Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 113812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
“The peach festival?” After I confirm with a nod, she smiles, and it’s the first genuine one I’ve seen in years. “I think I judged things too harshly. Sounds like a lot of fun. He’ll love that.” Releasing a breath that sounds like it’s been locked in her chest for years, she asks, “One more thing, Tagger. Beckett keeps mentioning someone. Who’s Miss Christine?”
Shit.
My gaze redirects to my attorney and his legal assistant coming out of the conference room and heading our way. “She owns one of the ranches out there.”
“Ah.” She’s still smiling, so that’s good. “He had a good time with her and still talks about feeding the horses carrots and how much she loves mushy lima beans.”
“Yeah.” It’s all I can say. I’ve been thinking about Pris a lot since I left, but reaching out seemed to be crossing one of those lines we put in place without realizing it. For all I know, she could be dating someone. Though, I hope it’s not that deputy.
I work, sleep, get Beck every other week, and repeat since being back in the city. Other women don’t cross my mind. Since I was with Pris, I’ve lost interest in everyone else. I wonder if she has?
Mike stops and asks, “Everything okay?”
“Yes, we’re good.” I eye Anna, and say, “I’ll see you on Sunday to pick up Beckett.”
“See you then.”
I walk out with Mike, and I'm glad to be putting this behind me as well before any more questions about Christine can be asked. I’m glad Beck liked her so much, but Anna won’t be happy if she learns more.
When I return to the office, my assistant has a sandwich waiting on my desk. I hang my jacket on the hook behind the door, then sit to unwrap it. Turkey and Havarti. Kendra knows me well.
A knock draws my eyes up. With my mouth full, I wave her in. She comes closer but doesn’t sit. “Figured you wouldn’t eat.”
“I appreciate it.” I glance at the three screens on the far wall, which are updating the major markets. Habit. She didn’t ask, but she’s been a good support in the office and for me while dealing with this custody mess during the past few years. “It’s settled. We both agree. Right down the center.”
“That’s great to hear.”
“She’s a good mom. I’m a good dad. He deserves equal time with us.”
When she smiles, pride enters her eyes. Older than me with the patience of an angel, she’s been with me for more than five years, and it’s worked out well. She’s almost like a second mom to me. She worries too much about me eating or hydrating, gets me to take deep breaths when my blood pressure shoots through the ceiling, and will stay long after it’s time to leave until I force her out. I’m fortunate to have the support. “It’s good to move on. My divorce was nasty. The custody battle wiped me out. It’s nice that you two can come to an agreement that you’re both satisfied with. And having that negativity out of your life will benefit not only you and your health but also your time with your son.” She walks toward the door. “Eat up. You have a meeting with the boss in fifteen.”
“I also have a million calls and twice as many emails to deal with.”
At the door, she says, “Boss meeting first. Calls second. The emails have been sorted by priority. Start on the red accounts first, yellow second, and green last.”
“Thank you, Kendra. I owe you.”
“In the form of a generous bonus check at the end of the year.” She knows how to make an exit.
I wasn’t needed in that meeting, but it still ate over an hour of my day. I return to my office to find Baylor staring out my window.
“What brings you by?” I ask, coming around the chairs to shake his hand.
“We haven’t hung out in three weeks.”
Maneuvering around my desk, I sit and roll forward. “I see you every week at basketball. We’ve run twice in Central Park, and you’re seeing me now.”
“That’s not hanging out. That’s meetups with a purpose, to exercise.” He sits down. Leaning back in the chair, he kicks his feet up on my desk.
“Make yourself at home, why don’t you?”
“Thanks. Don’t mind if I do.”
I steeple my fingers, my gaze darting to the screens to see the markets closing. No surprises are a great thing in finance. He’s watching it, too, since his career is based in the same field. I work in the commercial sector. He’s a whiz in personal finance. We’ve both done very well for ourselves as two kids from Peachtree Pass, Texas.
When he turns back, he asks, “So what gives?”
“Busy.”
“Not that busy.”
So fucking confident he knows everything. Always was. “How do you know how busy I am?”