Page 56 of Takeover

“Mmhmm. I can’t wait to see you.”

“Me too.”

We end the call, and I’m so anxious to see her so I can tell her how much I love her to her face that when I hang up the phone, I’m shocked to see Lindsay standing in the middle of my office. I forgot she was there. She looks at me and shakes her head. She takes a few steps backward and trips over a chair. I run to her and grab her elbow for support.

“Don’t touch me!” She pulls her elbow away and takes another step. “You’re throwing away our family because you found some plaything? You had a fantasy, and you fulfilled it. We can start over. You, me, and our son.”

“Listen to me. Tara Taylor is not a plaything. She’s the woman I’m in a relationship with. That’s all you need to know. You and I will never be involved romantically again. Please, leave my office. In the future, make an appointment. I won’t be so courteous next time.” The tears spill down her face before she can turn away. When she reaches the door, she stops, takes a deep breath, and turns around. She wipes away the tears and looks me in the face.

“Just think about it, Ethan. You didn’t want the divorce. You fought for me, but I didn’t fight for you back then, but I am now. Don’t give up on us. Please.”

“Let me make this clear. The only relationship I will have with you is that of co-parent to Vincent. That’s it. We are over. I’m in love with someone else.” She purses her lips and flares her nostrils. She subtly shakes her head. This is something she does whenever she doesn’t want to hear a piece of news. She takes a deep breath and walks out of my office.

Shaken by the turn of events, I lay flat on the couch and take a deep breath. I didn’t fully believe Tara when she said Lindsay wanted me back. I wrote it off as shameless flirting. After our divorce was final, we slept together twice, and I assumed she was looking to scratch an itch. Not that I would touch her again. It was a mistake to sleep with her at all after the divorce.

I count to one hundred before getting up again, determined to get through today and to make it home to my girl and my son.

I’ve missed her so much since she left on Friday for her long weekend. She didn’t spend the night with me on Thursday, and I only saw her briefly when she stopped by the office to say goodbye. We’ve talked and texted every day, but she hasn’t been alone since she left, so our conversations have been brief.

I finally leave the couch and open my office door. “Hunter, are there any meetings on my calendar tomorrow that I can do via teleconference? If not, either reschedule or change to a phone call. I’ll be working from home tomorrow.”

“Can I work from home, too?”

“No.”

“Tyrant.”

I get home an hour earlier than usual today, exhausted not just from my afternoon full of meetings but emotionally drained from the unexpected visit from Lindsay. When she told me she wanted a divorce, it was with our therapist. She tearfully confessed she never wanted to be married, and only married me because her family put pressure on her. She confessed she cared for me, but marriage and family were things she never wanted, yet she never felt comfortable enough to voice that. She’d been muted her entire life by an overbearing father and a mother who was only concerned with appearances and doing what was expected. I was the perfect catch, and she went with it.

The addition of a child was more suffocating than she ever thought, and she’d die if she didn’t get out. It hurt to hear, if only for the sake of my son, but I was not going to try to hold onto someone who admitted she did not love me. I had fallen out of love with her by then, too. She had pulled away from me completely, and by extension, Vincent. She demanded twenty four hour nannies, and on several occasions, I’d come home only to find her gone to some retreat for several days.

By the time we finally decided to divorce, I was ready for my marriage to end. There was a pre-nuptial agreement, but she still received a five-million-dollar settlement, and I let her live in a three thousand square foot apartment on Park Avenue that I own. I waived my right to child support in order for her to agree to give me full custody without a fight, but I made it clear she could see our son whenever she wanted.

For the first year following our divorce, she’d only visit him about once a month for maybe an hour. There were no overnight visits, and she’d leave as soon as he’d start to cry. He had just turned one when Lindsay moved out, and I know he missed her. He’d cry at night, and there was nothing I could do to comfort him. I’d hold him until he cried himself out.

It took months for him to get used to her absence, but each time she’d visit, he’d regress a little. With Lindsay gone, I embraced the life of a single father. It’s not a role I ever thought I’d have, but I made sure I was home at a decent time every night. We formed a nighttime routine, and I made sure my son knew he was loved every day of his life.

As much as I wanted more kids, I didn’t see that happening. I didn’t have the time or the inclination to pursue a relationship. Not until I was insulted by a pouty vixen at a meeting. I disliked her the instant she opened her mouth, but she was beautiful, and my obsession only grew when I left the building. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. The instant I saw her interact with Vincent, I knew. I knew she was the piece that we’d been missing.

The elevator opens to the penthouse, and my stomach growls at the smell of dinner. I toss my briefcase somewhere along the way, calling for my son in the process. When I hear his childish laughter, I follow it to the kitchen.

My heart starts to pound at the scene before me. Susan is setting the table, while the cook pulls something out of the oven, but it’s the sight of my son sitting on the island while Tara feeds him a piece of bread that gets my heart pounding.

“Daddy!” Vincent yells. Tara turns to me, and she’s the burst of fresh air I’ve been missing since she left my office on Friday. She smiles at me, and it’s like I’m awake for the first time in days. “We made hums,” he says proudly.

“Hums?” I ask. “You mean hummus?” He nods while he grabs another piece of bread and dips it. I grab Tara’s face in both hands and devour her lips. Vincent giggles some more. I reluctantly break the kiss, and she feeds me hummus on a carrot.

“You got Vincent to eat hummus. Impressive.”

“The key is to get him to help me make it. I couldn’t get him to eat the carrot, though. Challenge accepted.” I pull her into my side and the three of us have a group hug. Vincent pushes away but manages to smear my suit with a glob of hummus.

“Don’t worry about the food I spent hours cooking,” Joan, the chef, says. Tara does her best to look contrite, but Joan’s not buying it. She shakes her head and grabs a platter from the stove.

“Look, Daddy.” Vincent points at his shirt.

“She’s right. You are wicked smaht.” I try to do my best Boston accent. When I turn to Tara, I notice she’s wearing the same t-shirt as Vincent.

“I got you one too,” she tells me. “You two are always matching. A girl feels left out sometimes.”

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