Page 44 of From That Moment

And deal with her yelling and the other frustrating consequences.

I got to my office without seeing anybody, grateful because I wasn’t in the mood to chat.

Anxiety and stress filled my gut, and I hated it.

I just needed to focus on work, and when the time came, see what Paris wanted to do. There wasn’t much else I could do.

When everyone started showing up for work, the buzz in the office was different, and I knew they were all waiting for Paris to come in.

Hell, she was going to hate arriving to find this. She would want to do her best to not be the center of attention, and it was going to be the exact opposite of that.

When people started talking a little louder, and I could tell they were in groups, I stood up from my desk and walked out to the hallway, doing my best to act nonchalant.

I was failing like everyone else.

The elevator dinged, and Paris walked onto the floor, her chin held high, and a scarf around her neck. I knew it was to cover the bruises. I had seen the red marks when I picked her up from the gravel, trying to see if she was awake and alive.

She didn’t smile at anyone but gave them nods, and nobody came up to her, but they did look a little scared as if they didn’t know what to do.

Well, they weren’t alone in that.

Benji was nowhere to be seen, and I was grateful for that.

I leaned against my door, waiting for her to pass. When she did, she gave me a small smile and went straight to her office.

When she didn’t close the door behind her, everybody was quiet, staring at me, and I shrugged, knowing I would have to be the one to break the ice.

Nobody knew what to do here, and by the looks on their faces, most of them wanted to say something to reassure her. Nobody seemed malicious or mean, at least.

I would do something. Because while nobody seemed mean, they also looked as if they wanted to help and had no idea how to do it.

Maybe for someone else, they’d have made coffee or gotten her breakfast or gone to hug her.

But this was Paris.

And she was a little prickly.

I was used to that.

So I pulled myself from my office and made the trek to hers.

I stood in the doorway, my hands in my pockets, and stared at her as she stood in front of her desk, her shoulders rising as she took deep breaths.

“Hey,” I said.

She whirled around, her eyes wide, and dropped her briefcase.

“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, then took three steps towards her, my hands outstretched. I didn’t touch her, and I was grateful I didn’t because she flinched.

That reaction sent rage through me, and I wanted to hurt someone. I wanted to scream. I didn’t. Thankfully, I knew that nobody was looking inside the room, because they wouldn’t dare.

I also didn’t close the door because I didn’t want to have any more attention focused on this than there already was. I was already fucking things up.

“Sorry. You startled me.”

“I should’ve knocked instead of walking right in.” I let out a breath.

“Hi.”