Page 78 of One More Time

Would this guy ever shut up? I looked over to my father, who eyed me with his hands folded on the table.

“No, I want to work for the company. Hockey is just a hobby,” I said again, keeping my tone flat as I downed another drink. I looked to my father again, who’d looked away to say something to Brittany. I let out a sigh of relief, hoping I passed his test.

Thankfully, young preppy Miles changed the subject and began rambling about gold stats. I kind of felt sorry for the guy—nowhere to be for Christmas except this dull party, with my snooty family and ‘future work colleagues.’ If things were different, I may have even liked the guy. But instead, I sat with a glass in my hand feeling like I was in the hot seat.

With lunch finished, I was finally able to snag a private moment to check my phone.

As soon as the screen turned on, multiple messages popped up.

Aussie Baby How’s your day going?

( 11:00)

Aussie Baby : Are you nearly done? I want to thank you for your gifts.

(14:00)

Aussie Baby: I’m probably being paranoid, but is everything okay?

(16:00)

Aussie Baby : Can you just text me telling me everything is okay? Tell me you’re stuck in a boring family event and that’s why you haven’t messaged me.

(18:00)

Aussie Baby: Okay, I know this way past one message too many, but can you please let me know you’re okay?

(19:00)

Aussie Baby: I know I’m acting like some crazed boyfriend, but past experience of you being with your father is making me worried. And you said you would be here after lunch—hours ago.

(20:00)

I hadn’t estimated the lunch running late, and now I was stuck in the refreshments room trying to escape. Every time I inched towards the door, another person pulled me aside to talk nonsense about things ranging from current affairs to my professors at school. I’d begun to grow tired of keeping my mask up, and it was getting hotter with every drink I had. The fire blazed with no reprieve; even taking off my jacket was inappropriate—God forbid I looked anything other than professional. Also, my father hated my tattoos; if they were on show, he would not be pleased.

Time passed, and it was like my father knew every time I tried to duck out—I was intercepted every time. I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket, letting me know someone was calling. Having had enough of talking to Mr. Hayes, who was discussing the current stock market, I gestured to the device in my hand. “So sorry. I have to take this.”

I left the stuffy room full of even stuffier people and ducked into my dad’s office. I perched on the large, wingback chair and answered the call.

“Boston?” That familiar voice soothed me more than the copious amounts of alcohol I’d consumed.

“Hey, baby.” I sighed in relief.

“What the hell, have you not heard of replying to a text? A simple ‘I’m okay’ would have sufficed.”

I leaned my head against the cool leather. “I know, baby. I’m sorry. My father has been watching me like a hawk, and I haven’t had a chance to get away at all. Every time I try, I’m cornered by some stuffy businessman.”

“Okay…Promise you’re okay?” I didn’t like the weariness in his tone.

“Yeah, baby. Not a single mark on me. I just need to find a safe escape out of here, so my father doesn’t get mad.”

Tyler hummed. “Okay. Well, come home soon, yeah?”

“I’ll work on it, baby, promise.” Those three magic words lingered on my tongue, but it wasn’t the time or place.

“Good, see you soon, Boston.”

“See you soon.”

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