Head Above Water Pt. 03

Author's Note:

My humblest thanks to everyone who has been reading this story, and a warm welcome to new readers. This story spent a long time sitting in the hard drive of my old laptop. I want to thank my team for bringing it back to life: Melanie R. for her insurance advice, Dr. K. Wright for answering all of my medical questions, and my fantastic betas: Laura, Spyauth, sbrooks103x, and BarryJames1952. The last three are writers on this site. Check out their work if you enjoy a good story.

To Renascence readers, the last chapter is still being written. Thank you for your emails, messages, and comments encouraging me to write it. It's in the works!

Hope you all enjoy this installment.

Cheers!

Nora

*****

Wes slept like the dead.

He made no noise, didn't move—hell, his eyelids didn't even flutter while he dreamed. His heartbeat, the soft rise and fall of his chest and the warmth of his breath on my hair were the only things that hinted that he was still alive. I lay there on his chest for a long time, listening to his heartbeat, listening to the language that his body spoke, the sounds that filled me with warmth because just hours ago that heart had worked in overdrive, quickening from taking and giving pleasure.

I had no idea what time it was. I hated being up before noon, but out of habit most days I woke up at five. It made me a grouchy little gremlin, but coffee usually helped. Right now I was feeling very much like that grouchy little gremlin. Fuck, I needed to get some coffee. And check in with work. And freshen up. And a bunch of other things. I can never go back to sleep after waking up anyway.

I untangled myself from Wes, wincing because my entire body was sore. I could barely sit up and get my legs to the edge of the bed. Jesus fucking Christ. He'd been rougher than I'd thought.

"Mm, don't," said a muffled voice, thick with sleep.

I felt a strong, warm hand close around my wrist, stopping me before I could get out of bed.

I guess sleeping like the dead and being a light sleeper operated on two separate sides of his brain.

"I thought you were asleep."

"I am. Do you need to go to the bathroom?" he asked without opening his eyes.

"No."

"Then get back here."

"I need to check my emails."

"You won't be able to walk. Don't bother. C'mere," he said, tugging me back.

"What makes you think I won't be able to walk?"

"Because I made sure of it. Now get over here before you wake me."

"You are awake."

"I'm not. On-call forces you to..." he yawned, not even bothering to finish the sentence.

I bit my lip. I technically could get by without checking in until noon. If it was past seven then there were at least twelve supervisors on the floor by now, and all of them were senior agents that I'd promoted and personally trained. They'd be able to hold the fort down.

"Don't make me say it again."

He lifted the covers and I crawled back in. He was a real psycho. What kind of a person could hold a conversation in their sleep? It made me think about every single doctor's appointment I'd ever been to, wondering if those doctors also had this weird little superpower. Was it something they all just picked up in residency? Or was Wes just really a psycho? I was willing to bet it was the latter.

I'd thought that I'd never be able to fall back asleep. Wes (even in his fucking sleep) seemed to sense it. He took me into his arms and stroked my back. It gave my sore muscles some relief, so much so that I closed my eyes in contentment and...

—

The smell of coffee could probably wake me from my grave. I rolled over in the soft sheets, my face turning in the direction of the delicious waft. I could almost feel my body tensing from the withdrawal. I needed professional help.

"Good morning."

I opened one eye, squinting because it was way too fucking bright.

"Says who?" I grumbled.

"Says me. Do you want some coffee or not?"

"Help me up before it gets cold. I can't move."

"You're such a baby." Wes laughed as he slipped an arm under me and sat me up, supporting me against his chest. I don't think I really knew what was happening when he put a mug in my hands. I only know that I practically inhaled the coffee.

"Mmm."

"Adorable."

"Shut up."

He rubbed my shoulders while I began to wake up, and holy hell I was sore.

"You monster. You broke all my bones."

"Did I?" He ran his hands down my naked body until I had to slap him away from touching the places that would definitely lead to inviting more soreness.

"I was just checking for injuries," he said innocently.

"Well, you're a terrible doctor if you can't see that I'm injured."

"Are you in pain?" He sounded so serious that it made me want to laugh.

"Yes, doctor. It's just terrible. I may need morphine."

"Just to make things clear, I'm never writing you a prescription."

"Killjoy. I thought I was gonna get all the perks. I did sleep with you after all."

