Have you looked up what you can and cannot eat? Did you get your prenatals? How much water are you drinking? Don’t take any medications other than Tylenol.
She’s also asked how far along I am, when my first doctor’s appointment is, and if she can come with me. As much as I appreciate her excitement, the answer to that last one is no. There will be other appointments, I’m sure, where Adam’s playing an away game and she can come then.
The first one needs to be me and him. Only. We deserve that.
Adam got a call from Olsson this morning letting him know that while he’s not getting a fine for the ejection, he’s pulling him from today’s game because he “felt he needed it.”
Adam wasn’t exactly stoked about it, but there was no argument to be made. He did need it. And I selfishly did, too. There’s no way I’d miss one of his games after the few days we’ve had, but I need to get some work done.
Although, with the list of stuff I need to get caught up on…I could be here all night. I need to make the schedules, and payroll has to get done. Inventory checks and orders need to be placed and recorded. I have to look into my current advertisements and see if any need to be adjusted. We have our annual health inspection coming up, and even though this place has never seen a number lower than ninety-nine in its lifetime—doesn’t mean I can accept it without ensuring that happens.
A knock comes to my office door, but even then, I don’t look away from my computer.
“Come on in.”
“Hey, Mia. I got this for you.” One of my chefs, Louis, walks in, and the sweet smell of one of my favorites has me abandoning everything.
“For me? I don’t mean to be rude, Louis, but why?”
He chuckles, then sets our honey berry grilled cheese and fries on my desk. “Your boyfriend called. He gave all the chefs season passes to make sure you don’t miss a meal.”
My jaw drops. I want to be mad that he went behind my back and talked to my staff about feeding me. I’m a grown woman. I can feed myself, and Adam knows that. Or at least, I think he does. If it were my mom who organized this—it would be a different story.
I take another good inhale of the sandwich and my mouth practically waters. You know what, I don’t care that much when the food smells this good.
Louis reaches for the plate. “I can make something else if you’d like. I remembered you liked this, but?—”
“No, it’s perfect. Thank you.”
“No, thank you, or well, thank your boyfriend. My son will be so excited. If it’s not too much trouble, I’d love to be off the next weekend home game so I can take him.”
Reaching for my notepad, I jot it down on my list.
“I can do that. I’ll probably see you there, too.”
“Sounds like a plan, Mia. Enjoy your sandwich.” Louis starts to leave my office, but then hooks his hand on the frame and pops his head back in. “Oh, and Kim told me some guy named Harry is here? He just got his food, so if he’s someone you need to talk to, or avoid, he’ll be here for a minute.”
I nod, because I’ve already bitten into my sandwich. I cover my mouth with my hand. I know it’s impolite to speak with food in your mouth, but I don’t want to keep him from his job either. “Thanks, I’ll go see him in a sec,” I mumble.
With another bite, I pick up my phone and send a text.
So you bribed my staff to feed me. You’re lucky they made my favorite, or else I’d be a little insulted.
Incentivized is a better word for it. And in my defense, I said only when needed.
The season passes might’ve made them a little excited today I guess.
Or they saw their boss not in heels for the first time ever and thought today’s definitely needed.
… Now I am insulted.
I would like to point out that they’re still two-inch platform loafers. It’s not like I’m wearing ballet flats. Let’s get some perspective people.
Honey, I’m teasing you.
After my workout I told Olsson about the baby. He’s happy for us, said to let him know if we need anything.
A day off would be nice.
