Page 70 of Filthy Little Midlife Fling

“No, thank you,” I tell her. “I’ll be in touch.”

Meg and I head out. I run the drawer organizers over to Paula at the McCurdy job, then head home to pack an overnight bag. I call six stores before finding one halfway to Sacramento that has the organizers I need. I check the time. I can make it before closing time today, which is the first bit of good news I’ve had all day.

I’ll drive to the store, pick up the organizers, and drive back in the night. By tomorrow morning, this crisis will be halfway fixed. Then all I’ll have to do is go over every schedule, invoice, and inventory calculation and comb through for more mistakes.

Everything will be perfect; I’ll make sure of it.

Panic rattles around my chest, and only the thought of saving my business fills my mind. With my bag slung over my shoulder, I head for my car. I’ve clipped myself in and put the key in the ignition when my phone rings. Remy.

My thumb hesitates over the screen. I want to talk to him—everything inside me is yearning to hear his voice telling me everything will be okay.

But that yearning, that need, is exactly what got me into this position in the first place. I’ve let my team down because I was distracted by my fling with him. I’ve made a bad impression on half a dozen clients because I was too busy having midafternoon sex breaks with my neighbor instead of focusing on work.

I can’t afford any more distractions. All my failures compound until all I can hear is the thumping of my own heart. I have to fix what I can and admit to myself that there’s no room in my life for a relationship.

I ignore the call and start driving.

TWENTY-SIX

REMY

When the call to Audrey goes to voicemail, I frown. I’m sitting outside the lawyer’s office, waiting to go over the contract of sale for the garage. But the meeting start time has come and gone, which means I’m definitely not going to make it to Danny’s camp by pickup time. I called Audrey to remind her, but I haven’t been able to get through.

I fire off a text message. All good to pick Danny up from camp?

The message delivers, but it doesn’t get read.

That’s okay; Audrey is probably busy. She wouldn’t have forgotten. The woman has planners for her planners. She doesn’t know the meaning of the words “junk drawer.” She’ll pick Danny up from camp, just like she said she would. I trust her. I wouldn’t have asked her for this favor if I hadn’t.

But…usually she answers my calls. And if she doesn’t, she calls back within minutes. Odd.

The lawyer’s office door opens, and a man with salt-and-pepper hair waves me inside. I get up, gather my documents, and try to clear the worry from my mind.

An hour later, I’ve sent Jeff an amended contract, but I still haven’t heard from Audrey. Instead, there are seven missed calls on my phone from a number I don’t recognize.

Worry flares in my gut. Hands trembling, I call the number back.

“Mr. Campbell?” The lead counselor’s voice is familiar. My stomach plummets.

“Yes. Is everything okay? Did Audrey pick Danny up?”

“Um, no,” the woman on the line says. “We’ve been trying to reach you. Danny is here—”

“I’m on my way.”

“Thank you.”

Dashing to my truck, I jump in and dial Audrey’s number. No answer. I check my previous message and see she still hasn’t read it.

Is she okay? Did something happen?

My breaths come hard and fast. I want to try Audrey again, but Danny’s waiting for me at camp. I promised myself he’d always come first. I told myself he’d never feel tossed aside the way I did growing up. He’d be my priority, always.

Audrey understands that. So, if she’s not with Danny, it means something went seriously wrong. That’s the only explanation that makes sense. But before I can figure it out, I have to pick up my kid and make sure he’s okay. Visions of Danny sitting on the school steps fill my mind. What if he’s upset? What if he feels like I failed him?

I toss my phone aside and tear out of the parking lot. I get to the school in less than ten minutes, and I find Danny playing catch with Jace in the back field.

A breath blows out of me. I watch him laugh as he dives and rolls to catch a ball, holding his baseball glove up triumphantly.

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