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This is usually where I roll my eyes, but I don’t. Instead, I embrace the moment. Her real father has failed her anyway, and we just saw it happen live.
"Mommy loves you too. And you love her. Why don’t you tell her as well?" she asks.
Now it's my turn to be terrified.
"What…what…what do you mean, sweetheart?" I query her.
"Mommy told me she likes you yesterday," she says mischievously. "You need to go tell her."
I laugh nervously. "Of course, I won’t. It will be our little secret."
12
REBECCA
Iperuse the file in my hand. It’s the original claim of Rayan Ghulam to the oil reserve in the Persian Gulf. It was hidden by our company because they didn't want the Omanis to have access to and claim the oil pockets for themselves, as is their right.
It turns out that only Rayan and the very few other people knew about this, that's why it was easy to bribe them and keep their mouths shut. I didn’t leave these documents in the office because I felt they were too open there.
It’s not like I don’t trust Gretchen, but she’s honest, way too honest, and I trust that she’d be stupid if she finds this document, rather than wise enough to keep it hidden for me.
My day goes on as one would expect, just me constantly being chewed upon by my own guilt. I don’t have the balls to constantly face Jordan because now it's obvious that he is the son of the Omani royalty.
Hell, I know that right now he might be scheming something, but I don’t even have the balls to ask or challenge him because at any point in time if this gets to the limelight, my entire family’s image would be ruined.
The company would be torn down to shreds, and ever since I started working for my father’s legacy, I have been striving to uphold would be made useless.
Having to avoid him, the only way I can do that is by staying in the office long enough. It felt like a good plan, me simply staying in the office.
Though it comes at its own cost and to escape the boredom, I work through every hour. I sort through documents, approve motions ahead of time, begin to make long-term plans, and modify policies to keep my brain active.
I could literally go anywhere else, but I choose not to. If I’m not at home with my baby and Jordan, work is my only refuge.
And so, I stress myself.
I put my body through the trials of the brutal gauntlet of work and juice my body for everything it has.
So much so, that when I step out of the car, I can’t even feel my legs.
I think to myself,this is temporary. It’ll pass when I get inside and bury myself in Jordan’s arms.
Is worked so far. I might not be making steps to further our relationship, but at least his hugs comfort me. They make me feel revitalized knowing this is the closest my guilt would ever allow me to touch him.
Today is different though. I over did it.
I over did everything.
I clutch the file in my hands. I don’t bother to carry my bag out. Jordan might need to use the car next, so leaving the files in the car would be dangerous. He might see them.
I hold the file in my hands as I move to the front door.
I letthe guilt eat me to the point where it affects not just my mental health, but my physical as well.
I hear every individual beat of my heart…and it’s slow.
How do I know? It matches my footsteps…and I’m practically dragging myself across the pavement right now.
I see the door slide open and a familiar figure in his usual dark suit steps out.
