Page 56 of Mr. Wilde

“We were just leaving,” I say, standing up beside Caleb. It’s sad when a precocious eight-year-old is better company than the man you’ve been dreaming of. The one who not that long ago threw caution to the wind when he planted that feverish kiss on my lips.

I’m not letting this man ruin my evening. I don’t want to be anywhere near him when he’s looking at me like I’m a line of code he’s already dismissed.

Max

I stand there, watching them leave, my jaw so tight my molars are grinding together.

I’ve stayed away for a week. I told myself it was a tactical retreat to ensure I could keep things professional. I’m still not sure it’s smart to keep working with her, but the thought of walking away completely feels nearly impossible.

Somehow, I need to make it clear that what happened in the office was a one-off. A glitch. Yet seeing her with that kid, her bright personality and pastel pink hair a stark contrast to this boring café, makes my tattered control feel even more frayed.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, expecting a status report from Loretta. Instead, the screen displays Dad. I exhale slowly and answer. “Hi, Dad.”

“Max. You haven’t been home in a while,” my father’s voice is short, flat, devoid of warmth. He pauses for a moment, the silence wrapping around my broken heart like a vine of thorns. “It would mean a lot to your mother if she could see you.”

I run a hand down my face, the familiar dread pooling in my gut. Every time I go back there, I fall into an emotional spiral that affects everything around me. It’s the one area in my life I can’t remain safe from.

“I know,” I reply, my voice sounding hollow even to my own ears. “I’m sorry. I’ve let work get in the way.” I lie. “I’ll come by. You’re right. It’s been too long.”

“Thank you. We’ll be here.” The paralyzing reality in those words makes my stomach churn.

“I know. I’ll call when I’m headed that way.” I hang up and stare at the empty table where Cassidy was sitting. I need to keep these walls up where they belong. I need to go home, deal with my ghosts, and let go of the idea that I could have someone like her in my life.

Everything in me screams this woman is hiding from something. And a woman like Cassidy deserves someone good and kind. Someone who will love and protect her. Not a man who is hellbent on setting the world on fire.

24

MAX

Staring out of my office window, I’m here physically, but not connected to what’s happening around me. This has become commonplace over the years. Nevertheless things feel as if they’ve improved. I’ve managed to get more work done this week than I have in months. Mostly because I’ve been using projects as a barrier between me and my thoughts.

Hell, Loretta even seems impressed. Usually, keeping her happy involves not hiding behind a monitor all day. Or preventing her from having to put Frank in “time out” for some inappropriate remark that could get HR on her tail.

I catch the low murmur of voices outside my door. Glancing over to the center of the bullpen, I find Loretta with her hand on her hip, looking like a Southern storm front moving in. “I’m tellin’ y’all for the last time,” her drawl sharpens, “if I find one more empty energy drink can on the conference table, I am hirin’ a maid and deducting the cost from your Christmas bonuses. Am I clear, or do I need to use my Sunday School voice?”

Bauer doesn’t look up from his computer screens. He’s wearing a headset with one ear off, his fingers flying across his keyboard sounding like a hailstorm on a tin roof. “Loretta, please. I’m in the middle of a level four intrusion simulation,” he mutters, his gaze appearing to dart between scrolling lines of text. “Besides, those cans were strategically placed. They represent the nodes of the botnet I’m dismantling. If you move that Red Bull can, you’re basically letting the hackers win.”

Her eye roll is so profound I’m surprised she doesn’t hurt herself. “Nodes of the botnet or not, trash is still trash, Bauer,” she snaps back. “Ants, remember.”

Bauer actually stops typing for a moment and looks up at her. Jeez, these two.

Across the pod, Yamila is meticulously aligning three different colored highlighters. She pauses, her brow furrowing before she stands from her desk and walks to the opening of her cubicle. “Bauer, your nodes are leaking sticky residue onto the floor,” her voice is clipped. “Your lack of hygiene is interfering with my focus.”

Bauer knows better than to argue with her. He remains quiet as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

The glass doors hiss open, and Frank saunters in. I can only guess, given the time of day, he smells like a Jersey deli. He heads for Yamila’s office, dropping a large brown envelope and a greasy paper bag onto her pristine desk, and I wince. This, predictably, earns him a look of pure, homicidal rage.

“Hey, relax, Einstein,” Frank bellows, oblivious to the fact her head is about to explode as he unwraps his usual New Jersey health food. A breakfast sandwich consisting of pork roll, fried egg, and American cheese on a toasted Kaiser roll. “I brought fuel.” He takes a large bite.

Yamila looks as if she’s considering strangling him with her bare hands but doesn’t want to get any of his sandwich on her.

Frank gazes in my direction. “Speaking of fuel, have you guys seen Max? He looks like he’s running on empty.”

Loretta happens to be walking by when she hears this and stops, fixing him with her signature glare.

“I’m just sayin’.” Frank holds up his hands, mid-bite, his sandwich waving through the air. Yamila looks as if she might faint. “The guy’s skin looks sallow. Is that the word? Sallow. Like he’s morphing into a ghost.”

“It could be that he’s smelled your food,” Yamila barks.