Page 23 of Meet Me at Midnight

My hands pluck the note from the roses, my fingers shaking with anticipation. I open the tiny envelope and pull out the card, and instantly, my giant balloon of hope and daydreams and delusional Beau-filled fantasies deflates until it’s a pathetic, shriveled-up piece of latex.

I recognize the handwriting painfully well—my father’s assistant, Shirlene.

Juniper,

I still think you should come work for me.

Then I’d get to see you more.

Love and miss you so much, my darling girl,

Daddy

Ugh. Same old words, same old actions. Even if I worked for my dad, I’d still see him as much as I see him now—a big fat never. His and Lola’s feet practically never touch the ground.

I don’t even bother opening the box, already knowing it’s probably some expensive bracelet or necklace from Tiffany’s. From the outside, the stuff seems nice—that at least the thought counts. But that’s only if the thought comes from the right person, and I know for a fact that this one came from Shirlene.

Almost all of them do. Well, except the ones that come from Carmen, my father’s backup assistant when Shirlene is too busy with all of his day-to-day shit.

“Do you have a girlfriend, Steve?” I ask, my voice audibly scratchy. Swallowing tears always makes my throat raw.

“I’m married, actually.”

“Perfect,” I comment and slide the pink roses and Tiffany box back toward him. “I think you should take these gorgeous flowers and this box and give them to her when you get home tonight. Or, if you can, sneak away and surprise her with them.”

His eyes go wide. “I don’t… That’s way too much. I can’t take—”

“Please?” I plead. “You’d actually be doing me a favor.”

“I’d be doing you a favor by taking these flowers and gift?”

“A huge one.”

I don’t want to see any more reminders of my father’s make-believe. I don’t want to face how naïve I was to hope it was anything else.

He searches my eyes for a long moment and then smiles, giving in with a nod. “She’s gonna lose her mind.”

I grin. “Good.”

I leave before he has a chance to protest, staring down at the marble floor as I make the loneliest walk I’ve ever done back to the elevator. I rub at my forearms furiously, their position crossed over my stomach, and try valiantly not to cry. I don’t know if anything will ever be the way I want it to be—with my father or Beau—and freaking hell, does reality sting.

The elevator dings its arrival, and I step on. But just as I do, Beau comes jogging toward me, one arm held high. “Hold the elevator!”

Nerves prick at my belly, and I almost let the doors slide closed, trying to avoid him entirely, but when he adds, “June!” I can’t ignore him.

Beau strides on, and I slip into the far corner, trying to hide my somewhat obvious feelings from one of the most observant men on the planet.

“How’s the day, Juniper June?” he asks, and I clear my throat before answering.

“Good. Busy, but good.” I’m surprised but proud of how normal I actually sound.

“Good,” he says, his eyes looking up to a small elevator screen that shows each floor as we pass. He turns to smile at me, and my knees wobble. “I stayed up way too late last night. I’ve been behind all damn day.”

I suck my lips into my mouth, nod, and pray like hell he can’t see that my whole body is vibrating with nerves.

The elevator dings.

“Have a good day, June,” Beau says, striding off the cart without another word, and I follow after him, looking painfully like a dutiful puppy, thanks to our matching routes.

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