Page 43 of Hotshot Mogul

I would not think of her. She’d stayed—all this time—and didn’t want me to know. Grieving sucked. Following the suggestions a counselor offered to the grief support group, I drove down to Ann Arbor and walked to the places where Diana and I had once spent time: the Quad, Dooley’s Bar, and our old apartment building. I told her how angry I was at her for dying and lying to me, pretending she wanted me when she wanted my money most of all. Then I donated money, a lot of it, in her name for pancreatic cancer research.

Anneliese stayed—and she didn’t tell me, which was, in effect, a lie. Just like Diana was a lie. If Anneliese really wanted me, she would have cared enough to trust me, trust us….

The conductor came by to scan tickets. I held up my phone. She smiled. She had pretty, interested brown eyes. I had to get back out there.

“Do you live in Chicago?” I asked. Smooth. Not. It was about as bad as ‘You from around here?’

“Skokie. It’s cheaper.”

The seats filled up. I tried again. “You know the area?”

“Yeah.” She lifted her eyebrows and smiled.

I felt nothing. Push past that. Give it a chance. Grief counseling had helped me see it wasn’t a betrayal of the one you lost to let someone else get close. I smiled and winked, my go-to move before Anneliese.

Brown eyes moved on. I opened my laptop, then a folder of specs.

“Deer turds.” It was a woman’s voice, just behind me. My blood chilled. Dead cold raced through my veins. It. Was. Not. Her.

“My friend Callie texted me my ticket, but my phone battery died. My charger is in my suitcase up front. I thought I had it in my bag.”

Anneliese sat, flustered, rifling through her huge bag, so beautiful my chest hurt. I pulled out my charger from the computer bag. “Here.” Brown eyes took a step back. Anneliese’s hand brushed mine. Adrenalin raced through my body.

“Thank you, Bruce.”

Brown eyes scanned her ticket, then looked at me. “Later?” she asked.

I shook my head no. It wouldn’t be fair to brown eyes. I still wasn’t over Anneliese. “Thanks, though. Really.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Anneliese

One hour earlier

“That’s great, dear,” Callie said. “You finished so fast.” It was hard to hear Callie over the plates clanking and the breakfast customers starting their day. I had just told her that I had finished all of my classes at community college.

My light, fluffy pancakes that dripped with maple syrup tasted like love and home. It had been my first meal, with Bruce. Livvie poured Callie some of the strong coffee Callie’s restaurant was known for. “And you?” Livvie asked.

“Yes, please,” I said, trying to match her pleasant tone. It was so different from before. “How’s Bruce?” I gripped my hands together, afraid to hear the answer. I never stopped thinking about him. Did he make a family with Beth? Did he love her that much, although he did not father her baby?

“We hung out last night,” Livvie said, pouring coffee. “He’s leaving this morning. He said he won’t be back.”

I forced my words past the hard knot in my throat. “With Beth?” I asked.

Livvie looked shocked. “Hell, no. She’s with her baby daddy.”

What? “Where is Bruce going, then?”

“Chicago,” Livvie said. “He has an office there.” She reached in her pocket and pulled out a key fob. “He sold me his Jeep. Said he didn’t want it anymore.”

She left us to pour more coffee for the other patrons.

Bruce wasn’t with Beth. And he was leaving town. How would I ever find him to explain that I couldn’t watch another woman’s body change with his baby inside her? And then, I thought he wanted to stay and be a family with her. But it didn’t, and he wasn’t with her. And I was too late.

A whistle wailed. “The train,” Callie said. “He’s probably taking the train to Chicago.” She checked her phone. “It leaves in twenty minutes. Do you want a ticket?”

“Yes.”

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