Page 88 of The Wrong Boss

The next blow came via email about a week later, from a fancy law firm in the city who said they were representing Mr. Christianson. I read through it half a dozen times, then looped Carla into the conversation. She called me later that day.

“They want to meet for mediation,” she said. “That’s good.”

“It is?”

“It’s a conversation. If we can come to an agreement without going to court, then it’s better for everyone.”

“Right,” I said, dread scraping its nails gently down my spine.

“I’ll set it up?”

I gulped. “Sure,” I agreed, then hung up and had to sit down for a while.

Life went on in between bombshells. The email came, and the mediation was organized, but in between there was school and dinner and laundry. There were science projects and math tests. There was my groveling phone call to Mr. Wentworth, who gave me my old job back with a gruff, “Place damn near fell apart without you.”

The rhythm of my days was mostly normal, but the looming threat of Cole’s presence constantly plagued me. I talked to Carla about my rights, about what would be reasonable as far as visitation, about my need to protect my daughter. I was very rational and reasonable.

And on the inside, I ached. I tortured myself with thoughts of what could have been. What if I’d found him, all those years ago? If we’d made a life together, if our love had grown? What if Evie had had a father all along? If she’d had her own room from the time she was born, and all the advantages money could buy?

I thought about the company retreat and the way he’d made me feel. For those few, shimmering days, I’d been beautiful and capable and alive. There’d been a fire inside me—hope for a better life. Love and sex and laughter and light.

But that hadn’t been real. It had been built on my secret, onmy own spinelessness. I had deserved for it to be ripped away from me. The hurt I felt was warranted. Cole was right to be angry with me.

I needed to be better.

The day of the mediation, I finished all my work and reminded Mr. Wentworth that I needed the afternoon off. Then I steeled myself, got on the train, and made my way to the mediator’s office in Manhattan. My palms sweated the entire commute. My heart beat unsteadily, but I forced myself to sit still.

Evie deserved to know her father, and Cole deserved the chance to have his say. I wouldn’t be a coward anymore.

Carla met me in the lobby, and we rode the elevator to the twelfth floor of the building. We entered a conference room with a wall of windows and a fake plant in the corner. The mediator was a tired-looking man of middle age. He had a receding hairline and kind blue eyes, and he introduced himself as Thomas. The chair I dropped into squeaked with every movement, so I got up and shuffled to the next one. My palms were sweaty again, so I wiped them on my pants one more time.

And then the elevator opened.

It had only been a little over three weeks since I’d seen him, but I’d forgotten just how powerful his presence really was. Cole stepped out of the elevator wearing a white shirt under a perfectly tailored black suit. His collar was open, and I caught a glimpse of his strong throat. His hair had been freshly cut, and it shone under the fluorescent lights of the hallway. He prowled toward us, his jaw set, his muscles loose.

“Remember what we talked about,” Carla said quietly,patting my thigh under the table. The problem was that I couldn’t even remember my own name. Not when Cole’s dark eyes clashed with mine, or when he crossed the threshold into the conference room and looked at me like he was looking forward to tearing my flesh from my bones in strips.

My breath trembled. Carla stood as a team of lawyers streamed in behind him, but I didn’t trust my legs to hold me, so I remained seated. Cole sat directly across from me. His eyes burned holes through me, but I gathered my courage and met them.

The weight of his stare was immense. Suddenly, I was keenly aware of just how small and powerless I really was. Fear slammed into me. He would take my daughter away. He’d fight me for her and win.

I tore my gaze away and stared at the blank notepad in front of me. My breathing was ragged, and I fought to get it under control.

“Gentlemen, ladies,” Thomas started. “Thank you for your time today. I’d like to start by going over our goals for mediation…”

While Thomas talked, I stole another glance at Cole. He was watching the mediator with a hard look in his eyes, his jaw clenched tight. Fury rolled off him in waves, and I realized that I’d harbored a tiny hope that he might still have feelings for me.

He didn’t. He was beyond angry, and I suspected he’d love to crush me like a bug. My heart gave a gasp of pain.

Carla patted my leg again, and when I glanced at her, she gave me an encouraging nod. I took a deep breath, straightened, and tried to focus on the present moment.

What mattered was coming to an agreement that was best for Evie. Not my silly broken heart. I’d brought that one on myself, and I deserved every bit of the pain that came with it.

Carla’s voice pierced my thoughts: “…and we’re prepared to organize supervised visitation once a month for three months, after which we can reassess the frequency.”

“You’d only let me see her once a month after keeping her from me for over six years?” Cole asked, voice cold.

“I didn’t even know your last name for most of those six years, Cole,” I shot back. “At most, I kept her from you for eight weeks.”

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