Foster is in my office, and we’re sitting at my table about to eat lunch. My assistant had subs delivered, and I’m famished, but I also need a listening ear.
“You don’t like uncertainty, but who does? Just talk to Elodie.” He bites into his sandwich.
I inspect my own, happy that it’s turkey. “I feel like we’ve been half doing that lately. But I think it’s time to get a little more serious. She mentioned that her apartment will be ready again. As much as I’ve given every indication that she and Lola have moved in now and won’t be moving out, I’m not 100% until I have the logistics done and dusted. I think like that sometimes.”
“It makes sense to stay if she’s already there.” He speaks with his mouth full, holding the sandwich over a plate as he decapitates it. “But it has to be because she wants to be with you long-term. Not just because of Lola.”
Opening a packet of mustard, I’ve been listening. “That’s maybe the issue. If she moves back to her apartment, then what happens logistically? Sure, we’ll end up spending nights together, but…” I fear what thought crosses my mind.
Foster drops his sandwich onto the plate and sinks back into the chair. “Ah. Got it. The fine print.”
“Something like that.” I’m not sure I have much of an appetite right now. “My lawyer emailed me because I want to finalize Lola’s trust. But he reminded me that even though it isn’t needed, I did originally ask him about custody arrangements.”
Foster winces when I say that. “That’s a little extreme, no? Do you think it’s really needed?”
I shake my head. “Not at all. Right now, we are both committed to putting our daughter first, and we are something more than just co-parents. There isn’t a need for paperwork. It’s something on the backburner just in case something were to ever change. But even with no paperwork,, there can’t be any gray areas between Elodie and me.”
“If she’s in a shitty mood tomorrow in my department meeting, then I can blame you.”
Rubbing my thumb along my chin, I debate what’s next. “I’ll just talk to her. It sounds so simple.”
“Humans hate confrontation,”Foster states the obvious. “But you can put on your big boy shoes.”
“Thanks.” I smile contritely at him, then take a bite of my own sandwich.
He picks up a chip. “You’re welcome. That’s the good thing about being single. I get to watch from the sidelines and analyze.”
“Yeah.” I laugh. “How is that going for you? Any future prospects for the wife title?”
“Nope.” His P is sharp. “Much to my family’sdismay.”He comes from old money, and I’m positive his family has expectations for him to carry on the name.
“A friend of Elodie is joining the company. Apparently, she finds you remotely attractive.”
He develops a cocky grin. “Oh yeah? I saw her in the elevator with Elodie. Sutton, right? I threw her my best look, the one I know women like. Suave, yet it says I make my own rules. Which would be what I’ve learned from you and Julian. No way am I getting involved with workplace entanglements.”
“To be fair, Elodie and I make a point not to cross paths here. The only time is the occasional lunch or when we pick up or drop off Lola.”
Foster grabs his sandwich again and huffs with skepticism. “I guess it’s true that you both don’t exactly flaunt your relationship, but people are aware. Eventually, she will be your plus-one to whatever business dinner someone thinks requires a date. You’ll both, at some point, make it more public outside the office. If she feels you two are serious and endgame, of course.”
Inside of me boils at the thought that there could even be another option. I also need people to know that she ismine.
“Trust me. There is only one way this could go. I just need to check off the confirmation, and that has to come from her.”
“Good luck.”
I don’t need it. I’m still a little nervous, though. That’s what she is capable of. Making a man who is completely unnerved by life lose his balance.
And my tolerance for that has reached its limit.
Elodie humswhile she cleans up Lola’s mess on her highchair. She waited until Lola was asleep to spruce up the area.
I watch her while I sit quietly at the kitchen island, pretending to read my emails. When she carries the sponge to the sink, now mollified with her efforts, she turns and leans against the sink to face me.
“Want to watch a movie or something? I’m actually not exhausted for once.”
This is my in, and I slide my phone to the side. “Actually, can we talk about something?”
Her mood quickly shifts to concern. “Sure. Everything okay?”
