Page 42 of Hotshot Mogul

“Callie, you know where Anneliese is.” My voice cracked as I tested my suspicion. “Does she know I’m not the father of Beth’s baby?”

She stared down at her hands and picked a chip in her red nail polish.

My anger exploded. I banged the table with my fists. Coffee spilled onto saucers. “Son of a bitch. Dammit, Callie.”

Donnie, all two-hundred fifty-plus pounds of him, bounded toward us, smelling like cooking oil. “Problem here, Callie?”

“I’m sorry, man,” I said. “Could you ask Livvie to bring two shots of bourbon?”

“You good with that, Callie?” Donnie asked, staring at her.

She met his gaze. “I am. All good.”

Dude stared at me hard before he left, then returned with the bourbon bottle and two shot glasses. I poured one and downed it, then another and sipped it slow. It burned smooth, dissolving the edges of my shock and anger.

“How is she?” My damn voice cracked again.

“She’s good.”

“What. Is. She. Doing?” Sip.

“Taking accelerated English as a Second Language classes at community college in Traverse City.”

So damn close?

“Other classes, too. All A’s.” She sounded like a proud mama. “She has a work visa. So, I’ve been paying her.”

Sip. “For what?”

“The conservancy stuff. She’s been managing it. I help with some of the paperwork, that’s all.”

“Did you tell her I’m not the father…?”

She nodded. “I did.”

The results were in five months ago. My last frissons of hope drained away. My chest hurt. She’d stayed away. She didn’t want me.

“She knows I’m here, that I’ve been here all along.”

“Yes.”

The bubble I’d lived in for the past year burst. What I thought we had was only a dream, then. I finished the shot of bourbon and stood.

“There’s something else,” Callie said, shredding her napkin. “You need to hear it from her. It wouldn’t be right…”

Anneliese had had the whole year to tell me whatever it was. “Message received, Callie. I’m heading back to Chicago. I was going to wait for my parents to finish some research for me. But it doesn’t matter now.”

I slid my business card across the table. “You can reach me at the number on the card for conservancy stuff. You and your vendor are managing fine. I don’t expect anything to come up.”

I took a last look around Callie’s—the checkered tablecloths, wildflowers in vases on the tables, the spackled floor—and left.

Outside, the sky was unreal blue. I wiped the wetness off my cheeks and got into my Jeep, picturing Anneliese sitting next to me that day on the sand dunes. The wind blew her hair around her head like a halo. No point in keeping the Jeep anymore. I hit shuffle on my song list and got “Yesterday” from the Beatles.

Except I didn’t believe in yesterday. Not anymore.

***

I had the weirdest urge to turn around. I waited on the platform as the train, the Amtrak Wolverine line, pulled in and slid to a stop. I was first to board, hauling my suitcase and laptop into business class.

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