Page 36 of The Work Wife

“Christ,” he muttered and ran his hand over his buzzed hair.

“Weston!” Jamie shouted from the hall.

“Excuse me,” Wes picked up his bag and moved around the angry man. “My wife needs me.” He’d never been so happy to respond to the call of an irritated female. But he hurried happily away from the angry father.

* * * *

Jamie felt heat rise in her face when Weston stepped into her small room and looked around. Her father had left it a shrine to her youth. The Red Hot Chili Peppers and Audioslave posters still lined the walls and the Eiffel tower she’d made out of popsicle sticks in sixth grade sat on the dresser.

Her full-sized bed was covered in the black comforter she’d insisted on when her father had suggested pink roses.

All her life he’d tried to compensate for her not having a mother by showering her with overly girly things. But he wasn’t able to make her into the princess he always called her.

“I’m sorry about this. We should have gone somewhere else.”

“It’s okay. We’ll get through it.” He stepped closer and patted her back like the good friend he’d always been. “I get the bed.”

“Fair enough.” She owed him so much more than a comfortable place to sleep. He was being accused of defiling her virtue. He deserved a gold medal for going along with this plan.

“I just want you to know that forevermore, when you say the words I have an idea, I am going to bring this up.”

“Forevermore?” She appreciated how Wes could defuse even the most tense situations with his dry humor.

“Don’t worry. It’s not a very long time really. I’m sure I’ll be facing pistols at dawn.”

“He’s not that mad.”

“You’ve seen him even angrier than he is now?” It did seem impossible.

“Sure.”

“What did you do?”

“I got caught making out in the back of a van. The boy had his hand up my shirt when my dad stopped to offer assistance to the driver. The driver needed a different kind of assistance after that. Mostly to eat around the wires in his jaw.”

“I’m sure you’re telling me this because you think it will make me feel better, but not so much.”

“The thing to remember is that he will calm down. He’ll probably be laughing about it tomorrow.”

“If only I survive the night.”

“First, you have to survive dinner.”

Wes followed behind her as they went out to the living room and took a seat on the sofa. As if choreographed, they reached for each other’s hands at the same time. They were getting good at this. His fingers linked through hers, gave her strength to sit up straighter and look her father in the eye.

Her father was holding court in his ratty old chair, his arms crossed over his broad chest as he looked down his nose at them. She’d seen this tactic many times. He was waiting for her to start. He would remain silent until she was so uncomfortable she would ramble on and tell more than she’d planned to.

She wouldn’t fall for that trick. Not this time.

“Wes and I are married. I’m sorry you weren’t invited to the wedding, but we just wanted it to be small.” There, that was all he needed to know.

“Did his parents get invited?”

“No, sir.”

“Do they know?”

“No,” Wes answered, and her father shook his head. His skin tone was moving into the purple hues again.