Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69129 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69129 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
I can.
I just shouldn’t.
Rather than verbally acknowledge his request, I simply nod.
Glace over my shoulder out the window at the city skyline.
I didn’t struggle this much when Bryn went back to work after Wy was born.
Perhaps that was because she eased into it.
Worked a bit from home.
Took him into the office with her for a couple hours.
They’d begin touring the aquarium only to be joined by me half-way through, at which point she’d then pass him off to me and get a few more things done while we finished up on our own.
She transitioned back into her role.
She didn’t just give me a week to figure out how to adapt to her decision.
On the thought bubble to the left, I’m merely grateful she allowed for some sort of timeline versus just waking up, getting dressed, and jumping back into her career; however, on the one to the right, shouldn’t I have a say in this shit?
Shouldn’t it have been a discussion?
Shouldn’t my concerns regarding her safety – particularly with an unidentified assailant still out on the loose – be considered more than they were?
Sure.
She’s been back over a week with absolutely no issues.
Even the plain clothes details have had nothing to report other than her walking suspiciously close to a hard to identify blond male surfer type today.
And that male was most likely Calen.
I assumed this day was coming.
I wasn’t actively trying to keep them apart, but I didn’t mind their distance while it lasted.
Sue me.
“Mr. Wilcox!” Hasty knocks on my office door across the room suddenly occur. “Mr. Wilcox!”
“How is it she only has two pitches?” My glare cuts over to the other man in the room. “High pitched and higher pitched?”
“How is that a me question?”
“You hired her.”
“You fired her.”
“And you hired her again in the same sentence.”
“Yeah, it’s a ‘can’t believe they didn’t cancel this season’ miracle she’s lasted this long.”
“Mr. Wilcox!”
“Enter.”
Zaidee peers her panicking face around the blockade and announces, “Um…you have an emergency call from a Mrs. Presley Collins regarding your son on line one.”
My brow instantly furrows. “Did she use the word emergency or are you?”
“She did.”
The speed I use to go from sitting on my light gray office couch to hovering over the nearby matching desk on the phone is damn near superhuman. “Wilcox.”
“Hello, Mr. Wilcox, this is Presley Collins-”
“What’s wrong with my son?” Every muscle in my body stills at the same time I instantly ask the owner of the private early education academy he attends the standard emergency line of questions, “Is he sick?”
“He-”
“Is he injured?”
“He-”
“Did he hurt another child?”
“He-”
“Was he hurt by another child?”
“He-”
“Is this going to be a discussion that requires me to call legal because-”
“Mr. Wilcox,” she interrupts, her tone suspiciously calm considering the ceaseless interrogation, “Wyland is currently in his classroom healthy, happy, safe, and completely unaware of the incident that I would prefer to discuss with you in person at your very earliest convenience.”
“Which is now.” I don’t bother checking my watch or my phone or my calendar knowing he’s the only thing that matters. “I’m on my way.”
Chapter 14
Wes
“Why am I here?” I coldly chomp while undoing my black, double breasted suit jacket. “What sort of emergency incident was this?”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Wilcox.” She tips her light chocolate chin at J.T. “Mr. Reese.”
“Mrs. Collins,” my best friend warmly greets in return. “Might I say you look lovely as ever.”
“I appreciate the sentiment; however, you do understand that compliments will not allow you to cut in the waiting list line when the time occurs, right?”
“Worth a shot,” he cheekily chortles, clearly having switched to super douche mode – a mode that is of course fine and even preferred whenever work matters are on the table, however they currently are not.
This is about his nephew.
My son.
“Gentlemen, please,” a gesture is made towards her unoccupied office chairs, “have a seat.”
“I want you to explain to me exactly what happened.”
“I understand.”
“And I expect there to be no details removed from the explanation.”
“I understand.”
“And I expect you to begin right fucking now.”
“Wes,” J.T. swiftly chastises.
“Sit, Mr. Wilcox,” the woman in charge forcefully encourages in such a way, I can’t resist following the command.
Huh.
I see why she’s capable of running one of the best private early education academies in the country.
She didn’t even bat an eyelash over my tone.
Under normal circumstances, I’d appreciate her iron backbone.
Under these?
I’m considering purchasing this institute just to fire her for effortlessly demanding my obedience.
Once J.T. and I are both settled in our seats, she begins again, “Mr. Wilcox, I would like to start this conversation by expressing my understanding regarding your current agitation. Given the recent situation and speculation involving your family – which is the main reason I reached out to you rather than Wy’s still recovering mother who is listed as the primary point of contact – I do not blame you one little bit for demanding answers and being upset that you have yet to receive them.”