Page 45 of Unwrapped

We haven’t texted since last night, and all I want to do is reach out to her, but I have a meeting in a few minutes, and she’s headed to work this afternoon. Regardless, I’m going to find her, and I won’t leave her side until she forgives me for acting like an ass and until we work out a plan to tell her parents about us.

Maybe you should have listened to her yesterday instead of acting like a five-year-old.

My phone buzzes, and with my heart in my throat, I reach for it. In my haste and hope that the person on the other end is Miranda, I knock the coffee over and most of its contents end up on my lap.

“Fuck!” I jump out of my chair, nearly tripping over my bag. Upon realization that I have no paper towels in my office, I march across the hall into the men’s room and scrub off the coffee stain as well as I can. Unfortunately, it leaves a huge wet stain on my crotch.

With only five minutes before my meeting, I run into the kitchen to grab another coffee. Thankfully, there’s a fresh pot waiting for me. The downside is that Mona is in the kitchen slathering cream cheese on a bagel.

Seeing her here only makes me think of Miranda more, and how much I miss her. I pour the coffee, eager to get back to my office for a few minutes before it’s time to go into the conference room for the meeting, but then Mona sighs and picks up her phone.

“Baby girl,” she says. Instead of leaving like I intended, I reach for sugar, which I have no intention of putting in my coffee. “You are not acting like yourself. It’s a few days before Christmas and you’re acting like someone died. This is not my daughter.”

She stops speaking, and I hold my breath and take a small step closer.

“Don’t lie to me. You think I didn’t notice you were crying last night? And you didn’t eat a thing.”

She stands still, her hand paused over the bagel.

“Darling, whatever it is, you can tell me. Is it Brandon? Is that who you’ve been spending all your time with?”

Who the fuck is Brandon?

“Good. I’m glad it’s not him, but what is it?”

She listens some more, and this time, she rests a hand on her forehead.

“It’s not like you. You call in sick at work today. You’re not eating. From the look of you this morning, you’re not sleeping either. You were still in the clothes you had on yesterday. I have a meeting, but we will talk when I get home tonight. Your father and I are both worried about you.”

She listens some more, and she finally turns around and sees me standing there. I put down the sugar, and even though I didn’t use it, I stir my coffee to give me more time in the kitchen.

“Okay. I love you, baby.” She sets the phone down and takes a deep breath. She picks up her food, nods at me, and starts to walk away.

“Mona,” I say, unable to help myself.

“Yes?” She stops a few feet away from the door and turns to look at me.

“I couldn’t help but overhear. Is everything okay with Miranda?”

“Something is definitely wrong with my daughter. She’s upset about something, and I’m worried about her.”

I stare at Mona, unsure what to say, and feeling lower than I have since I found out Paige was a thief. Unlike the Paige incident, this one is one hundred percent my fault. Now the woman I love is in agony because I acted like a fool.

“Are you feeling okay, Mr. Bain?” She looks at me up and down but thankfully does not comment on the wet spot on my pants. “No offense, but you look terrible. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with everyone. It’s Christmas! We’re all supposed to be happy!” She doesn’t say anything else to me. She walks out of the kitchen, mumbling to herself.

I can’t concentrate on a thing during the meeting. Thankfully, it’s to discuss the spring projects and who we are subcontracting for parts of the project. I manage to get myself together enough to put together a clear presentation, but the mood in the office is down.

To cheer my employees up, I send an email to Mona telling her to bring in lunch for everyone. Half an hour before lunch is supposed to arrive, after checking one employee’s file, I leave the building because I can’t go another minute without resolving things with Miranda.

I park my Range Rover at the far end of the quiet tree-lined street that leads to her parents’ house. The street is populated by one and two-story houses, a hidden oasis in the middle of the city.

Unsure about ringing the doorbell, I send her a text.

Me: I’m outside. Can you let me in?

Three bubbles immediately pop up, but no message comes through. Just as I’m about to call her, the door to the basement entrance opens. I open the gate and run down the few stairs and step through the door.

Guilt washes over me immediately. She’s a wreck. Her hair is tangled, and her eyes are red and swollen. Even the tip of her perfect little nose is red. As soon as I close the door behind me, she crosses her arms, turns, and gives me her back.

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