Page 332 of The Christmas Wife

I nod slowly.

“Come work for me.”

My jaw drops. "You’re kidding."

"Am I?” His eyes glint.

My heart crashes into my rib cage. This is a joke—him asking me to work for him. Only, it doesn’t feel like that. His harsh features indicate he has not one funny bone in his gorgeous, sexy, chiseled out of granite, body. And to have him as my boss? This brooding, unfriendly, severe man, this…dark, handsome in an uncompromising manner man, who’d relish ordering me around, is not something I want. Of course, not.

"Of course, you are.” I turn to face him.“You don’t know me. You have no idea of my qualifications. Why would you want me to work for you?"

When the expression on his face doesn’t change, I swallow, spare a glance around the room, and find no one willing to meet my eyes.

"Youarejoking?” I ask in a small voice.

He tilts his head. “What I am, is offering you a job.”

"A-a job?" I manage to choke out.

"I assume you need one?"

"What makes you think—" I shut up because there’s a knowing look on his features.What gave it away?I'm still a plus-size woman. Never mind, I've been surviving on dry ramen for the last week, ever since the preschool went bust. My body shows no signs of losing these stupid curves. Good thing Gio had already moved out of the apartment when I lost my job. There's no way I would have wanted to bother her with my problems or allowed her to buy my food. And I know she would have insisted. It's not that I don't want to burden her, because I know money isn't an issue for her and Rick, but I’m too ashamed to admit I need help. I need to do this on my own. But what hurts the most is not being able to see the kids I used to take care of.

Between my aching heart and my empty stomach, I’ve only managed to make it to two interviews, both for jobs I didn’t get. I'm running out of options. And there's no way, I'm calling up my family. My stepmother and half-sisters would be only too happy to tell me, again, I'm a failure. I had enough of that when I lived with them. I am not subjecting myself to that misery again. So yeah, I need a job.

He sees the expression on my face, and a flash of satisfaction colors his before he schools his features back into a mask. He reaches into his suit pocket and pulls out a card before handing it to me. "Be at my office, eight a.m. Monday morning."

3

Edward

"You think she’ll turn up?" Sinclair spots me as I bench press twice my body’s weight. My chest squeezes down, my shoulders scream in protest, my biceps threaten to tear apart, but I ignore it. Breathe through it. In and out.

"She will."

"And if she doesn’t?" He assists me as I push the barbell up and over my head.

"She will," I grunt.

"There’s a chance she won’t."

"If she doesn’t, there are more fish in the sea, but she will." I lower the weight down to my chest, hold, then he assists me as I hoist the barbell up again. The tendons on my throat strain, and my triceps feel like they are being shredded. I push the barbell up and hold. And hold. Sweat runs down my temples, between my pecs. My stomach muscles harden, my thighs contract. I push my feet into the floor and brace. Brace.You need to bear the weight. Bear the mistakes of your past. Bear how you were abandoned by your parents when you needed them most.Bear how she decided you were not the one.Not that I blame her. Baron would be—has been—a better husband for her. And now, they have a child. A family. Moisture trickles out from the corners of my eyes, joining the beads of sweat on my face.

"You okay, mate?" Sinclair murmurs.

"Why wouldn’t I be?" I begin to lower the barbell down, and he doesn’t let go. He helps me as I push up and through the pain again.Work through it. Keep riding it. At some point, you’ll find the calm in the center of the storm.At some point, I’ll figure out my life’s purpose.

It's the only reason I took the meeting with my grandfather. My father’s father, who I never met before. Never even knew existed. Imagine my surprise when he called me and introduced himself. My father never spoke about him.

After the incident, the communication with my parents broke down. They were at a loss for how to deal with what had happened to me. And I took refuge in whatever helped me find oblivion from the emotional pain I was carrying—am still carrying—inside.

I almost hung up, but he pleaded with me to meet him. Just once. Ten minutes of my time. I finally agreed because, why not?

Being the General Manager of the London Ice Kings has given me some focus. Working with Rick Mitchell, the captain of the team, we steered the team to victory in the League. From being the underdogs to one of the highest paid teams in the world, and in one season. It was unheard of. I'd accepted the position as a favor to Knight, the owner of the team. But in working toward a greater goal, I discovered some measure of satisfaction. You can take the priest out of the church, but you can’t take the need to help people from him. It's also the reason I agreed to my grandfather's request.

"You’ve been through a lot in the past week." Sinclair helps me ease the bar onto the rack. I draw in a breath, feel my heartthunder in my chest, and the blood pounds in my ears, drowning out all thoughts for a few seconds. It’s the main reason I work out. Pushing my body in a way I can’t push my mind. Controlling how much I can lift in a manner I never can control my thinking.

All those restraints, the limitations I imposed on myself. I lived my life according to the directives of the Church. Found some modicum of peace in the routine, the daily prayers, the sermons… All the while, knowing the storm brewing inside me would break loose, and ignoring the warning signs. Until it did. I sinned, and punished myself by leaving the house of God.

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