Rough Edge (The Edge #1)(39)

Yes! That was an outstanding idea. A map to go with the transportation guidelines. There would be visual learners on the board of directors, and they needed to see how far the program could reach.

Leaning back, I snapped a pencil out of the cup.

“Is it done?” Caden said over the phone.

“Mm-hm,” I hummed around the phone as I scrawled MAP on a Post-it and slapped it on the proposal cover. A drop of spit fell from my bottom lip to the blotter. I scurried into the position he’d demanded.

“How does it feel?” he asked.

I was in belly crawl position in my office. It felt as though I was dropping to run an obstacle course.

“Ike asic,” I said around the phone.

“Yes,” he said. “Like basic.”

“Oo inoo asic.”

“I know I didn’t do basic. And you’re not supposed to argue.”

“Oh-ay.”

I waited.

And waited.

I was drooling around the phone and my ass was getting cold. I wondered if I should get the proposal proofread before I showed it to Tina. I wanted to present my best face, but if she had a ton of changes, a proofread would be a waste of time.

Finally, I heard his footfall on the back stairs, and his black shoes appeared under trouser cuffs. He stopped in the doorway. I looked up at him, and he looked down at me. I became acutely aware of my position and my choice to maintain it.

He took the phone out of my mouth and snapped it closed before placing it on the filing cabinet behind the desk. “You’re beautiful like this.”

Great. Thanks.

“And it upsets Damon, which I enjoy.”

He didn’t sound as if he was enjoying anything. He sounded as though he was reporting the weather in the tri-state area. All the more reason to play along. He was sick. He needed me. Without me, he’d descend into this hard, brittle personality.

“Crawl to me,” he said.

I put one elbow in front of the other, lowering my pelvis as close to the ground as possible so I could fit under the wire.

Of course, this wasn’t basic, but I’d been trained to do things a certain way.

“Stop,” he said, coming around me.

I put my head down so he couldn’t see my face. He put his hands on either side of my hips and lifted them, then he pressed my lower back down.

“Better.” He went back to the doorway. “Now. Crawl.”

I moved a knee forward, and my butt dropped. When I moved my other knee, it would drop farther. I was supposed to present myself like a cunt-proud peacock and—

“Honestly, Caden?” I got up on my knees and rested on my haunches. “Not today.”

He raised an eyebrow and leaned on the jamb with his arms crossed. Not offended or hurt, which was good, but he’d locked away his emotions so tight, he couldn’t feel insulted. That was not good.

“I just finished the proposal for the hospital’s PTSD unit.”

“Yes?”

“How about… you know, congratulations?”

“You can’t tell me this later?”

I got up. “I’m telling you now.” I pulled up my pants and fastened them. “You could play along for fifteen minutes before dropping this on me.”

“So could you.”

I swung my blouse over my shoulders. “Sure. I could. I could. And I agreed to. But I just can’t crawl around right now. I want to feel happy. I want to feel proud, and I want to be excited for my meeting.”

I got to the top button and realized I’d forgotten my bra. Damnit. I didn’t want to take the shirt off again. I wanted to finish getting dressed. I wanted to tell him all the things in the packet. I wanted his feedback and his joy, not this. Not today.

“You know what I want?” I said. “A celebratory fuck.”

“I can’t deliver that right now. Not in a way you’d find honest.”

“And I can’t let you control me right now. Not in a way I’d find honest.”

Not waiting for his reaction, I left the office and went upstairs.

Living room and kitchen. Didn’t want to eat. Didn’t want to sit. I wanted to think about something besides my husband’s mental health, or anyone else’s for that matter. But he was at the bottom of the stairs, a pressure from below, squeezing me into a corner.

Footfall on the steps. A creak. Slowly, as if he wasn’t sure he should come or as if creeping up on me.

I couldn’t deal with his stone-cold face. It wasn’t him. This was a single dimension of the multi-dimensional human I loved. Neither one of us had control over this situation. I couldn’t be mad at Caden any more than I could be mad at a bird for shitting on my shoulder.

“Greyson?” he called from the stairs, raising his voice only enough to make sure I heard, as if he had a complete understanding of the physics of space and sound and used it to make sure I knew he was still in control.

The tone was hard to ignore. The command was so complete, I thought maybe if I went to the top of the stairs and kneeled, we could continue with the game and he’d be pleased. Damon would run. I’d have so many orgasms, I’d pass out in a heap. We could be normal inside of three hours.

Wanting one thing meant not wanting another, no matter how agreeable I made it sound to myself. I went to the foyer and plucked my coat off the hook.