Page 24 of Doughn't Let Me Go

What the…

“And I like children. All of mine are grown and out of the house and refuse to give me grandbabies, much to my dismay.”

She says this like her childrenoweher grandchildren.

Strike two, Marybelle.

I clear my throat, unsure how to respond.

“How old is your child, Mr. Jones?”

I don’t correct her on my name.

“Kyrie is seven.”

“Kyrie? What sort of name is that? Strange. Very strange.”

Strike three.

Though I know this interview is over, I continue going through the motions.

By the end of it, I’m certain there is no way Marybelle truly believes she has a shot at the position. I’ve made it clear in my curt responses and closed-off body language.

“Thank you again for meeting with me,” I say, getting to my feet.

She stands as well. “No, thankyoufor this wonderful opportunity. I very much look forward to working with you.”

This woman…

I give her a tight smile, grab my phone and coffee from the table, and make a hasty exit before I blurt out something I can’t take back.

I fold myself into my car and check my phone. The next place I’m meeting someone is at Slice.

Interesting choice.

I make the short drive over and check my clock. I’m nearly thirty minutes early for the appointment.

I could go in early, but an uneasiness settles in my stomach.

I hate the idea of going in there because all it’s going to do is make me think about Dory, and I’ve been doing a really damn good job of not thinking about her all morning.

I didn’t think about her when I was in the shower and my cock ached with a heaviness like it hadn’t just spent the night buried inside the hottest heat it’s ever felt.

I didn’t even think of her when I found her socks tangled in my sheets as I stripped my bed so I could wash away the memories of our night together.

She didn’t once cross my mind when Fran asked me how I spent my impromptu night off, noting that if this was the state my house was in when she came over, she couldn’t imagine how much work I got done last night.

But now, sitting in the parking lot of the place where it all started, she’s there, creeping in the background of my thoughts, just begging to be at the forefront.

I could both curse and thank Wren and Foster for offering to take Kyrie again today while I conduct the interviews.

Curse because I could use the distraction.

Thank because I don’t think I could paste a fake smile on my face, not even for my daughter.

I glance at the clock. Still twenty-five minutes to go.

Might as well go on in and grab some lunch.

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