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In the weeks since Christmas, I’ve drafted over a hundred text messages to Angie, but I’ve been too much of a pussy to send any. I’ve been scared. Scared she won’t respond, scared she doesn’t feel the same. Scared she’ll text backtellingme she doesn’t feel the same.
So, I’ve been drifting along, barely able to concentrate on work. Wondering every fucking second what Angie is doing. Whether she misses me as much as I miss her. Hoping she does. I feel like I check my phone every five minutes, just in case she’s messaged me.
The whole time I’m running over scenarios in my head. I might be a pussy about sending her a message, but the next time I’m face to face with Angie, fuck it, I’m telling her how I feel. If I’m lucky, she’ll feel the same.
With that decision made, I just have to figure out a way to make sure I can see her again. And soon. I can’t let her have time to forget about me. To meet someone else. Maybe I can organize a business trip to Chicago for some arbitrary reason.
My phone buzzes on my desk, and I dive for it. My heart sinks when I see that it’s only Beau, but I swipe it open. Now my heart is clenching and I’m hoping against hope.
BEAU: Just a heads up… Uncle Bill’s on the warpath. He’s coming to Seattle to “check up on things” next week. Ten bucks says LA, SD and NY are all next on his list.
If Uncle Bill heads this way, Angie will come with him. She has to. This is my fucking chance. I message Beau back, thanking him for the heads up.
Buzzing Shayla, I wait for her to stick her head into my office. “Mr. Brooks Westerhaven?”
“Clear my schedule and hold my calls for the rest of the day, Shayla.”
“Of course, sir.”
She disappears again. Shucking my suit jacket and loosening my tie, I leave my walnut desk, crossing to sink into the gray fabric couch, my eyes briefly finding the San Diego skyline through the large feature windows in front of me.
I don’t have time to admire the views. I have to map out my battle plan. This is going to work. It fucking has to.
Angela
Bill’s eyes are boring into the top of my head. Just like they have for the past four weeks. Shifting in my seat, I glance up from my phone, where I’m running through his schedule for the day, cocking a brow.
Bill sighs, turning to his secretary. “Can we have the room for a moment, Helen?”
She throws a sympathetic glance my way, collecting her iPad as she stands from her plush chair, the wood and glass door swinging shut behind her as she leaves.
Silence swirls around the book-filled office. This is Bill’s sanctuary. He will retreat in here to read manuscripts Beaumont has sent him, or reports from the various businesses. He calls his nephews from in here. My heart clenches at the thought of them. At the thought of Tim.
Bill studies me over his steepled fingers for a moment, the expanse of his mahogany desk between us. When he speaks, his voice is full of concern and censure. “Angie. I know you’re not happy.”
I wince internally, swallowing as I try not to show any emotion on my face. It’s the same accusation he’s been throwing at me for weeks now. As always, I force a cheery smile and shake my head at him.
“And why wouldn’t I be happy, Bill?”
That usually works. It’s been five weeks since we left the UK, and every time he has made that comment, I reply and he sighs, dropping the subject. Not this time. This time, he locks his eyes on mine, tapping his steepled fingers against his mouth.
“Clearly you need a distraction”
I need a… what? I blink him in surprise. A distraction? What’s that supposed to mean?
“Have Helen clear my schedule for the next three weeks. I want to check in on the businesses. You will accompany me. It’s been too long since you’ve been to Seattle.”
My blood feels like ice in my veins. The businesses. I know he only mentioned Seattle, but he clearly intends to check in on them all. We’re not spending three weeks in Seattle. I rise mechanically, my mind racing. Nodding stiffly, I leave the room, my eyes finding Helen’s as she looks up from her computer, where her desk is across from mine, flanking the door into Bill’s inner sanctum.
“Everything okay?”
Shit. They can obviously all tell I’m miserable, and here I was thinking I hid it well. Clearly not. That’s… mortifying.
“Bill wants you to clear his schedule for the next three weeks. He wants to check in on the businesses.”
She does a double take. I don’t blame her. It’s been five weeks since he spent five weeks with his nephews in the UK. He had numerous meetings with them there about the businesses. This is out of the blue. For everyone.
Helen offers a small smile, slipping back into Bill’s office while I sink into my chair. I let Helen have the desk that looks over my head at the window, so I stare at the Chicago skyline immortalized in oil painting behind her desk.