"I can't treat you if you ever get sick, but I can probably find out what's wrong. If it's bad enough I'll find someone to get a second opinion and they can write you a prescription."

I laughed. Jesus, he was so serious about this.

"Why wouldn't you write me one?"

"Because it's unethical."

"You know what's unethical? Letting your fuck buddy suffer."

"You are not my fuck buddy."

"What am I then?"

"I can't believe we're having this conversation. I thought it was obvious."

"It's too early. I don't know what the hell you're talking about. Give it to me straight, doc."

"Let's not put a label on it."

"Done."

"I want us to be exclusive though."

I looked up, having the rare opportunity to give him a shit-eating grin.

"Sounds like you want to be my boyfriend."

"That sounds so juvenile. Isn't there another word for it for adults?"

"There is. It's called marriage."

He checked his watch.

"We could probably squeeze in a trip to the courthouse today."

"Ah ha ha," I said sarcastically. "Shut up and let me enjoy my coffee."

He chuckled, pressing his lips to my temple. The feelings that churned in my belly were unimaginable. I leaned back against him, sipping coffee and smiling like an idiot. Just a week ago I was sitting miserably in my office, dealing with David from Underwriting breathing heavily through the phone receiver. I'd spent all morning walking the Floor with my walkie-talkie, mouthing off to people that probably didn't deserve it while everyone in the entire department was muttering "Dragon Lady" under their breaths. I couldn't remember if I was drinking shit coffee or if I was sipping the good stuff from 7 Leaves that one of the supervisors had picked up on a coffee run. Was it a styrofoam aftertaste or was it black coffee with sea salt foam? I don't even know.

I just know I'm here now, that none of that matters, that I took a chance, that Wes wants me. Exclusive, haha. What even was that? A week ago I wouldn't have known.

But now I do.

"Hungry?" he asked when I passed him my empty mug.

Having your brains fucked out typically makes you ravenous.

"I'm starving."

"What do you want to eat?"

"What do you have?"

"Leftover lasagna, avocados, and a fridge full of healthy food that you probably won't like."

"Gross."

"I'll go pick up something for you."

"You don't have to do that."

"I want to."

"I want to get out of this apartment. I don't want to sit around in bed all day."

"I kind of like having you naked in my bed."

"Shut up. Help me up."

Wes helped me up and made me do some stupid stretches that made me feel like I was on an old 90s fitness video. I was still naked, my cheeks reddening when I caught the hungry look in Wes's eyes.

"Please stop," I said, laughing. "I can't do these anymore. I feel like I'm Richard Simmons' girlfriend."

"You can't have two boyfriends at the same time. You're forgetting that we're supposed to be exclusive."

I rolled my eyes.

"Will you bring me my clothes from the living room?"

"Your clothes are in the wash."

"I have a duffel bag downstairs with a change of clothes."

"You can't have it."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because I don't want you in those clothes."

"What am I supposed to wear?" I asked in mock bitterness.

"Something of mine," he said. He went to his walk-in closet (fancy pants) and returned with a t-shirt and boxers.

"I can't wear that out in public. At least let me wear a bra."

"We'll go drive-thru. And the shirt will be big on you. It'll be too loose for anybody to tell that you have incredible knockers."

"You're disgusting."

He grinned.

"Here," he said. He helped me into his clothes, and surprisingly the stupid stretches had worked. I was feeling like I could actually move now.

"I look like I'm wearing a circus tent," I said, looking down.

"Are you calling me fat?"

I raised an eyebrow. This guy had a runner's body. There wasn't a fat thing about him.

"I'm calling you gargantuan. Tall. Wide-shouldered. Whatever tickles your fancy. "

"So... fat."

"Now you're just fishing."

"What can I say? I'm a narcissist. I need to be praised."

"Wouldn't surprise me. What time is it?"

"Almost ten."

"Great. Taco Bell. Let's go."

"How about Chipotle instead?"

"Stop dictating my eating habits. Maybe I don't want the healthier option."

"They have really good guacamole."

"You know too much about me. Stop using it against me."

"I'm not using it against you. Empty calories will just make you feel like shit later."

"Stop doctoring me, you health nut. I'm considering revoking your boyfriend card now."

"I'm considering kicking your ass."

"Domestic violence already. I like it."

He laughed.

