Page 12 of Bobby

Nothing at all to do with the pure joy I felt in her home. At being entertained by two little girls as they told me stories and made up games all throughout one of the best meals I’ve had in weeks.

As Marco gets in and pulls away from the curb, I look out the window and imagine what they might be doing. Probably getting ready for bed soon. I learned quickly that the girls share the full-size bed in the bedroom and Willow sleeps on the futon. No one complained, and they just spoke about it as if it was normal.

How can three people teach me in such a short amount of time that while I might be a very wealthy man, I’m beyond poor compared to their relationship with one another?

“Sir, are you still able to meet Vinny? He wants to discuss the Maranzetti problem.”

I sigh. Bedtime isn’t coming for me like it is for them. “Of course. Let’s go.”

Chapter 5—Willow

I can’t believe I’m late. I’m never late. I make it a point not to be. Being a single parent and late is a stereotype I refuse to fall into. Just like my hair being a mess. While it’s not always in a perfect updo, it’s brushed at least 98 percent of the time. And my girls? It’s on their daily chore chart so they get into the habit early. Along with brushing their teeth and saying “Morning” to everyone in the house. It might seem silly now, but I fully believe that if you wake up in the right mood and bring it to others, your day is significantly brighter.

I apologize to everyone I push through as I exit the elevator and speedwalk to my desk. I know Spencer is going to come yell at me, and I just hope I can switch out my shoes before he does. I might still wear the heels I hate because they’re too small, but I brought my beat-up old tennis shoes to walk to and from the office. I decided Sunday night when the girls and I were setting out our clothes for the week that I’d rather have comfort for as long as I can. I won’t splurge on a new pair of shoes for at least another two weeks. I need to make the most of what I have and teach the girls that sometimes life isn’t comfortable, but you get through it.

As soon as I put my bag and lunch on my desk, Missy pops up. “Where have you been?” she whispers conspiratorially. “Spencer was looking for you earlier.”

Of course he already knows I’m late. Probably wanting that file I already shared with Mr. Leone.

“The bus broke down on the way to the girls’ school. We had to walk the last few blocks, and it wasn’t easy with Ivy’s class project.”

I like New York, but today isn’t one of the days I love it. I don’t blame the bus for breaking down. You never expect it, but it happens. Doesn’t mean it didn’t royally mess up my morning.

No, I blame the people who wouldn’t get out of the way when Ivy was walking toward them. It was clear she needed the space as she carried her diorama, but they kept huffing and puffing. It got so bad I didn’t even mind when Lily started calling them out on it. She became the “moving van,” as she called herself, walking just in front of Ivy and saying “Moooove” to every single person we passed with zero shame. If anyone tried to speak to my child about her actions, I just gave them my best mean-mom glare, and they shut up and kept walking. I’ve perfected it over the years since I became a mother.

Missy frowns at the mention of the girls, her heart on her sleeve as always. “Are they okay?”

“Fine. Just frazzled.” Like their mother, but I leave that part out as I take off my jacket. The mornings are always a little cooler than the afternoons, and I pack for all the comforts of the day just in case. “What’d I miss?”

“Spencer came by.” I nod, already knowing as much. “And Mr. Leone was looking for you.”

I stop cold as I move to put on my heels. “He was?” I look at her with wide eyes.

She nods. “Spencer came over the second Mr. Leone asked about you, and they walked off to the elevators. That was about twenty minutes ago. Why do you think he was looking for you?”

I shake my head. I don’t know—not for sure. I could guess, but I don’t voice my thoughts out loud, and Missy sits back down after I shrug and goes back to tapping away on her computer. I pull my laptop out of my bag, but that’s as far as I get before I plop down in my chair. I stare into space, trying to figure out what it could mean for Mr. Leone to come looking for me.

Bobby.

He told me to call him that, but that was Saturday. When he said we were friends. Are we still friends, or was that just during dinner with the girls? I’m not sure. And I really don’t want to ask him, especially in public, because that would lead to other questions. Like why we were together in the first place. And why I thought it was wise to bring a strange man into my home with my little girls there. Valid questions, though the answers are both simple and complicated.

Did he just want to go over the files again, or was it something else? Did I make him feel uncomfortable at dinner? I know what my home is like and what we have and don’t have. From his town car to the laces on his shoes, it’s obvious we live in two very different tax brackets. But he didn’t seem to mind, or at least he hid it well if he did.

Maybe he’s afraid I’m going to tell people we spent time together out of the office. I’m sure he doesn’t want some random gossip that he’s dating a single mom who works as a part-time employee in his company. He probably just wants to make sure I’m not expecting anything else from him.

Which I’m not. Much to the chagrin of my daughters. They thought Bobby was the perfect friend for me. Apparently, I have none, if you ask them.

“Get your hands off me.”

The entire floor turns toward the elevator to see Spencer storming off in a huff, followed by two men in suits. They’re bulky through the shoulders as if they were football linemen. Each of them has one of those earpiece things that looks like it connects to some old corded phone but only goes under their suit and not to a phone line. The company logo is on their breast pocket. These aren’t the same men in the grey cotton uniforms who open the door and sign us in downstairs. This is the security team that I’ve seen every now and again when they’re doing sweeps in the building for something. No one ever knows what they’re looking for, but we all know not to get in their way. These are “officers” with a gun and pepper spray or whatever else is stuffed under their jackets, whereas the others just wear the uniform and nothing else.

Spencer marches to his office and slams the door shut. The two men who followed him stand outside it, as if they’re on guard.

For a prisoner.

I look at Missy, whose wide eyes match mine, before the ding of the elevator pulls everyone’s attention again. It’s so quiet in here that the usual ambient noise of the elevator opening draws the focus.

My breath stalls in my chest as I see Marco walk out, followed by three more armed security officers. They make their way to Spencer’s office, but not before Marco turns his head in my direction and gives me a nod. I feel myself shrink a bit as everyone looks at me as if I can give them answers. But I have no clue what’s going on.