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“Sleep some more,” I order. “Sorry I woke you.”
“M-kay.” Her eyes drift closed and I stand there an extra minute, looking at her curves, her skin, at the messy dark blonde hair that’s splayed across the pillow.
Finally, I back out and leave. And I’m smiling all the way to the elevator. While on my way down to the lobby, my phone rings.
My mother. Like a record scratch and brakes my fantastic mood screeches to a halt. I mute the call as the elevator doors open to the lobby.
The security guard from last night stands there with Buster, the daytime concierge, looking over at me as I come out of the elevator.
I’m late this morning; I don’t usually come down during their handoff – the night guy is typically still at the desk.
And now I’ve got a scowl on my face.
The day guy greets me. “Mornin’.”
The night guy gives me an assessing look.
“Mornin’. Thanks for taking care of my girl last night,” I say to the night guy.
His eyebrows rise; he doesn’t know what to make of that.
And frankly, I’m not sure I do either. I didn’t calculate it, don’t know how to feel about it now that I’ve done it, but I do know this is me pissing on my patch.
He’s also not hiding that he’s looking down his nose at me. And I can guess why his expression is both judgmental and assessing. He doesn’t know if she really is my girl or if I’m referring to her as my employee.
Did she tell him I made her leave? If so, he’s also judging me for the fact that she was in the lobby last night, looking for a place to go.
Yeah, buddy, I’m judging myself for that shit, too.
I head out of the building and as I flag down a cab my phone is ringing again.
Audra Carmichael calling.
Again.
I answer the phone and say, “One sec,” to her and then tell the driver the address of the office before I lean back in the seat and blow out a long breath.
“Mother,” I greet.
“You’re on your way to the office? Good, I’ll meet you there.”
“I’ve got a full morning. Just talk to me now. Traffic’s thick so I’ve got at least twenty minutes sittin’ here where you can continue to plead your case if necessary. Though, really, it’s not.”
“Well, Austin, I said what I had to say last night. Did you get a chance to reflect on it?”
I spent my time on much better pursuits last night, for the first time in days not consumed with trying to choke down the shit sandwich I’ve been served.
“I said what I had to say, so you should be talking to Sienna, not me.”
“I’ve done that. Last night. She wants to meet with you. Can you fly home and meet with her tonight?”
“I just got back here after days in San Diego for Dad. I’m here for a reason.”
“I realize this. Maybe you’ll consider flying out for just the weekend.”
I don’t even know what day it is for a second, then it dawns that it’s Friday. But I was in San Diego last weekend. And this is Sienna Greer expecting me to fly to see her when she’s public enemy number one to me.
“No. Can’t do it. I want proof she’s pregnant and a paternity test proving it’s mine before I talk to her about a thing.”
“So, you’re going to let this carry on, then? Put everyone through this stress?”
Everyone? What about my stress?
“She can start the ball rolling now, Mother. This isn’t me playing games. There’s no reason for me to get on another plane this week. If she’s pregnant, she should go to a doctor and have proof filed with her attorneys who will get in touch with mine. My attorneys have already been briefed on her claim. The ball is in her court, not mine.”
“Fine. I’m going home then. I guess we’ll wait and see what she does,” she announces unhappily.
“Like I said, I’m not the one who did this. She’s responsible for all of it. As far as I’m concerned, her pregnancy doesn’t exist until I see proof and it doesn’t factor in the charges against her unless there’s proof of paternity. If that’s the case, I’m still not promising to drop any charges. Do you have any idea how all this has shit on my life? Do you care about anything other than your precious Roger and how upset he is?”
“That isn’t fair. I’m just trying to facilitate something that will help all of us. You. That unborn baby. Roger. And by extension, me.”
“Right. Or you could stay out of it.”
“I think you know that’s not my style.”
Too true.
“Well, have a safe flight home,” I say.
“I’ll call you once I speak with her again. We had a quick phone call, but I’ll visit her when I get back and appeal to her to visit a doctor and speak with her lawyers if she hasn’t already done that.”