"If you really want Taco Bell then fine, we'll go to Taco Bell."

"I'm kinda feeling Chipotle now. The guac is calling to me."

"You're impossible."

The stretches actually had helped a lot. I was able to make it down the stairs without dying. Wes hovered over me like he was some parent with a video camera recording my first steps. I wasn't used to someone... caring.

—

The Chipotle was less than five minutes away. The area was so beautiful that I wondered why the hell I didn't live here, but then again a one and a half hour drive to work would probably kill me. The 91 and then the 55 in the morning. What a nightmare.

"Why did you choose to live here?" I asked.

"The rent is cheap and it's only twelve miles to work."

"No, it's not. I write policies for this zip code. Even the renter's insurance policies are through the roof."

"There was a fire at my complex a few years before I moved there. No one wants to live there, hence cheap rent. The apartments by the hospital are more expensive, actually."

"So you got lucky."

"I got lucky in many ways," he said, glancing at me.

I don't think I was ever going to truly understand what this guy saw in me. He was cheesy as hell, but I liked it.

"I'm not going inside in this," I said when we'd parked in front of the Chipotle. A circus tent and a pair of boxers. No thanks.

"You don't have to. Text me your order."

"You gonna let me pay?"

"You already know the answer to that question."

"I'm too hungry to argue with you. I'll get you back. Maybe like a ridiculously expensive Christmas present."

"I'll break up with you before Christmas and we'll get back together after the new year."

"Get out."

"I'll be right back," he said with a grin. "It's gonna have to be a burrito bowl though. No burritos."

"Gross. I don't want a salad."

"It's the same thing without the tortilla."

"I want the tortilla."

"I'll order a tortilla on the side then."

"I don't see how that makes a difference."

"It might. Text me your order."

White cilantro rice, black beans, steak, corn salsa, sour cream, hot salsa, cheese, lettuce, and extra extra extra guac. Simple order if it wasn't for the fact that it was going to be a damn salad. I texted all that to him, including the part about it being a damn salad.

He didn't answer. Asshole.

He was in and out of there in ten minutes. I guess there's no rush this early in the morning. I'll give you one guess of what he brought for a drink because I know you'll only need the one:

Water.

"You're just going to have to feed me again in a few hours. Salads don't fill me up."

"So I'll feed you again in a couple of hours. Eat your burrito bowl. I don't want to eat alone."

I popped off the lid and tried to look more annoyed than I actually was. It wasn't a bad salad because it was literally everything that I got in my burritos. And he did get me a tortilla on the side as promised.

"Do you have to check in with your work? I know today was probably a workday for you. Sorry to keep you from it."

"It's okay. I haven't taken a personal day in a long time. I'll just check the call stats and answer a few emails if I have to, but otherwise my supervisors should be able to hold things down for a day," I said, grabbing my phone.

"Call stats? For the call center?"

"Yeah. I check the stats remotely. They go over our hold times and transfers and after-call work and things like that. There's a quota for all of that. I monitor it pretty closely because it's the most important aspect of our jobs, second only to servicing the customers of course. I keep a lot of supervisors, probably more than I should, so I can break up the agents into smaller teams to boost efficiency. They get a lot more personal assistance and guidance from their supervisors that way."

"I'm starting to see what kind of boss you are."

"Yeah, a mean one."

"That's my favorite thing about you," he said. We shared a smile.

I was logging in remotely through my phone, flipping through the bullshit authorizations until I found the call stats.

"What the fuck?" I dropped my fork.

"What? You okay?" Wes asked, sitting up.

"The hold times are through the fucking roof. I need to call in and see what the hell is going on. Do you mind?"

"Nope. This should be entertaining."

The odds of the supervisors being at their desks were extremely low. I knew they were probably running around losing their fucking minds, hoping to God that I wasn't about to walk in through the doors. I called the main department line for the secretary. She was usually at her desk—that was her fucking job.

"This is Darlene."

"I'm going to kill you."

"Celine?"

"Why didn't you call me?"

"Um—"

"You knew I'd find out eventually."

"They told me not to tell you."

"Who told you?"

"The supervisors."

"They don't have the authority to do that."

"I didn't know."

"Yes, you did. Now get me a supervisor before I come down there and fire you."

"Right away."

