Page 13 of Lost Times

There was almost no trace of her father in her, and not for the first time, I wondered about that. Thalia never mentioned a father being in the picture, and today she hadn’t had anyone to leave the girl with.

Had the father abandoned them after he’d learned of the pregnancy?

Fiery anger burned low at the thought. If that was the case, Thalia deserved more. I’d only had one night to see the real her, but what I’d seen had been stunning.

Sitting next to her on that bar stool and feelingalivefor the first time in years, just from hearing her laugh, had shifted something in me. Then she’d lit my blood on fire in a way I’d never felt.

But it’d only been one night and when I woke up, she was gone.

It was for the best, I reminded myself. Women like Thalia needed and deserved more than I could give. She would want time from me, and most days I just didn’t have that. Forcing away the disappointment the thought came with, I focused on the girl.

“Are you lost?” I asked and she hesitated a beat, still not moving from behind the doorway. The obvious fear tugged at something in my chest, and Thalia’s words from before came screaming back.

With how you act with all of us, I figured you’d be irritated with my not getting my work done more than my coming in while sick.

She’d never answered my question about just ‘how’ I acted. Yes, I had high standards for my employees to meet, but they were never impossible, and I made sure everyone received their proper raises when they worked hard.

The words had gnawed on me then, and they still did now.

Focusing back on the girl that hadn’t made a move to leave the doorway or answer my question, I sighed. “I’m sorry for snapping before, I have a headache, and it’s making my temper short.”

I softened my tone as much as I could, hoping to wipe away the unease in her expression. I’d never done well with children, never connected with them or been able to converse easily when they addressed me, but for some reason, I didn’t want her to be afraid of me.

I half expected her to run back to her mother with stories of how I was mean, which would be the cherry on top of my day, but to my surprise she lost her wariness and inched further into the room, her mouth pulled into a sympathetic frown.

“Mom gets headaches too, she tries to hide them from me, but I know.” Her voice was low and she stopped a few feet in front of my desk, wide eyes locked on me. “Do you have medicine? Mom takes medicine and they get better.”

The genuine concern dragged a corner of my lips up and I nodded. “I already took it, but it doesn’t seem to be helping.”

She looked down. “Oh.” A beat passed, then she recovered, still keeping her voice down as she asked. “What do you do here? Mom said she helps people decide what to do with their money.”

A decent enough explanation for what a financial advisor was, considering the girl’s age. Still, she asked me a question, and I wasn’t about to ignore her.

“I run the company here.”

She tipped her head, curiosity clear as she rounded my desk and plopped to sit with her back against it, still able to see me from her new vantage point. “What does that mean, though? What do you do?” She looked at the paperwork and wrinkled her nose. “Looks like what Mom does.”

A chuckle dragged from me and I shrugged. “It is, to a point. We both do paperwork, but the contents are different. Your mother helps people decide what to do with their money. I set the schedule for people like your mother who come in to work. I do some work with clients, arranging in-person meetings, and I deal with paperwork relating to the company.”

She considered that for a long beat, then nodded. “Sounds boring. Do you like doing it?”

This time a tired laugh came. “Not really, but it’s my job. I doubt anyone truly enjoys paperwork.”

Her nose wrinkled again. “I don’t like homework. Is that the same thing?”

I hummed, amused by her reactions. “For a child’s equivalent, yes.”

That expression stayed on her face for a minute, then it slid into something sadder. “I don’t like homework, it’s confusing, and I have to ask Mom for help with it. She’s always busy, though, and I don’t want to bother her with it.”

This time it was my curiosity that rose and before I could stop myself, I asked.

“What about your father?”

Immediately I wished I could suck the words back in. This was a severe breach of Thalia’s privacy, and it waswrong. Children would answer any question you asked, even if it wasn’t their information to give away.

Besides, it was none of my business who Thalia was with or not with. I had my night with her and I’d made the choice not to try to contact her afterward.

The girl’s voice snapped me back to the present before I could tell her not to answer that.

---