𝙞𝙢𝙖𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙨 | 𝚓𝚜𝚌𝚑𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚝

𝙢𝙤𝙗𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙜𝙤𝙡𝙙 | 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝟽/𝟾

[photo: from the vlog "goop does Australia" on cscoop's channel | wc: 1,357 | note: I feel like this somewhat goes without saying, but I will not be commenting on any of the drama going on nor do I want it in the comment section as I feel it is not my place and everything I could want to say has already been said. If you don't know what happened and want to know, please don't fill the comments with it, just private message me. Depending on how things turn out in the end, the book could potentially go on hiatus, but the plan for now is to keep writing. Thank you for understanding, and I hope you enjoy! ]

"Go back," Cooper sat at the other end of the bench, his eyes lingering on you before following the pigeons that grouped on the pavement, "He misses you, all he does is mope around now. The merger is almost completely out of the conversation and business has tanked."

"I know," you didn't want him to continue, though you knew he could, and you avoided his eyes, "I can't go back."

"You were always the most prideful person I knew. Well, besides him," he shrugged, and with a deep breath, stood, "I have to go try to pull him out of this slump again, I'll see you later."

"Sure," you smiled guiltily and seeing him walk away made you speak in an attempt to fix things, "But," you drew out each of the letters as you spoke, "if I were to stop by..."

"Five o'clock. Be there. For him, and for you," he completed your thought and left before you could speak again.

Alone with your thoughts, you decided to visit an old friend of yours. As you rang the bell to his apartment and the noise reverberated in your ears, you wondered if this was the right thing to do.

He buzzed you in and greeted you cheerfully at his door, "Hey! Long time no see!"

"It sure has been," you rub the back of your neck before stepping into his quick embrace.

"Come inside, I'm sure we have a lot of catching up to do," he held his door open for you and extended his arm inwardly.

As you walked inside you couldn't help but notice the cleanliness and order present in his room. He had grown a lot since the last time you seen him.

"Charlie," you slumped back against his sofa, "I hate to do this, but I need your help."

"Don't worry about it," he sat next to you, mimicking your slump for a minute until you both fixed your postures, "What can I do?"

"I've got a dilemma," you rubbed your temple as he leaned in to listen. Cautiously, as to not reveal too much of your current work situation, you spoke, "I've been doing a job lately for someone who I think—I know I've fallen for. They told me they feel the same, but... I did something that hurt them and we haven't spoken since I told him."

"I might not know the full situation, but I'm glad you were honest with him. Whether he knows it or not, I'm sure he is, too," Charlie started, and. worried about the context of your story, he admits, "I know you've been working for Schlatt and Co."

"What?" Your mind was racing, "Don't tell me that you are too, Charlie, I—"

"I'm not, don't worry," he threw his hands up in his defense, "And it's not my business to know anything more if you're avoiding talking about it, but be careful. It's more dangerous than you know."

"Trust me, I know," you stood, beginning to pace slightly in his living space, "But business has gone under since I told him. He's been out of it, and my friends are suffering as a result. I can't be the source of their hardships, not again."

He hung his head, "Do you want me to go with you?"

"No, no, it's okay. I think I just needed to talk out loud to someone. Thanks, Charlie," you moved towards his door and he grabbed your wrist.

"Promise me you won't put yourself in any danger. Seriously, call me and keep me posted," the smile on his face couldn't mask the concern in his words.

"I will," and with that, you were out of his apartment and headed to Schlatt & Co.'s headquarters.

The walk was brisk, not allowing you the time to decide what you were going to say when you arrived. You figured if you were going to plan it, you would have done that days ago.

Almost against your own will, you push the door open and are greeted by a familiar fog of cigar smoke and the dim lighting from above the pool table.

Connor was the first to speak, "Boss?"

With a long exhale, Jonathan hit a yellow striped ball into the corner pocket and looked up, his back facing you, "How's that for a bad shot?"

Carson, his current opponent, stood completely still across from him, staring at something over his shoulder. As he pointed for him to look, he turned over his shoulder and blinked when he saw you.

"Hey," you bashfully grab your arm, acutely aware of all of the eyes facing you, "Could we talk in private?"

"In my office," he gestured emotionlessly with his head in the direction of his office, as if you could have forgotten, and sets his cue on the rack.

You opened the door to his office and found yourself pacing the floor yet again, more nervous about your lack of planning. Maybe you should have planned a speech or at least an apology.

Regardless, when you heard the door open behind you, there was only one thing that came to your mind, "I'm sorry."

In a form of silently accepting your apology and apologizing for his own actions, he pulled you into his arms.

Melting against him, you buried your head into the crook of his neck and wrapped your arms around him.

He squeezed you softly, "Please come back."

"I knew you were a softie," you chuckled, avoiding responding to his offer. As you pulled away slightly, your hands lingered on his chest, but you adjusted his lapel.

"Y/N, I'm so—" he started, averting his gaze.

"Don't. You had every right to be angry, and you still do," you said, and continued despite his claims that he was no longer angry, "I shouldn't have gone behind your back. I know that it was wrong, I knew then too, I was just too desperate and behind on rent..."

Before you could continue, he interrupted, "Behind on rent?"

"I didn't mean to say that. It's okay, I just—" you realized that the middle of an apology was not the time to blame him for your financial hardships.

"Where do you live?" His conscience weighed heavily on him, but you could hardly register that in his tone.

You swallowed, having avoided telling anyone where you lived for a long time, knowing this business too well, before admitting, "High Bridge."

"High Bridge?" He seemed to be in complete disbelief, "You couldn't afford rent in High Bridge?"

"Look," feeling insulted, you pulled yourself away from him and scowling, "I don't need this sh*t, I work my *ss off—"

"I know you do, that wasn't meant to sound like an accusation," he put a hand on your shoulder, "I had no idea. I mean, I knew you didn't like to just spend too much money, but, I didn't know why. And I didn't know that I was the reason..."

You were at a loss for words, stunned by the compassion you saw in his eyes. For a second, you wondered if you were having the same flashbacks to all of the times he asked you to join in poker and you only did so reluctantly because he was your boss, keeping your bets low.

"I have to go," he didn't waste another moment in silence, and before you could register that he was leaving, you were left standing alone in his office.