I didn't even bother picking up my fork again. I'd completely lost my appetite. Why the hell would the hold times be five times below goal? That made no sense. We hardly ever went below goal; the worst we'd ever been was six percent below goal. This was five hundred percent in the negatives. This was a fucking nightmare. There were so many precautions, so many procedures and backdoors to prevent all of this. How was it possible to fuck up this badly within three hours of opening?

"I'll never get over how hot you are when you do that," Wes said, pulling me out of my thoughts.

"You should plug your ears. You're not going to want to hear this. It'll change your whole perception of me."

"You're acting like I've never seen you dehumanize an employee before," he said, grinning. God, he liked it.

I'd been listening to the hold music for so long that I'd already heard it looping four times. It was just pissing me off. I was considering driving down there and bursting in through the doors wearing Wes's boxers and oversized shirt. They already think I'm crazy anyways.

"This is Paul."

Fucking seriously? Paul doesn't know shit about shit. He wouldn't know how to handle this.

"Not you, Paul. Get me somebody else."

"I can handle this, Celine. Tell me what to do."

"No, you can't. Get me Lisa."

"On it."

"And I better not hear that annoying hold music for more than three minutes."

"I'll get Lisa."

Wes was enjoying this a little too much. He'd even put his fork down to give all his attention to my meltdown.

"I feel like I should have some popcorn for this," he said. "This is the most entertaining thing I've witnessed in a long time."

"Glad to hear that the end of my career amuses you so much."

"This won't end your career."

"No, but I'll have to answer for it. It's my fault I promoted fucking idiots."

"I'm sure they're not idiots. Maybe it's just something complex that they don't know how to handle."

"I could've forgiven that if they'd just called me. These stats have been plummeting for the last three hours."

"Oh, then definitely fire them. Fire them all."

My laugh was hollow and dry, but it was still a laugh.

Wes took my salad out of my lap and turned it onto my tortilla with meticulous care, his fingers holding down the sides, wrapping them up.

"What are you doing?"

"Making you a burrito to make you feel better."

That was about the nicest thing anyone had ever done for me. All he'd done was turned my salad into a burrito, but the sentiment meant so much to me. I was used to my emotions being in overdrive in situations like this. They were always the bad emotions, the ones controlled by unhappiness and bitterness. It was the person I needed to be to be successful at my job. I had to be ruthless. But I'd also had to sacrifice a lot.

Like my humanity.

But here was Wes, handing me my humanity back in a burrito. He could tell I was touched. He brushed my cheek with his thumb. It was a gesture I'd never understood before. Why did people do that? But I was understanding it now. It was innocent. Affectionate. Like just a tiny little touch was still more than enough.

"This is Lisa."

"I should fire you," I said, forgetting everything about humanity the second I heard her voice. She was responsible for this. Jesus Christ, she better have a good explanation.

"I'm so sorry. I've been dealing with this all morning."

"You should have called me."

"You never take any time off. I didn't want to call you and bother you."

"You not calling me is bothering me. Tell me what's going on."

"Portal is down again. Customer Service and Insurance systems are completely at a standstill."

"Great. What are you doing to rectify that?"

"I'm on hold with IT. They're working on it."

"And what's happening to all the calls?"

"They're on hold."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Lisa. You'll run us into the ground. You're my senior supervisor. We're not paying you to sit around on your ass waiting on IT to keep the department running every time Portal crashes. We just went over this the other night. What the hell is wrong with you?"

Ah, there goes my temper. I'm known as the Dragon Lady for a reason.

"I didn't know what else to do."

"I trained you for this. You should know exactly what to do. Get a pen and paper and jot this down."

"Portal's never been down this long before."

"You should still be able to think on your feet and figure this out. It's a simple fix. Got that pen and paper?"

"Yeah."

"We just went over this the other night, but I'll go over it again. Pay attention to every word I say because I'll be thorough. If Insurance and Customer Service are down then so is Claims. Same system. The adjusters won't be able to keep up with this volume. We're too backed up. Route all new claims calls to Customer Service. Hand out the manual claims sheets. They're easy to fill out. Just answer the questions and fill in the blanks. Darlene will have a copy. Get all bull-pen agents off the phones and have them make copies, scan and email the claims sheets to adjusters before the end of the day. Absolutely zero, and listen to me Lisa, zero bull-pen agents are to be on the phones. Keeping up so far?"