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The new developer, the one I yelled at unnecessarily, is waiting for me in the lobby. “What is it, Frankie?” I remind myself to be nice—she hasn’t done anything wrong.
“S-s-sir, the team sent me to meet you down here.” She stutters and doesn’t make eye contact, her fingers twisting in the hem of her shirt.
Are those fuckwits trying to haze her? “They sent you to meet me in the lobby? Did they not get the message that I was on my way?”
“They d-did.” Her eyes dart around, but there’s no one here except us and Julian. “Is something wrong?”
I rub my forehead, a headache already forming. “Those assholes are trying to get you in trouble.” I head toward the elevator bank, resolutely not looking at Sophie’s empty desk as I pass it. “Julian?” I call, shaking my head.
“On it, sir.” He reaches over to push the call button, Frankie trailing behind me.
We wait in silence for the doors to open, the only sound an occasional sniff from behind my left shoulder. Finally, the doors open and I step inside, my hands shoved deep in my pockets.
“I’ll send her right up after you.” Julian nods as he places a restraining hand on Frankie’s shoulder, stopping her from following me.
She looks at him, then at me, confusion written on her face. “But—”
“Mr. Sutton doesn’t—”
The ridiculousness of my rule never to share the elevator hits me like a ton of bricks. I slap a hand to the edge of the door, holding it open. “It’s fine. Come on Ms. Emory. Let’s go see what the problem is.”
“It’s okay, I can take the stairs.” Her voice is so quiet I can hardly hear it.
“Don’t be ridiculous, we’re going to the tenth floor.” My tone is sharper than I intended so I do my best to soften my expression. The way Sophie teased me about it, about being unable to stop glaring, when we were in Seattle twists my stomach. “Come, Ms. Emory.”
Timidly, she steps inside and we ride up to the tenth floor in silence, apart from her sniffing.
The rest of my day is packed. Once I sufficiently growl the dev team into leaving Frankie alone, we get to work solving the issue they’d run into. The never-ending day ends with a marketing and sales team meeting. None of it does anything to improve my mood, especially once I carve out the two minutes needed to approve the distribution of funds for Sophie’s final check.
My anger at Sophie’s betrayal bursts out of me at the slightest provocation all day, earning one of the guys from sales a dressing down that was possibly harsher than called for. But anyone who is stupid enough to offer up his date to an art gallery opening in exchange for a colleague’s fancy paper shredder doesn’t deserve to have a woman on his arm at any type of function.
Not even seeing Ms. Masterson try to hide her grin at Stuart’s humble apology makes me feel better. I cut the meeting short just after six and send everyone home before I fire someone just for the pleasure of it. For a split second, I think that Ms. Masterson is going to stay and ask me a question, but after staring at me for a long moment, she follows everyone else out of the room.
The emotional roller-coaster I've been on all day has me wrung out. My anger at Sophie and the dev team assholes, the realization that I’ve been needlessly selfish about my privacy at the office, weighs me down as I walk out the doors for the night.
As I turn onto my street, most of my anger has been replaced by sadness. It’s really truly over. Sophie doesn’t want anything to do with me. If she did, why would she be leaving Mailbox?
I jerk to a stop in my driveway at the sight of Emma sitting on the front steps, one arm wrapped around her knees as she scrolls through her phone. What the hell is she doing here? Is Sophie okay? Worry and confusion fight in my chest as I climb out of my car.
“Emma? What are you doing here? Is your mom okay?”
She scrambles to her feet, blond hair so achingly familiar to Sophie’s flying in her face. “Hi. Oof.” She stops for a second with her hand on her stomach.
I start forward but she waves me away. “I’m fine, it’s just a twinge from standing up so fast.”
“How did you get here? Shouldn’t you be home recovering?” I don’t know a lot about kids and appendix surgery, but I’m pretty sure that Emma shouldn’t be walking two miles to my house two weeks post-op.
“It’s fine, I’m fine. It doesn’t hurt, it just feels kind of weird every once in a while. And I walked, which is what I wanted to talk to you about.” The cautious smile she gives me is hard to resist, it’s so similar to Sophie’s.
There’s a thud at the door before Max’s barking can be heard. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” I call, stepping past Emma to open the front door. “We better go inside before he breaks the door down.” I open it and step back to let her through. Emma rushes past me, immediately squatting down in front of Max, scratching his ears and talking to him.
I leave them in the open door to put my work bag and jacket down on the dining room table. I should shut the front door, but I’m nervous to close myself in the house with Sophie’s fifteen-year-old daughter, especially since I have no idea what she wants or why she’s here.
Instead, I grab Max’s longest leash and clip it on him between pets from Emma. “Okay, let’s take him out front and you can tell me what’s going on and why you’re here.” I don’t mean to be gruff with her, but something in my tone must give her a warning that I’m not in the mood to be nice, because she straightens up immediately and grabs his leash.
“I got him. Come on, Max.”
I follow her out the door and sit on the stoop, letting her take Max out onto the grass in front. She watches him for a second before turning to me with a big inhale, like she’s practiced whatever it is she’s about to say. I brace myself for whatever is about to come, sending up an internal prayer to whoever is listening that she doesn’t put me in an untenable situation.
