He reaches over and laces his fingers with mine. “So, what time did you get in last night?”
“Two.”
“Jesus, Bay,” he says as a trio of wrinkles form over the bridge of his nose. “Seriously?”
“Unfortunately. I feel like a zombie.”
“I bet.” He squeezes my hand. “You know how much I appreciate what you do for us, right?”
“You do? Why don’t you ever tell me then?” I say it with a grin. He does. He tells me all the time. Still, I know my job can be hard on him, especially during tax season. It means four grueling months governed by client and governmental deadlines that rule my life with an iron fist. Sixty-to-seventy-hour weeks are the norm. But my position as a tax director at PricewaterhouseCoopers also provides us with the means to afford a very comfortable life. It allows us to live in our modern two-story home in Montlake, one of the premier neighborhoods in Seattle with access to some of the best schools in the entire state. My career is why we’re able to eat organic meals and go on nice vacations and will be able to someday send Noah to whatever college he wants to attend. It’s why I drive an Audi and Ethan drives a Lexus and both of us have closets full of nice clothes. All of this with money to spare, and I haven’t even made partner yet.
Ethan gives me a mock wince. “Ouch. Probably because I’m such a terrible husband.”
“That’s the last thing you are,” I say, leaning into him.
“Hang in there,” he says, patting my knee. “Busy season will be over soon enough.”
“You do realize it’s barely getting started, right?”
“Yes, but—” he pulls me closer. “You have my permission to forget about it today. You can worry tomorrow.”
I lean my head against his shoulder. “Deal.”
“This is nice,” he says, looking at the play area like it’s a tropical oasis and we’re parked on the beach near the water. I nearly laugh. Only my husband would find a place packed with shrieking kids like this relaxing. But he’s right. Being here with him and Noahisnice. And Noah’s having a blast. He’s waving at me now from across the room, waiting for me to return the gesture. When I do, he smiles then turns and leaps into the balls.
Two more years.
That’s all I need, and then I can devote more time to my family. Two more years of understanding from Ethan and Noah, and I’ll bepromoted to partner. After that, I—we—can do whateverwewant. I’ll set better boundaries with work. We’ll take more of the vacations Ethan is always going on about. I’ll spend more time at home. I will. I won’t think twice. It will happen.
But not yet. Not when I’m this close to achieving what I’ve been working toward for so long now. Not after sacrificing my soul for nearly a decade to reach this point. And sacrifice is exactly what it’s taken for me to be promoted to director by the age of twenty-nine. I’m one of the youngest employees in the firm to ever achieve that title, and as a woman no less. I haven’t greased any wheels. I’ve done it all through hard work, blood, sweat, and tears with a vision toward creating a beautiful life for me and my family. And we’re so close to realizing that dream. So close.
The thought dies when a cry fills the room.Noah’scry.
I spot him and another boy crumpled near the ball pit with their hands pressed to their heads, both of them wailing. A collision of some sort. Ethan jumps to his feet and rushes over. I follow, stopping when my phone buzzes in my pocket. My stomach clenches. I want to ignore the call, but I can’t. Not if it’s who I think it is. Not if I want to remain employed.
I pull my phone free and my stomach knots. It’s him. Of course it is. Who else would it be? With a sigh, I bring it to my ear.
“Hey, Bob, what’s up?”
“We have a situation,” he says.
I tense, but it’s not a surprise. There’s always a situation, some urgent fire to put out for some pissed-off client. And at this time of year, they’re all pissed off.
“What is it?” I ask, trying to mask the note of displeasure creeping into my voice. This is my first day off in the last two weeks, and I don’t appreciate being disturbed—not that it matters. Inconveniencing me seems to be one of Bob Sanders’ favorite pastimes. As the newest directing partner of the Seattle branch, Bob is deeply unpleasant attimes. He pursues his goals with a blatant disregard for his personal health and that of his staff, but there’s no arguing the man gets results. He’s tripled our bottom line in a little over two years. So, when Bob Sanders asks you to do something, you drop everything and you do it, no questions asked.
“One of the seniors on the Miller engagement discovered a discrepancy in the cash account,” he says. “It’s not good. And it’s big. I think we’re looking at fraud, here. How soon can you get to the office?”
I hesitate, the words jamming in my throat as I study Ethan. He’s kneeling in front of Noah, gingerly thumbing his forehead.
Two more years. Just two more years.
“Can you give me an hour?” I ask. “I’m at a birthday party with my kid.”
“Sooner would be better.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “I’ll do my best.”
The phone clicks, Bob gone without another word.
