Page 60 of The Naughty Elf

I can’t keep making these same mistakes.

Even if all I want are the three of them.

I don’t hear any yelling, fighting, or chest-pounding territorial garbage, so that’s a good sign, right?

After a quick pee—which you should always do after sex—I face the mirror. My eye makeup is smudged a little, my cheeks are flushed, my mouth swollen from kisses, and my hair is mussed from Jackson’s fingers. I’m a mess, but not a disaster.

I use damp fingers to brush my locks back into a sensible bun. Tissue cleans up the uneven liner around my eyes. A fresh coat of mascara will help. So will a brush of powder and lipstick.

Taking a few deep breaths, I pull on as much armor as I have access to and open the door. The hallway is clear, but tension mounts in my chest.

I don’t let my confident facade drop as I march into my office, because what’s waiting for me is what I’d been expecting. Ashley is lounging in one of the chairs, and Jackson is leaning by one of the windows.

Panic sets in. It’s just too many things today. Too many swings back and forth between the extremes, and I feel like I’m going to break.

They must see it on me, because Ashley is sitting straighter, and Jackson pushes off the wall.

I’m behind my desk, gathering my things and stuffing them in my bag.

“Ginger.”

I’m not sure who says it. It’s like a gong is ringing in my head, and I need to escape. Bag in hand, I charge out of there before either of them can trap me in.

I make it down the first few steps before Jackson’s hand is around my arm, forcing me to face him. The concern in his features is another blow.

“I can’t do this right now. It’s too much.” I bite back the trembling of my lip and drop another step. “It’s too much.”

Jackson releases his hold, and after a second’s pause, I’m flying down the stairs and out the door to my car before anyone else can intercept me. Tears stain my cheeks on the way home, but I don’t give in completely.

Parked in my driveway, I take a moment to breathe, wipe the wetness from my cheeks, and ready myself for my family. My mom’s truck is in her usual spot, and Gracie should be working on her art project.

I’m not really ready to face Mom and her all-seeing gaze. She’s too perceptive. Always has been. And she’s always seen through my shenanigans with a ninety-nine percent accuracy. The only time she didn’t know what was going on was with Phil—Gracie’s absent father— who swooped in for a whirlwind romance, only to leave me devastated a mere month later.

Taking a deep breath, I finally exit my car, dragging my bag inside with me. Mom is lounging on the couch with a glass of white wine in her hand. She and Gracie’s favorite show is up on the screen, and Gracie is spread out on the coffee table, working on her flower field scene.

We’ve been looking at Monet and Van Gogh for her imitation assignment.

Mom peers over her shoulder at me with a smile, but it drops the moment she sees me. I barely make it into the kitchen as she bends to whisper to my daughter and stands to meet me at the fridge.

I’ve got a canned cocktail hidden in the back, and once I’ve cracked it open and taken a sip, I feel a bit better.

Until I meet Mom’s gaze again.

Her touch sweeps down my arms. “What’s happened, my baby?”

I shake my head, pushing away the bubbling emotions that I just got under control. Glancing over at Gracie, I keep my voice low. “It’s just been a rough day.”

“I can see that. You haven’t had that look in your eyes for a good many years.” She squeezes my upper arms, a soothing gesture meant to reassure me, but my heart just won’t stop sinking. “Tell me about it, baby. Tell your momma.”

I suck in a shaky breath, afraid to admit what I’ve been doing to my mother. I don’t want her to judge me, look down on my choices, although she never has in the past.

Mom cups my cheek in her cool hand, rougher than it was when I was a child. “First of all, I’m not blind, honey. I was a young woman once, too, you know. And secondly, I don’t plan on telling your father.”

That breaks the dam in me. “Does he have any clue?”

“That you’re having sex with all three of your bosses? No. He doesn’t. They’re his friends. He’d never even entertain the thought. And it’s a good thing. For you.” Her mouth lifts with a smile, and she pats my shoulders again.

“For them,” I counter. It’s not me I’m worried about. I’ve always been a daddy’s girl, and nothing can change that for us.

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