Page 139 of A Temporary Forever

It’s not like I have any other options.

His phone buzzes again. He groans and disconnects the call, but it lights up again.

“Sorry,” he says and turns away. “What?” he barks into the receiver.

I watch him like a hawk, mostly to forget about my nerves, but it doesn’t do me any good. His shoulders tense, and my stomach rolls immediately.

I clutch at my midriff as I brace my back against the wall.

Caleb hangs up, spitting a string of profanities.

“What happened?”

“Cormac got arrested.”

“What? You need to go.” I offer before I even consider what it means to me.

“I’m not leaving you here.”

Gripping his arm, I force him to look at me. “Caleb, you reminded me a gazillion times that this is just a formality. Go take care of fucking Quinn. I’ll be fine.”

It costs me all my acting skills to sound confident. A part of me wants him to stay, but that is the scared and desperate part that needs a knight in shining armor.

The much bigger part is equally scared, but refusesto be desperate. I know I have his support, and what good would it do for him to sit outside?

He shakes his head. “No way am I leaving you here. Especially with Cressard being a no-show.”

“Caleb van den Linden, get the fuck out of here. You didn’t start a company to have it fucked up now. What did he do?”

“I don’t know… He’s been charged with being drunk and disorderly.” Caleb lowers his head, shaking it.

“Just go, Caleb, please. I know you support me. I’m stronger because of your support. And knowing I have it is enough. You don’t need to sit here, waiting. Please.”

He studies me, a war brewing behind his eyes. “I’m going to fucking kill him.”

“Don’t you dare. I’m getting my green card, and I want you around, not in prison.” My smile stretches stronger than the feelings inside me.

His chest moves up and down, his Adam’s apple bobbing in a similar rhythm. He eyes me like he can see inside me, like he can assess if leaving is a mistake.

So I lean into my performing skills and give him a smile, a genuine smile. “Go.”

He shakes his head, contradicting his words, “I’ll send Peter to pick you up. Call me the minute you step out.”

“Stop ordering me around and go save your CEO.”

I’m pretty sure I’ve been sitting in this office for at least three hours. The clock on the wall must be broken. No way it’s been only five minutes.

Five minutes in which Officer Martinez introduced herself and said she’d get us coffees. She hasn’t returned yet.

The air is thick with the scent of something sanitary, and something cinnamon-like. The sparse furnishings—a metal desk, a couple of mismatched chairs, a filing cabinet in the corner—do nothing to ease my mounting anxiety.

I fidget on the cold, hard chair, the sterile white walls closing in around me.

The door opens and I jump up. Martinez, a weary-looking woman in a gray pantsuit, narrows her eyes.

Merde. I’m already failing this. Nobody this nervous is innocent. I should just tell her about my bureauphobia.

Would that help me, or just make her laugh at my pathetic attempt to lie?

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