Page 32 of Bad & Bossy

Shit. I’d almost forgotten where we were.

I gently picked up Drew’s carrier and followed the nurse back to our allocated room. The doctor, clad in his white jacket and greying hair, beamed at us with a customer-service smile as we walked in.

The doctor weighed him, examined him, checked the little red spot beneath his left ear that I’d noticed the night before, and gave him the all-clear. Apparently, babies can get pimples. All in all, it was an uneventful checkup, and although I was glad that he was in a good percentile, I couldn’t shake the irritation from Vee and the memory off.

“Before you go,” Dr. Sinclair said, catching me off guard as I packed up the diaper bag, “I wanted to check if you’d been able to get any more medical information from Drew’s paternal side. We still need to update that portion of his record.”

“I haven’t had the chance to speak to his father yet.” Lie. “I doubt there’s anything significant.”

“If Andrew’s dad is in network, we could obtain his medical history fairly easily?—”

“I’ll figure it out,” I snapped, the words coming out harsher than I intended.

Dr. Sinclair’s brows rose as he jotted something down. “If you don’t want to, that’s fine. It would just be useful to know if there’s anything on Dad’s side that we should be looking out for.”

I huffed a sigh and lifted Drew in his carrier. “I’ll figure it out,” I repeated, hoping that maybe that time, he’d heard me.

————

The brewery loomed over me like a sleep-paralysis demon, inescapable and unmoving. This would be my first shift back after my recent night with Cole. I wasn’t looking forward to the inevitable awkwardness or the potential conversation—I just wanted to keep to myself and get back home to my son.

Vee had apparently canceled the nanny’s shift for the evening to take Drew on her own. I’d chewed her out for it when we’d gotten home from the pediatrician, telling her that she couldn’t just take a shift away at the last minute, that it could unexpectedly impact the nanny’s income. In truth, I was more concerned about leaving her alone with him after all the talk about our parents. In the back of my mind, I worried that she might try to take him to meet them without my knowledge.

By that point I didn’t have much of a choice, though.

Pushing my way through the doors, I walked over to the tour guide closet, hung my purse, and slid on my vest with Pearson Beers printed across the chest and back. I tried not to appear annoyed as I clocked in, giving a courteous nod to my manager, Allison, and the handful of waitresses showing up at the same time as me. I didn’t want to bring my frustration with Vee to work.

As I slipped out and through the hall, down past the elevator and through the doors into the main brewery space, I caught a glimpse of dusty blonde hair and a neatly pressed black suit.

I froze, half-hidden by one of the massive metal tanks, and watched as Cole spoke casually to a man I didn’t recognize. He grinned eagerly, almost as eager as he looked before his mouth devoured every sensitive inch of my skin, and out popped a single dimple on his left side.

God dammit.

Okay, so it wasn’t a one-time thing. It’s okay. It never was. We knew this, I tried to tell myself. But god, why did he have to be within reaching distance nowadays? I’d already proven to both of us how easily I folded when it came to him. I didn’t need it going any further, didn’t need that temptation and the potential for another drunken blowup.

His eyes locked with mine.

As I watched his lids drop and his smile turn into a smirk, I knew I’d been caught. I sprinted across the brewery, hightailing it to the other side where the break room was. I still had five minutes until my next tour was scheduled to start and I’d rather spend it in there than being preyed upon by the one person I didn’t have the guts to speak to right now.

A handful of waitresses and a fellow tour guide stood in the corner, cups of water in hand, giggling amongst themselves. I collapsed into one of the chairs and stared at the door, hoping he wouldn’t follow me in.

“There’s no way he was in rehab,” one of the girls snickered, lifting her cup of water to her lips. “I bet he just learned to hide it better.”

Rehab.

“No, I’m positive,” another said. “I heard him mentioning it to his friend the other day. He was talking about things he’d learned while he was gone, and the guy asked if those were things they taught in rehab. Cole nodded yes.”

Cole. I turned my attention to them, fully listening, no longer caring about who walked in the door.

“He was probably joking, Sarah.”

She shook her head. “No, he was definitely serious. I’m positive he was in rehab.”

“For drinking?” I blurted. The girls turned to me, quizzical looks on their faces as if I should already know the answer.

“Oh shit, that’s right, you didn’t see him before he left,” Sarah said, her mouth popping open as if the cogs were turning in her head. “He used to drink here all the time. It got out of control—a lot—but most of the time he was barely functioning. Like he was constantly on autopilot. Definitely an alcoholic.”

And just like that, everything clicked.

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