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Even my bouts of crying didn’t help my cause.
My mother signed the adoption papers. Thurston did too, and I went back to school after my seventh-grade winter break with a new surname, an older stepbrother, and no desire to answer any of the questions my friends had for me.
I’ve grown fond of Thurston over the years, and although I’ll never call him dad, I’ve kept his surname. I’ve done it more to placate my mother. Since she fought her way through a stage two ovarian cancer diagnosis, I do what I can to make her happy.
“Was he in the office this morning?” I ask Shirlene as I wait for the light, signaling that it’s safe to cross the street.
“Bright and early,” she chirps. “He got here shortly after seven to do some business with London. He was stuck in meetings, and after that, he went to meet your mother uptown for lunch.”
“He didn’t leave to have coffee with anyone?”
A slight sigh is followed by a curt, “Nope.”
I’m not getting anywhere with Shirlene. I need to see Thurston face-to-face. If he persuaded John to give me the promotion, I have to remind him to keep his nose out of my business.
“Is he at home?” I start the trek across the street with at least twenty other pedestrians all headed somewhere this early afternoon.
“Nope,” she answers again with less hesitation this time. “They’re going to a matinee on Broadway. It’s that musical they’ve wanted to see all month.”
Of course, it is. Thurston will do anything that’s asked of him as long as my mom is the person making the request.
“I’ll find him later.” I smile at a woman passing me.
“Works for me,” Shirlene says. “Tell your dad I’ll see him in the morning.”
She ends the call before I can tell her that I wish I could do that. My dad has been gone for a long time. Every night I fall asleep wishing I could see his face in the morning. That wish will never come true.
***
Cursing under my breath, I shove my phone into my purse. Kieran didn’t pick up. I tried to call him twice, but both calls went straight to voicemail. That’s a sure sign that he’s silenced his phone.
He only does that when he’s in one of his “ critical conferences, ” as he calls them. His colleagues refer to them as client meetings, but Kieran eats up drama like it’s dessert. It fuels him. He tells me it makes him a better man. I disagree. I think it makes him anxious and unreliable.
I didn’t bother leaving a message. I want to hear what I hope will be excitement in his voice when I tell him I landed my dream job.
We’ve never admitted it to one another, but it’s always felt as though Kieran and I are in a silent battle to win the career race.
The last time we compared salaries and perks, he was a step ahead of me. I know, for certain, with this promotion, that I’ll take the lead.
I swing open the door to Rolly’s Pub because I’m taking my boss’s advice to grab a drink. It’s early, but it’s not every day a dream comes to fruition.
As soon as I step inside the dimly lit pub, my gaze lands on the back of a man sitting at the bar.
I only got a brief glimpse of Roman Hawthorne’s back last week, but the expensive suit jacket covering the broad shoulders of the man I’m looking at is familiar.
Lady Luck is definitely shining her bright light on me today.
Before I can approach him, he’s turned in his seat.
A smile glides over his devilishly full lips. “Miss Marks.”
“Mr. Hawthorne,” I say as I step closer.
“Roman,” he corrects me. He stands and gestures to the empty barstool next to him. It’s the same one I was sitting on when we met. “Please, join me.”
I see no reason not to.
I smooth my hands over the skirt of my dress and situate myself so I’m semi-facing him. This skirt is a bit too short for barstools, so I tug at the hem. It settles just above my knees which is exactly where Roman’s gaze is.
“Are you drinking the usual?” he asks as he takes his seat. “A vodka and cranberry with two lime slices?”
That shouldn’t impress me, but it does since Kieran has never remembered my preferred drink.
“That’s what I’m here for,” I say, even though if this is Roman’s regular mid-day haunt, I may need to drop by more often.
I motion to Rolly to bring me a drink. He tilts his chin in what I hope is a gesture of acknowledgment.
“Did you sort out that job situation?” Roman asks.
My gaze drops to his mouth as he takes a small sip from the glass in front of him. It’s almost half-full. I can’t tell if that’s because he ordered it straight or if he’s been in here nursing it for some time.
