AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I reply to the driver, "Yes, please." Then I respond to my mom.
Me: I'm going to be about 30 to 60 minutes.
Mom: I'll wait.
Me: I swear to God, Mom, if you're not there this time when I show up, this will be it. I'll stop taking your calls and block you.
Mom: Don't worry. I'll be here.
Me: Fine. I'll text when I'm on my way.
It doesn't take that long to get to Riggs's office. I easily get through security and travel to the top floor with Kalim in tow.
He steps out of the elevator after I do and states, "I'll wait here."
"Thank you," I reply, my stomach flipping. It's a strange feeling being in this building. I've been here to visit my father numerous times while growing up. Now it feels foreign.
The secretary at the front desk looks up. I've never met her before. She beams, "Hello, Miss Fox."
"Madden," I correct her. My insides quivering as I lift my chin higher. For some reason, I want her to know I belong to Riggs. "Mrs. Madden," I emphasize.
Her face turns red. "Yes, Mrs. Madden. I'm sorry." She swallows hard, then asks, "Are you here to see your husband?"
I soften my tone. "Yes. He's expecting me."
She picks up the phone. "Connie, Mrs. Madden is here." A moment passes, and she nods. She puts the phone down and motions. "He's in his office. Connie said you can go through."
"Thank you," I say curtly and head down the hallway. I get in front of my father's office and freeze.
It's empty. There's nothing but his mahogany desk and oversized executive chair. Everything about it feels cold. Even the paintings have disappeared. I wonder where they went. I know they cost a lot of money. Did Riggs toss them or give them to my father?
It doesn't matter.
My stomach churns, and I put my hand on the glass, blinking hard. How could he have been so greedy? I finally tear my eyes off the sad sight, unable to take it anymore, and continue down the hall.
I stop in front of Connie's desk. She looks up and smiles. "Mrs. Madden, it's good to see you again."
I return her smile, happy and relieved to see a friendly, familiar face. But I state, "Connie, you've always called me Blakely. Please don't stop."
She beams brighter. "Okay, Blakely. Riggs told me earlier to send you in when you arrived."
"Thank you," I say and walk past her. I open the door, step inside, then shut the door.
Riggs stands in front of the window with his arms crossed, lost in thought.
I stare at the back of my husband's body.
God, I miss him.
Ink flows over his forearms, blocked by the cuffs of his rolled sleeves. He's always hidden his tattoos for work, based on some deal he made with my father, who didn't approve of them.
The fact that Riggs is no longer hiding them makes me happy. It's also a display of how much things have changed.
The taut fabric stretches across his back, over his muscular surfer shoulders, and I ache to see him fighting the waves at our beach house. His perfectly tailored pants hang over his ass in just the right way, and I have to tear my eyes off it.
I assume he didn't hear me come in. He looks lost, and I can sympathize. It's exactly how I spend most of my day.
How can two people feel so horrible apart and want to be together yet can't figure out their issues?
