Back in my office, I take a deep breath and examine my desk. Work has piled up, but it’s manageable. I brought the baby journal Wyla gave me and my giant planner.
“Alright, maybe you’re watching me, and maybe I’m crazy—”I’m talking to myself and my ghost grandparents.“But in case you are—I’m going to figure this out. I can do this.”
The moment I pick up my pen, I’m locked in.
I start brain dumping for both baby and work. Then I reorganize them by priority. I make notes about the recurring things I have to do for even the tiniest of tasks. Daily, weekly, monthly; every little thing that has to happen.
I write out all of Adam’s games and their times. I don’t have an exact due date yet, but I work off the weeks in general and assign tasks I want to accomplish to each week. I want my nursery completely set up before thirty-five weeks. I want to plan to go to at least one set of away games where I actually take time off and travel to watch Adam. So I go back to my work journal and orchestrate that.
My only clue that it’s dinner time is when one of my other chefs brings in a plate of our creamy Tuscan ravioli. The food honestly gives me the fuel I need to keep going. I knock out more than half of the stuff I needed to get caught up on for the bar.
Payroll is done.
Schedules are made.
Orders we’ve received are recorded and reflected in my expenses database.
I spend some time looking over a few of my investments and schedule a call with my financial girl to make a few adjustments. It’s not ideal—in my mind, at least—to hire someone to help toward the end of my pregnancy and maternity leave, but it’s for the best to have a safety net.
I print off some fresh inventory sheets and the checklist the health department provided for inspections—telling myself they can be what I start fresh on first thing in the morning, but I’m so in the zone, I don’t know how to stop.
Grabbing the warm papers from the printer, I march right out my door just to get a head start and slam into what feels like a wall.
“Christ, Mia, are you okay?”
Adam’s voice feels like a glitch in my system. His strong arms hold me close, and all it takes is one inhale of whatever scent it is that makes him smell so good that my manic episode starts to taper off.
“Hey, I thought you were going to call?”
Adam chuckles, but his forehead has worry lines. Hell, I think I might age him faster with all this stress.
Damn, I bet he’ll be so hot with salt and pepper hair.
“I did, honey. You didn’t answer, and somehow I knew you were still here.”
Mm, that doesn’t seem right. “Are you sure you called? What time is it anyway? Aren’t you here early?”
Adam mumbles a few curses. “It’s nearly midnight. What in the world have you been doing in there? Louis said you’ve been holed up in your office practically all day.”
Oof, midnight? Surely that’s an exaggeration. I reach for my phone, but it’s not in my pocket… Where is it, actually? I suppose missing his call makes sense because I don’t remember the last time I saw it.
Adam lets out a sigh. “Come on, honey, I’m taking you home.”
“But—” I hold up the papers in my hand, but Adam takes them from me.
“No, absolutely not. It can wait until tomorrow. Want to walk out of here or me carry you?”
“You will do no such thing.” I all but stomp my foot. If I could confidently say there are no customers at the bar, I’d call his bluff just to be a brat about him giving me choices.
Taking the papers back from him, I look over the list that’s several pages long. If I start on this, I won’t want to stop until I’m finished.
Looking back at Adam, the sight of him alone has the tension leaving my shoulders. Climbing into my bed and cuddling up next to his warm body really is so tempting.
I let out an exasperated breath. “Fine, can I at least get my stuff?”
Adam holds out a hand with a cocky smirk.
“Keep it up, All-star, and I’ll lock myself in my office to prove a point. You’re only getting me to leave now because I still want to be around you, but you’re toeing the line.”
