Page 11 of Mine To Keep (Southern Wedding)

“Roger that,” I reply, ignoring him and bringing my carry-on luggage into the bedroom. “See you soon.” I hang up the phone before opening the suitcase and grabbing a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. I undress, putting my work clothes aside when my phone rings, and I see it’s my cousin Sofia FaceTiming me. I smile when I press the green button and watch the little white wheel go around.

“Hello, helloo, hellooooo,” she sings out when I finally see her.

“Hello, helloo, hellooooo,” I sing back to her, and we both start laughing.

“Have you started unpacking yet?” she asks, and I shake my head.

“The cavalry is going to be here in thirty minutes. I’ve been given instructions not to touch anything.”

“Well then, did you grab a bottle of wine to watch it all?” she asks, and I shake my head.

“I’m hoping Charlie is going to be bringing me some sweet tea from Grandpa Billy,” I share, and she snickers.

“So how is work?” she asks me. “The full first week. How did you like it?”

“I love the work,” I start to say, “love the people.” I look at her. “Hate my boss.”

“What do you mean, you hate your boss?” She laughs.

“I hate my boss. He’s a sexist pig,” I spit out, even though I’m not sure he’s sexist.

“What did he do?” She gawks at me.

“Well, the minute he met me he thought I was just out of high school.” I hold up one finger. “Then he thought I couldn’t handle getting snacks for his meeting.” I smirk at her.

“What did you do?” she gasps.

“Me?” I point at myself. “I didn’t do anything. I got him juice boxes and animal crackers.” She howls with laughter. “Then he sat me down, and when I told him I couldn’t stay after hours, he accused me of not taking the job seriously. He wanted to know why, and well, I was annoyed with him, so I went and filed a complaint with HR about him being sexist.”

“You did not.” Her eyes go big as I nod my head.

“I did too,” I confirm to her.

“What did he say?” She brings her face closer to the phone.

“There was a lot of ‘I did not say anything.’” I try to remember, listening to the conversation from the other side of the wall. “Then he said, ‘She’s a child and I can’t work with her.’” I roll my eyes. “Then he grunted, I think, or maybe growled. He apologized for asking inappropriate questions and said it would never happen again.”

“What’s his name?” she asks me, and my eyebrows pinch together. “I’m going to look him up and see if he’s hot.” Yes, my head screams out, he’s hot and probably doesn’t get enough sex from his wife, which is why he’s always so frustrated. I even tried to find a picture of the two of them together in his office, but all I see is him and a precious little girl.

“I’m not giving you his name,” I tell her. “You’ll meet him sometime next week.”

“Why am I going to meet him?” Now it’s her turn to pinch her eyebrows together.

“Well, he needs a party planner to help him with a gala,” I inform her. “Obviously, I said I knew the best one in the country.” I walk to the kitchen, opening the fridge and finding it fully stocked, probably thanks to my parents. “He asked if you used to babysit me.”

“Great, I’ll look forward to it.” Her phone pauses. “I have to go. I have a client trying to call me.” She picks up the phone. “Love you. Don’t kill your boss.”

“No promises.” I smile at her. “Love you too.” I hang up the phone, grabbing a bottle of water out of the fridge and twisting the top open, bringing the water bottle to my mouth. “No promises,” I repeat to no one, trying to forget him, but the more I try to push him away from my mind, the more I see his eyes just staring at me. “Dick.”

six

Caine

I pull into the parking garage and the first thing I spot is her SUV, which makes me grip my steering wheel even tighter. “Get over it,” I mutter, putting the car in park before getting out. I walk past her SUV and stop to look inside, seeing that it’s empty, which is a far cry from Friday when it was busting at the seams. All week I kept to myself. I spoke to her only when I needed to speak to her. I never asked her a question I knew I shouldn’t ask her because the little minx had gone to human resources about me.

Was she wrong? No, no, she was not. I asked her questions I shouldn’t have asked her and were of no concern to me. She was of no concern to me, except she was all I fucking thought about all fucking weekend long. Which pissed me off even more. The whole time I’m walking to the elevator, I have to remind myself that she’s way too young for me and in a different league. She’s probably dating some university kid who graduated with her. You were whacking the mole all weekend, thinking of her while she was probably planning your murder.

“I’m not going to let her get to me,” I tell myself as I press the button. “I’m not going to let her get to me.” The minute I know I’m going to see her soon, my palms get sweaty. I step into the elevator and press the floor button and then look up at the numbers.

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