Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76810 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76810 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“Come on, Sophie. You can do this.” Mom takes my other arm and together, we stand. I’m unsteady at first. Then the nurse positions the walker and IV stand and offers an encouraging nod. I grip the bar. Mom moves the IV, hand on my lower back.
“You’re doing great,” the nurse tells us. “I’ll let you two roam a bit and I’ll be back to check on you shortly.”
With stunted, cautious steps, I make my way to the hall. A sign outside the door points left for the nursery.
I want to see her … I want to see her one last time before the social worker comes in and I sign my life away.
“Have you heard from Nolan?” I ask.
They had me sign the birth certificate yesterday, pressing my fingertips into black ink and placing them in the boxes next to my daughter’s inky footprints. The spot for Nolan’s signature was blank, which I thought was funny since I was under the impression he hadn’t left the baby’s side since she breathed her first breath.
“I tried to call him,” Mom says. “But he didn’t answer.”
She doesn’t disguise the disgust in her voice.
Up ahead, a row of glass windows paints a view of the nursery. Babies lined up. Some sleeping. Some squirming. Some crying. Some sucking rubber pacifiers and staring blankly above. All of them swaddled. Tiny. Innocent. A man and woman in regular clothes stand beside a bassinet in the corner, talking to a nurse in head-to-toe pink with a stethoscope around her neck.
The closer I get, the more I recognize the man … the broad shoulders, thick hair the color of coffee, the twinkle in his gaze when he grins. He places his arm around the lanky, raven-haired woman, whose face I can’t see. And she leans against him, resting her head on his shoulder. A second later, he presses a kiss against her forehead and pulls her tight into his arms.
This must be the adoptive mother …
… and clearly she’s more than a “friend.”
I suck in a breath and pray my mom doesn’t notice—but she does.
“Don’t make a scene, Mom. Please,” I say.
And she doesn’t. Hand steady on my lower back, she keeps her gaze trained forward. “Let’s head the other way. I heard the view is better than that end of the hall.”
My lips quaver with each step.
Two thick tears slide down my cheeks.
“I hate him, Mom,” I say. “I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.”
“I know.” Her voice is low, a cushion of sympathy. Her gaze is distant, as if she’s retrieving a painful memory from her own personal collection. And now I get it. I get why she felt the way she did about my father. He lied. He betrayed her in the worst way. “But you’re going to be okay, Sophie. You’re strong. Stronger than you give yourself credit for. A lot stronger than I was …”
I swallow the hard lump in my throat and continue on, each step bringing me closer to my full recovery. And with each burning, painful step, I make a promise to myself—that I’ll never fall for another man like Nolan Ames again.
Thirty-Eight
Trey
Present
“I left for two days.” I slam the phone down as Broderick takes the chair opposite my desk on Monday morning. “I want Pesek fired. And I want Monrovian to replace him. Immediately.”
Over the weekend, it came to light that one of our marketing interns has been harassed over the past three months by a certain married executive. He’s lured her with jobs that don’t exist as well as career-oriented threats he has no ability to carry out. I never cared for the blowhard when we hired him, but he had the reputation as one of the best marketing hires in the industry, so I took a chance.
But now the girl’s parents are threatening legal action—understandably so. The last thing I need when I’m trying to acquire a “family” business is a shit storm like this smearing the Westcott name. Not to mention we’re on the heels of going public with our engagement in the coming weeks.
This could overshadow everything.
Lifting my receiver, I call Mona and have her summon Pesek to my office.
“She’s willing to accept a private settlement,” Broderick says. “She’s asking for five million, but I think we can get her down to two and an ironclad NDA.”
“Give her whatever she wants.” I turn my chair, studying the Chicago skyline and its ironically sunny disposition today.
Broderick leaves.
I don’t have time for this today.
Mona calls my phone. I answer on the first ring.
“Mr. Westcott, I’m told Gary Pesek didn’t report to the office today,” she says. “Apparently he turned in his notice via email earlier this morning.”
Fucking coward.
I’ll deal with him one way or another.
I hang up the phone, only to have it ring once more. Without checking the caller ID, I answer it with a brusque, “What?”