The Three CEOs

pt9. Piano Rage

"A lifetime of happiness? No man alive could bear it; it would be hell on earth." - George Bernard Shaw 

+++

Caden's POV

"Print these files." Silas hands me his laptop plastered with dozens of word documents opened that need to be signed.

"Um, okay." He turns to walk away but I call him back. "Where's your printer?"

He points behind him, where a massive printer is placed on a small desk. 

Right. Why didn't I see that?

Because you're stupid. 

I nod before turning back to the computer, clicking a few buttons and pressing print.

Right now, I'm in Silas's office. 

Like the rest of his penthouse, it has dark colored walls with a wooden desk against a wall, a couch placed behind it. 

There's a TV right above the desk which is weird to me. How are you supposed to watch TV while sitting at your desk when it's right above your head. 

I mean, I guess it's meant to be watched while sitting on the couch since the couch has a perfect view of the TV-

"Wilson!!" I yelp in surprise. 

"Did you hear a word I just said?" His eyes are blazing with annoyance and I gulp the lump lodged in my throat. 

"Um, no sir. I'm sorry... Sir." I look down at the ground. 

Dang it, why did you have to zone out, Caden?!

"If you're not going to pay attention when I'm talking, I might as well just fire you right now." His words cut through me like a dagger and I feel my heart descending from my chest. 

No, no, no. I cannot be fired. 

I need this job. 

I don't wanna get beat again. 

I don't want to be homeless. 

God, I'm such an idiot. 

Yeah, you are. 

I don't realize it, but my breathing has gone heavy and tears sting the corners of my eyes as I imagine Cole again, belt in hand, slashing my back. 

Please don't fire me. 

"Are you alright, Wilson?" I'm startled to see Silas right next me, his hand placed on the small of my back as I silently allow tears to roll down my cheeks. 

I didn't even realize I was crying. 

No, Caden! Wipe those tears away! He will not make you cry!

I take a deep breath and look up at him, mustering up the strongest voice I can make and say, "I'm fine." He looks taken aback at my sudden change but I don't let him respond. "Excuse me, Mr. Sanders."

I calmly walk out of his office, taking care not to examine anything in his penthouse. I will not be impressed by him. 

I don't know what got me all riled up but I suddenly feel angry. 

I just got lost in my thoughts. Hasn't anybody done that once in his life? "I'm sure he has," I grumble to no one. 

But no, he just has to threaten to fire me as if I just committed a felony. 

Why does he have such a short fuse? And Jesus, his mood changes every five minutes that it gives me whiplash. One moment, he's glaring at me at dinner, and the next, he has me cradled under his arm.