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“She’s got the all-clear from her doctors and she texted you to say thanks for the flowers,” I answered, finding the text in question and showing it to her.
Reid chuckled and took it from me, typing a response. “I’m so relieved.” She sighed. “What’s the time?”
“Uh, eight-thirty.”
“Christ, already?”
She stopped walking and I did too, waiting for her to catch up. But she doubled over, one hand on my shoulder for support, and yanked her high heels off one by one.
“Do you want me to take those?” I offered, holding out a hand to take them.
She snatched them out of my reach with a frown. “Don’t be ridiculous, you’re not my shoe holder.”
I couldn’t help but laugh a little. “I’m sorry, should I call yourshoe holderthen?”
She chortled, swinging her heels from one hand. “I remember when you were too scared to call me anything but ‘Ms. Voss’,” she lamented with a smile. “Now here you are, six years later, giving me attitude about my shoes.”
Panic gripped my throat suddenly and for a moment I couldn’t breathe.
I had to tell her.
“I actually need to talk to you about that,” I forced out, trying to clear my throat of the lump.
“About my shoes?” She chuckled.
“No,” I said. I stopped beside my desk and pulled out the envelope. It weighed a ton in my hands, the page filled with words I never wanted her to read.
“What’s going on?” Reid asked, concern dimming her usually care-free expression. “Are you okay?”
I shook my head, willing the tears of frustration to evaporate so I could be professional about this. “I have to give you this,” I said, my voice cracking.
She eyed the envelope like she might refuse or set it on fire, but she took it anyway.
It was agony, watching her tear open the envelope and unfold the page. I watched her eyes flick back and forth, the dent between her brows deepening with every line.
“Mia,” she said quietly, her eyes fixed on the page. “What is this?”
I sniffed and shoved my hands deep into my pockets to keep from fidgeting too much. “I’m resigning,” I told her.
“Yes, I can see that,” she murmured, her gaze finally lifting. “But, why?”
There was genuine confusion in her voice, confusion I couldn’t fault her for.
I shrugged, my face crumpling with frustration. “I’m being deported.”
Chapter 2
Fighting the Book
REID
“De-”Ipaused,theword tasting foreign on my tongue. “Deported?”
Mia only nodded, her hazel eyes bright with all the emotions playing across her face.
I dropped my shoes and leaned on the corner of her desk, my eyes roving the letter in my hands as if it hid the answer I was looking for.
“Mia,” I murmured, my brows bunched in confusion. “You’re gonna have to walk me through this. You’ve been here long enough to qualify for residency even without a work visa, haven’t you?”
