28. Claire

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Claire

Hmmm. I don't know if this is a good idea, but I do need the job—and the benefits are great. It almost feels like it should be illegal, though. 

"Hmmmm. Jared, do you need an assistant?" I ask.

A slow smile spreads across Jared's face. "You know, I've never had an assistant. I usually use Drew's, or I work myself to death."

Drew rolls his eyes. "You always use my assistants, Jared. And you definitely don't work yourself to death. If you did, we'd probably get more done."

"We do get more done, Drew. We're millionaires."

"Jared, I was a billionaire before you started working at the company."

"Yes, but that's only because you came out of the right vagina. It's unfair, really—how some people are just born into the kind of world most hardworking people will never even get a glimpse of."

I look between the two of them. 

"Um, are you both done? I'll be Jared's assistant—if he'll have me. Drew can use me from time to time like Jared has with Drew's assistants. But Jared will be the one I report to. So before you get any ideas, Drew, Jared is my boss."

Jared claps his hands. "Oh, this is going to be great! Can I pick your dress code, or is that not part of—"

Drew has Jared up against the wall before any of us can blink.

"Okay, so that's a no on the dress code," Jared chokes out.

"Drew, let my boss go. Jared, I'll be in your office next week. I need to heal whatever I've broken today—including my pride. I'll swing by HR this week to get onboarded. Unless, of course, Drew has any objections?"

Drew, jaw clenched, stands between Jared and the couch. "Nope. Not a problem, Mrs. St. Claire."

"Great! Now, why are you two here again?"

Drew walks back to the door and grabs a bag from the floor. "Must've dropped it when I came in. We brought you breakfast. I already asked Joy if she wanted anything—she said she'd eaten—so I didn't leave her out."

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I peek inside: corned beef hash, scrambled eggs, a bowl of fruit, and a cup of that terrible green juice he drinks. Everything is my favorite... except that juice. Drew makes a version of it for me every morning, though, so I accept it. 

"Mmm, it smells delicious. Thank you both. Now, if you don't mind, I have a show to finish and pajamas to put back on."

Drew leans in and kisses my cheek. Then Jared kisses the other. Drew leans in again and kisses the cheek Jared just touched. Jared leans in once more but doesn't land the kiss because Drew pulls him away toward the door.

"Do you need me to take you to get your arm looked at?" Drew asks.

"No. Aiden will be back soon. He can take me to urgent care. After that, we're checking out a few apartments—until my pain meds wear off. Don't worry, we're using the wheelchair."

Drew drags Jared out as Jared blows kisses at Joy and me.

When Aiden gets home, he carries me upstairs. Joy helps me into a loose shirt—we decide the pajama pants are staying since it would hurt too much to change them. Then Aiden carries me back down and into the wheelchair, and off we go.

Outside, there's a luxury van waiting with a driver. Apparently, Drew set it up—plenty of space for my wheelchair in the back and a seat where I can recline and elevate my foot. Aiden and Joy moan over the reclining chairs, the mini fridge, and the TV. I send Drew a simple "thx" text.

We start at my orthopedic doctor's office—because Drew called ahead and insisted I be seen today. My arm is bruised, not broken (thankfully), and my ankle is badly twisted, not fractured. A painful win, but still a win.

The first "luxury" apartment has yellow caution tape over the elevator. Joy and Aiden scout the stairwell and return gagging. It reeks of urine, and the flickering light makes it feel like we've stepped into a low-budget horror film. The doorman insists the elevator works—"just gets stuck sometimes"—and he knows how to wrench it open. We don't even make it past the lobby.

The next apartment is a high-rise with a beautiful view. It's promising—until the guy across the hall opens his door. He leers, eyes glued to my chest.

"Are you the new tenant?" he asks.

"I might be."

He licks his lips. We go inside, but he follows us in, lingering awkwardly.

"Which room would be yours?"

I think fast and flash my wedding ring. "Not sure. My husband will help pick when he sees it."

That stumps him for a moment—until he asks, "Does he work a lot or will he be around often?"

And that was our cue to leave.

Back in the van, we're drained. My ankle's throbbing, and I'm ready to quit—but we have one more stop. My phone chimes. It's Drew: "Hey baby, how's apartment shopping going? I miss you. I have something waiting for you three at the end of your day—just go with it. I love you, Claire."

Curiosity rising, I slip my phone away.

The last building already feels different. A security guard opens the door. A polished woman greets us, pamphlet in hand. She takes us to the 20th floor.

No caution tape? Score.

It's breathtaking. Floor-to-ceiling windows, wide open floor plan, natural light spilling into a sleek, modern kitchen. There's even a laundry room. The apartment is twenty minutes from Fuk, five from Drew's office. Far enough for space, close enough for convenience.

Three bedrooms. Modern finishes. Peaceful.

Joy and Aiden are stunned. I can't stop smiling.

No creepy neighbor? Double score.

I sign the lease that afternoon. I know I can't afford this—but Joy's confidence reassures me. I find out later Drew's covering it. All I had to do was sign.

Back in the van, Drew is waiting. There's a water bottle and pain pill ready for me. He hands the pill and water to me, makes sure I swallow them, then he kisses my head and slips away without a word.

The driver says we have one more stop. We groan—until we see the spa.

Drew. I sigh

Massages, scalp treatments, facials—even mocktails for me and real drinks for Joy and Aiden. I sink into the moment and let myself relax for the first time all day.

When we get back to Aiden's, dinner is already waiting. A note sits on the counter:

"Aiden, thanks for letting me break into your home. The chef made dinner, and the maid tidied up. Thanks for taking care of my Claire. P.S. I love you, Claire."

We eat like royalty. Too full and heavy to move, we crash in the living room.

A chime wakes me. I glance at my phone.

MOIRA: Stay away from my son. I haven't found what I am looking for just yet, but when I do,  Drew will regret the day he met you.

What in the actual fuck.