Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
I grab his little bag and miraculously, we leave the house before half past eight.
Hopefully, kindergarten won’t mind that I’m late dropping him off. I don’t think they will with half the city still digging out from the snowstorm.
Just like I hope no one else notices or cares that I’m late to The Cardinal. Surely, all the days I showed up early will count in my favor somewhere.
“Mrs. Gabbard will pick you up this afternoon since our car’s still getting fixed.” I give him a hurried kiss on the cheek. “Have a good day.”
He waves and happily runs the short distance into the building, his bag bouncing on his back. I wave to a couple other moms, blissfully strolling along and clearly not late for work, before the driver takes off for The Cardinal.
To my relief, I make it in without incident.
Bekah gives me a wink as I hurry past, and I know my secret is safe with her. It’s not that she doesn’t like Patton—no one here dislikes him, I’ve come to realize—but staff look out for each other.
It’s a nice atmosphere, really. One that I might appreciate a lot more if I hadn’t climbed on my boss’s lap and kissed him until my face hurt.
And not just a little bit.
A drunken peck or two, you can move past that without the world ending, but this—
This was infinitely more.
If I close my eyes, I can still feel the way he claimed my lips.
The rough brush of his stubble stinging my mouth, my skin, the thickness of his hair in my hands, the confidence of his touch.
Everything that hasn’t changed over the years.
Everything, just like I remembered, and so much more, my body aching for him like a plant craves light.
Go ahead and laugh. I’m well aware this is the opposite of not thinking about him.
So much for that promise.
Work. I need to work, and most importantly, I can’t be alone with these thoughts.
Sighing, I take a few seconds to touch up my makeup and ensure I don’t look like I’m five seconds away from a mental breakdown. Then I invite Gwen, head of housekeeping, into the office for a check-in.
“You poor thing,” she says as soon as she comes in, taking my hands and holding them tight. She’s old enough to be my mom, and although I’ve only worked with her briefly, I’m pretty sure she thinks of herself as my office mom, even though I’m supposedly her boss.
“Patton told me what happened with the accident… No surprise, given the weather last night. You shouldn’t have come in at all.”
“Oh.” Great. Patton told the staff? “I’m fine, honestly. It wasn’t as bad as it sounds. I bet the auto shop will be done with my car today.”
“Honey, you look pale.”
“I’m fine,” I snap again. “A little thing like that can’t keep me from a day’s work. After all, that’s why he helped me out.”
Her brown eyes twinkle, but she just says, “You’ve got a better head than me. I’d be off for half the week if that happened. Oh my, the stress from the repair bill alone…”
“Can’t blame you,” I agree.
“We have pretty generous leave here, you know. And sick pay. There are a lot of benefits. But that’s not why you came to see me, is it?”
It feels a little like I’m in a dream. Or is it a nightmare, hosted by one of the nicest women I’ve ever met?
Either way, the world doesn’t quite feel real anymore as we settle into a conversation about logistics, improvements, and supplies for each floor.
Nothing does since locking lips with the man who scrambles my soul.
And when I meet with several other supervisors to get their feedback, I’m just as disembodied. Maybe Gwen’s right and I really should have called in today.
When I finally get a moment to myself, I look at Arlo’s Grumpybutt art gallery pinned on my walls.
For a split second, I almost break down in tears, fighting the urge to stuff my palm against my mouth and scream.
Yep, I’m losing it.
I hate this entire situation so much.
My hands move ahead of my brain, and I’m in the middle of ripping the drawings down to shove in my drawer when there’s an obnoxiously fast knock on the half-open door.
Here comes strike two, right on time.
I know it’s Kayla before I turn around and smell her wall of heavy perfume.
She has a certain way of making an entrance.
Most people just knock once, maybe twice, sometimes three times. Then they wait to be invited in.
Not her.
She knocks away like a woodpecker, like she’s tapping out a song, right before she barges in and flings the door at the wall.
Probably because she’s so used to being invited everywhere. She can’t imagine a situation where she’s not treated like royalty deigning to grace us mortals with her presence.