand moves, and I see James and his infuriating, good-looking self, standing outside my door in his well-fitted smart suit.

“What kind of special delivery?” I cross my arms over my ample chest; my patience is sorely tested today. James’ brand of special is usually the kind that melts my panties off and gets me in deep shit with the FCC.

“Telephone delivery.” His Monday board meeting must be over, and he’s come directly here. I’m a mix of overlapping core emotions. Happy. Sad. Fearful. Angry.

“I didn’t order a phone.” Shouting through the cheaply constructed door, I roll away, leaning against it. I bang my head back against the wall and turn to look back at the door. My attention is drawn right to the peephole. I’m still mad at him, I remind myself, but I care about him more than I do the annoyance I feel.

“Sure you did. Because I couldn’t reach you on the cheap piece of garbage sitting on your nightstand. Babe, open the door.” He’s demanding, and I think about everything that’s transpired in the extremely short time since we crossed the line from boss and employee to intimate partners.

Squeezing my fists, I say, “I can’t do this James. It’s all too much. You’re too much.” I try to will the tears away. For all the ways he’s made me feel amazing, I’ve lost so much. If I end this now, I’ll save myself tons of heartache and disappointment. Just do it. Tell him it’s over, my mind argues with my needy heart. All those mushy feelings were worth avoiding to protect my little bubble, which is now obliterated by what happened on-air.

“Can we not do this through your apartment door? Please Casey.” I peek out again noticing the bob of his throat, his missing tie and how his hair looks like his hands have done nothing but run his fingers through it for hours.

“I like my door. The door feels safe.” I hear his feet shuffle and what I think is an exasperated huff of air on the other side.

“You’re afraid I’m going to swallow you up whole and take away your control.” James rails against the door, using his pop psychology to coax me. It’s the bang of his fist a moment later— angry, hard, and loud against the door—that makes me jump away for a moment. The vibrations shake me and dust floats from the ceiling in my shithole of a place. I have to fight with myself to keep from opening the door and letting him in.

I let my cheek rest against the door, tracing the grooves and indentations of the frame. My fingers crave to clutch the knob and turn it open, but I don’t.

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