Page 91 of Bad Situation

Paige scoots her booty up and moves to sit next to Ellie, both of them facing me like they’re staging an intervention for lame and single thirty-year-old CFOs.

“Intense,” Paige confirms. “You haven’t been together long and the situation that brought him to you sucks big-time. First, you were each other’s secret, now people around you are scrutinizing your decision. He’s in hot water at work and Kipp is barely speaking to you. Then, with what happened to your attorney and the PI … it’s been horrible. You haven’t had the time to get serious, but your shit is seriously intense. Trust me, Cam and I know—intensity can bring two people together in remarkable ways. Ways that root deeper and chain you tighter than you’d ever think possible.”

I look away and try to keep the ocean from taking over my eyes because she’s right. It’s been too intense. It’s no wonder he left with no explanation. I don’t know what’s going on with his emergency, but if he feels anything like I have in the past few weeks, he’s coping on raw survival, caffeine, and dry shampoo.

Okay, so maybe not the dry shampoo, but still.

“Are you allowed to leave the state?” Ellie asks.

I nod. “For business, yes. They didn’t peg me as a flight risk.”

“It doesn’t matter if you weren’t,” Ellie goes on. “You have a private jet at your disposal and you sign the pilots’ paychecks so I was going to tell you to go anyway. Go find him.”

Paige nods in agreement. “You’ll either be there to support him or figure out what the hell has him running off to Chicago. Do it.”

Ellie sets Griff on the floor again and he heads straight for the tassels. She pays him no mind and leans in to take my hand. “I bought a building today, sister. Get on the fucking plane and go to Chicago.”

Paige smiles and hope shines in her eyes. “Do it.”

I exhale knowing I want to go more than anything. “What am I doing?”

“You’re going to the Windy City and you’re going to find out what the fuck’s going on with your new man,” Ellie confirms the plan that’s swirling in my wine-fogged mind.

“You need to quit cussing around your son. Mom is going to have a fit.”

“It won’t be the first fit I’ve caused and it probably won’t be the last.”

She’s right about that.

“Okay. I’ll do it.”

Ellie cheers. Paige lets out a whoop. I down the rest of my wine and Griffin shits his pants. I hope the latter isn’t a sign of things to come.

*****

I guess I found my badass, so I stopped drinking after I finished my glass of wine. Paige and Ellie started making plans for me and, by plans, I mean telling me what I should pack, what I should say, and how I should surprise him. I ignored them both and drunk texted Callie to clear my schedule through Tuesday.

Callie was beyond shocked and shot off a million texts in return asking what was wrong and why I’d be unavailable and out of the office. I never take days off and, if I do, I’m on the phone or checking email most of the time.

I didn’t explain why or where I’m going, mostly because I don’t do failure well. I’m calculated and measured. I don’t make decisions until I can justify them with numbers and data and, if those aren’t available, then I always err toward doing the right thing—even if its cost doesn’t benefit me or our company. If this trip ends up biting me in the ass, the fewer people who know about it the better.

I don’t know what I’m going to find in Chicago. What I do know is, Eli is there and I want him. So much so, I’m willing to go head-to-head with my father, throw caution to the wind at work, and who knows, maybe piss Eli off by showing up. And I’ve blocked out my biggest fear, one that I cannot spare the smallest bit of mind space to—that I might not be happy with what I find.

Even so, I have to go. If I can offer him the tiniest bit of support after all he’s done for me, I have to be there.

Plus, I’m nosy.

So, there’s that.

*****

It’s Sunday morning and I hopped on the company Gulfstream with Cam, Paige, the kids, my ex-Secret Service bodyguard—whose name is Andrew—a suitcase of naughty lingerie, and a bucket of nerves. Paige and Ellie insisted on the lingerie when all I usually sleep in is a pair of panties and maybe a tank. They said if Eli is there for an emergency, he’ll need a stress reliever and nothing says stress relief better than a raunchy negligée and orgasms.

I ignored my bucket of nerves and taught Jordy how to play blackjack while I stuffed my face with Sour Patch Kids and downed coffee the entire flight to Omaha. By the time I kissed and hugged my brother and his family goodbye, I was flying high on sugar and caffeine, not a good combination when you throw in my bucket of nerves and all the lace.

Andrew and I are now off as fast as we landed, headed for wind, big lakes, and Eli.

I look over at my new taciturn friend. “I’m sorry I’m dragging you to Chicago.”

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