Page 23 of Mine To Keep (Southern Wedding)

“Yeah, I know who I’m calling,” he retorts as I put the phone to my ear. “Care to explain to me why Loren just called me and told me you were an asshole to Grace?”

“Nope,” I say, ignoring that he’s one thousand percent right.

“Well, too bad. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What is wrong with me?” I snap. “What is fucking wrong with you? How could you let that girl go and pick up my daughter?” Even saying the words, they feel like acid on my tongue.

“Number one, that woman,” he notes, “was beside herself, freaking the fuck out because your child was sick, and no one could get ahold of you. I thought she was going to have a fucking heart attack. That’s the kind of girl I let pick up your daughter.”

“Well, you should have called someone else,” I growl, knowing there was no one else. None of my family is in town.

“Yeah, they were going to miraculously appear from across the country to get Meadow. You’re a dick,” he chastises. “You better apologize to her.”

“Don’t tell me how to handle my staff,” I hiss.

“Well, just so you know, if she quits,” he warns, and the thought alone makes me grip the phone so hard in my hand it’s a wonder it doesn’t snap. “I’m going to make sure she works here with me.”

“Fuck you,” I curse, hanging up the phone, because that’s the mature adult I am. I toss my phone in the passenger seat as I make my way home. Once home, I get Meadow into a bath and put fresh pj’s on her. I put my shorts on and a T-shirt before cuddling her on the couch.

The minute I sit down, my mind plays the scene over and over in my head. That along with Nash’s words make it hard for me to even see straight. Maybe it’s the fact Meadow’s mother was never the cuddly type. Maybe it’s the fact I’ve never, ever pictured a woman holding my child as if she was her own. Maybe it’s the fact that thought alone scares the fuck out of me. It’s making me lose my damn mind.

Even the next day when Mrs. Potter arrives to watch her, she doesn’t hug her. She smiles at her and taps her shoulder. It’s been me this whole time. Me who did the cuddling, me who consoled her. Just me and Meadow and we were happy.

Pulling into the parking garage, I notice her SUV isn’t here, but I try not to think too much about it. Even when I step off the elevator and walk around the corner, my head doesn’t want to look toward her desk. I know I have to tell her how sorry I am. I’m just not sure how to do it. Only when I get close enough to my office do I lift my eyes. My feet stop in my tracks when I see the redhead sitting behind the desk. “Who are you?” I ask.

“I’m Annie,” she replies. “I’m your temp.”

“What? Why?” My heart beats fast in my chest as my hand grips the cup of coffee in my hand tighter. I storm toward Loren’s office, finding her on the phone. She takes one look at me and hangs up. “Who the fuck is that?”

“That’s Annie, and she’s your temp.” She folds her hands on her desk.

“Loren, why is there a temp at the desk?” My jaw is clenched so tight.

“Grace called in sick,” she states, and I don’t know why I do a little sigh of relief. “This morning at six, she left a message and sent me a text.”

“So, she’s coming back?” I look at her, waiting for her to answer.

“She didn’t tell me otherwise.” She shrugs. “All I know is she’s not here today.”

“Thank you. Send her home. I don’t need anyone to work at the desk. Grace is up to date on everything, so I’ll be fine for a day.”

“Okay,” Loren says, and I walk into my office and shut the door. I try to work the whole day, but all I can think of is why she called in sick. Is she sick, or is she avoiding me? I don’t blame her for avoiding me.

That question haunts me the whole morning, so finally, at noon, I go back home and chill with Meadow. The next morning, Mrs. Potter shows up again as I walk out to go to work. When I walk in, her desk is again empty. I pull out my phone and call her number. It rings three times before going to voicemail.

“Hi, you know what to do. If you don’t, hang up.” I shake my head before walking into Loren’s office.

“She’s not here,” I state, and Loren just looks at me.

“I know,” she says. “She isn’t feeling well.”

“Bullshit,” I snarl, now pissed. Going to my office, I slam the door closed. Putting the cup of coffee on the desk, I pull up employee records. “Don’t do it,” I tell myself, but I don’t listen. Instead, I take my phone and punch her address into the GPS.

It takes me thirty minutes to find her place and get a parking spot. I look up at the high-rise and then look around to see all the other ones. “Definitely not where I thought she would live,” I note as I make my way into the building.

The doorman is busy dealing with a delivery person, so I slip in and head toward the elevator, hoping no one will ask me anything. I press the thirty-fourth-floor button and look up, seeing the numbers go up from one all the way to thirty-four. I step out, going right, then turning around to go left.

I stare at her door for a good five minutes, maybe even more, before my hand comes up and knocks. I look down at the floor, one side of my head telling me this is a bad idea while the other side says knock again. I knock again after two minutes and finally hear movement on the other side of the door. The sound of the locks being turned fills the silent hallway, and then she pulls open the door. She’s wearing gray lounge pants with a short-sleeved matching shirt that shows all her stomach. Her flat smooth stomach makes my mouth water. Her hair is piled on top of her head, and her face looks very pale. “What the hell are you doing here?”

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