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Leaving the hospital was like leaving a piece of me behind. I'd waited in the waiting room, sipping terrible coffee and watching terrible daytime shows about paternity tests and small claims court cases for what seemed like ages until the nurse who refused to let us go back sauntered over and delivered a message. Apparently Alicia was okay and I could go back to the office. For a brief moment, I wanted to send one back and say I'd wait out there for him, as long as it took, but pride and a sinking suspicion that she wouldn't deliver it anyway made me get up and exit. There was a car waiting and I barely had time to pout before I was being deposited in front of the Whitmore and Creighton building like a piece of luggage.
I knew that was overreacting. He wanted time alone with his mother. It was understandable. He deserved it. But I couldn't help but take offense to the fact that it was so easy to dismiss me. Why couldn't he deliver the message himself?
His mother had a heart attack, I chided myself. It makes sense that she's his focus right now. The little reminder didn't help my mood so I decided to focus on my heavy workload instead. As much as I dreaded a guilt trip from Missy, I had to get a recap of the meeting I'd missed. I made it to the floor and thanked god no one was waiting for the elevator before zipping up to the top floor instead. I was delaying the inevitable, but I was sure whatever Missy needed to say could be said after I had a minute to catch my breath.
I was hoping Natasha would be at lunch, but I saw her perched behind her desk, bright eyes on her computer screen until she saw me and her demeanor went from professional to Stick Up My Butt.
"Somebody's been popular today," she frowned. "I started wondering if I was Jacob's secretary or yours."
"Good afternoon," I said with the biggest smile I could stand. She wanted a confrontation and as much as I wanted to yell and scream, I wouldn't give her the satisfaction. "I take it you left the messages in my office?"
She glared at me from behind her bangs. New haircut. Something short in the front and long and flowing in the back that would have softened anyone else but with her perma-frown and ice colored eyes, she looked fiercer than usual.
"Like I said, I am Mr. Whitmore's secretary," she said haughtily. "You do have a visitor waiting in your office even though I informed her that God alone knew when you would be arriving."
As much as I wanted to snap back, I knew I needed to save that for the person waiting in my office.
Rachel.
Ugh.
From Natasha's eyes shifting back to her computer, I figured the conversation was over. For the first time since I'd met the woman I found myself wanting to linger. Ask about her stylist. Was she Team Vampire, Team Were, or Team Zombie? Anything that would prolong the inevitable. I just wasn't ready to see Rachel's face.
Sensing that I missed her end of conversation nonverbal cues, she slowly lifted her gaze back to me.
"Can I help you?"
Think of something! "Uh, thank you for all you do." Wow that was terrible. I was surprised I'd gotten the lie out with a straight face.
She rolled her eyes. "Uh huh. Look, the poor girl has been waiting to see you for hours--"
A spark of hope flashed through me. "Girl?"
"Yes. Mia Kent."
A smile dashed across my face. "Oh, thank God."
Natasha pushed blond strands behind her ear, eyeing me strangely. "I wouldn't thank him yet. She wasn't happy when she stomped in two hours ago and I imagine she's even less so now."
Uh oh. I booked it down the corridor, pushing into my office as I dropped my smile and picked up a frown. The desk was littered with takeout cups and empty pastry bags. I would have let the mess and clear disrespect for my things slide if she hasn't made herself at home, feet up on the desk, powdered sugar covered digits typing away on my keyboard.
"What the hell?"
She froze mid-sentence, fingers posed above the keys, aqua eyes jumping from the computer screen. "Where the hell have you been?" She kicked her worn chucks off the table and stood up. Her getup was somewhere between rockabilly and cocaine chic. She paired a sheer, oversized blouse with liquid leggings. Her hair was tucked under a trucker hat. The only thing worth noting was a lack of ten layers of makeup on her face. Without the stuff gunked on her eyelids, I had no problem seeing just how pissed she was.
I put aside my annoyance at the mess. "I was at the hospital."
Her anger dissipated. "What? Are you okay?"
I nodded, moving to the chair in front or my desk and balling up a pile of empty wrappers and lowering myself with a sigh. "I'm fine. It's Jacob's mother that's not doing so well." I looked up at her. "Heart attack."
She peered at me curiously. "I'm sorry?"
I gave her the smallest of smile. "We don't get along, but I don't actively wish her ill."
She smirked, repeating the two words with more authority. "I'm sorry. For Jacob." She made a face like she was remembering she'd come for a reason and it wasn't to deliver a verbal Hallmark card. "So when were you gonna tell me about Project Save Poor Mia?"
I cringed. "Yeah, about that..." She stood there, hand on hip, waiting. What could I say? It was bad form to gossip about one client to another. "I'll take care of it."
