Page 5 of Reluctantly You
“I don’t have time for shit like this,” I murmur, turning around and walking back inside, closing the door with a loud bang.
Yeah, no time for any shit. Period.
No fucking time.
I need to spend my time lying on the sofa, drifting back into the bleakness that is my life.
I go in to work the next day and realize no one even noticed I was gone. To them, I’m just a ghost, an invisible man haunting the hallways and looming in offices. I’m nothing more than a moving force to them, one of many that are used to make this company run seamlessly.
I walk past employees I don’t even recognize as I make my way to my office, trying to tune out the bustle of the people making phone calls, the clacking of keyboards, and the murmur of office gossip.
No one says a thing to me as I enter my office and settle behind my desk. I have my own space at this company because I’m the strategic financial director. It’s an important job, or so I thought.
For a decade, I’ve worked my ass off, spending late nights crunching numbers and even taking pay cuts to make sure ends were met.
And what has it gotten me?
Not fucking much.
No one’s thanked me, no one’s ever smiled at me. I just exist. A cog in the machine of the company. And yet, one day, I’m supposed to inherit it all.
I don’t even know if I want it.
I stare at my computer and loosen my tie slightly. Fuck dressing up for work. I should have gotten a remote job where I could work in my pajamas.
I glance down at my wrinkled shirt and run a hand over my unshaven face. I haven’t put much effort into my appearance lately. Not a single fucking thing actually. Why bother when people don’t even notice if I’m here or not?
Not even my fucking dad, who owns the damn company, has called to see where I’ve been or why I’ve been absent.
Right. Not my dad.
I need to remember that. Although, how could I forget?
Not a biological match.
It’s there, printed on a sheet of paper in my desk drawer at home, given to me by the private investigator—a stout man with a handlebar mustache. He took no care in breaking the news, his words perfunctory and cold.
He’s not your biological father.
It was the day my world imploded. And I couldn’t even tell anyone about it. There was no one around. Not my brothers, not my dad.
He hasn’t been answering my calls. Neither has my mom. And neither of them were home when I stopped by last week. I stood on the porch and pounded on the door but no one answered. I did see the curtain move as I stood there, my heart beating in my throat. Someone saw me and chose not to answer.
My eyes move to the computer screen, and I see my reflection staring back at me.
Well, hell. That’s not a good look at all.
I quickly shake the mouse and watch the screen come to life, my log-in screen blinking back at me.
Shit, I have to change my passwordagain.
Fuck this place. Why do they have to make everything so damn complicated?
When I eventually log in, I know I have to work. But I don’t want to. I don’t want to do this anymore.
My breath comes out in shaking pants, and I consider, for a moment, standing up and walking out. What would it hurt? No one knew I was missing. They probably wouldn’t even notice I left. But before I can push out of my chair, an unfamiliar figure appears in my doorway.
I glance up and my chest tightens.