I clear my throat. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, there’s nothing wrong. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t need anything else before I head off.”
Head off?
“It’s six o’clock,” she says, reading the confusion on my face.
My gaze flies to my watch.
How could so much time have passed?
Now I feel bad for keeping her late. I scrub a palm down my face.
“If I may,” Lauren starts, and I sigh, too tired for whatever lecture she’s about to spew, but I know damn well she’s going to continue regardless of what I say, so I don’t bother interrupting.
“Maybe you should head home as well,” she says, meeting my gaze. “You seem run-down and exhausted. Even more so than usual. You need to slow down, or you’re going to burn out.”
My weary brain has trouble keeping up with her.
Leave early? “Thanks, but I have—” I look around the desk, the camera once again catching my eye, trying to pull me in for a completely different reason now. I shake my head and focus on the pile of folders to my left. “I have paperwork to get done.”
Especially seeing as you were late this morning and just wasted nearly two hours…
Lauren rolls her eyes at me. “It will still be here in the morning,” she says before adding, “Sir.”
I narrow my eyes at her.
“Oh, come on. Would it be so bad to be home for dinner?”
Yes.
Lauren sighs. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help then?”
“No, Lauren. Go home,” I say, my voice a little too sharp.
“Goodnight,Mr. Reed,” she says, clearly picking up on it before leaving my office, her long, blondish pony tail swishing behind her
She knows I fucking hate it when she calls me that, but she does it anyway, no matter how many times I tell her to call me Sebastian.
Lauren’s been my personal assistant for five years, and while she’s damn good at her job, she’s also a pain in my ass.
After making a fresh cup of coffee, I try to keep working, but my eyes sting from staring at the monitor, and the caffeine hit does absolutely nothing to help me focus.
Would it be so bad to be home for dinner?
The question plays on my mind.
I can’t remember the last time I left the office early enough to be home for dinner. Then again, the apartment doesn’t feel likehome,and I haven’t spent dinner at home since my parents died. What would be the point in going back to the house I grew up in? It might be full of memories and possessions, but it’s stillempty.
That’s no longer home either.
Not without them.
It’s better this way. Putting in the work to run this company is more than just a distraction. It’s to prove I was worthy of everything they gave me, everything they taught me, even if they aren’t here to see it.
Still, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have one early night. I wouldn’t be alone if I went back to the apartment, though, and the thought of seeing Grace has my head aching as conflicting feelings war against each other. Finding the other photos might have shifted something in me when it comes to her, but how can I forget about everything else?
With the thoughts of dinner and Grace, it hits me there’s likely no food in the apartment. Sure, there might be a few random things, but I’m never there to cook, so there’s no reason to have a stocked pantry.