Page 75 of Confessions of a Smutty Romance Author

But then I heard a knock on my door.

I jerked my head back in surprise, then called, “Come in.” Someone was on the other side of the window, where I couldn’t see them.

The door pushed open, and Jenkins stepped into my office. We didn’t really cross paths unless it was at company-wide events. He was ten years older than me, and I got the feeling he didn’t like me. I couldn’t blame him. If I’d given up as much as he had, working these crazy hours with a family at home, I wouldn’t like me either.

“Hey,” I said, sitting up. “Wanna sit?” I gestured toward the open chair across from me.

He shook his head, looking around the office. “No pictures on the walls.”

I glanced around. The only artwork in here was what had been left behind by the person before me. It was fine. And this was the one space Tess hadn’t decorated for me.

“My office has pictures everywhere,” he said, still standing, still not meeting my eyes. “Pictures of my kids, my wife, the Little League team I sponsored since I didn’t have time to coach.”

Where was he going with this?

He folded his arms across his chest. “I’ve given up camping trips with the Scouts, beauty pageants, school recitals, nights with my wife, to get this promotion.” Finally, he met my eyes. “What have you given up?”

I studied him for a moment. “You want me to step aside and let you have it?”

“No, I want you to recognize who’s put in more work for it.”

Gritting my teeth together, I said, “I’ve worked hard for this, Ronnie.”

“I know,” he said lightly, but then he leaned forward, putting his hands on my desk. “But my wife told me you’re dating a famous author now. And someday, you’ll be holding a tiny little baby, looking into its perfect face that’s so much like your own but better at the same time, and you’re going to have to leave. You’re going to have little hands pulling at your pant leg saying, ‘Daddy, don’t go.’ You’re going to have a wife who looks you in the face and says, ‘I don’t even know you anymore.’ And I hope to hell you’ll be able to live with the sacrifice you made for people who don’t care who does their taxes as long as they get done on time.”

I looked down at my desk, then back up. “Are you okay with that sacrifice?”

“I have to be... otherwise it was all worth nothing.” He walked away, and my chest felt tight at his words.

I’d spent all this time thinking of financial security for my family, not about the strain it might put on them. Tax season was four months out of the year, and it wasn’t our only busy time.

Was I climbing the ladder up the wrong wall?

What if Mara wanted kids and I couldn’t be the kind of partner she wanted?

It was all too soon to be thinking about it, but I’d meant it when I told Mara I didn’t want to play games with her. She could be the one. And I wanted to be the one for her.

So in an attempt to follow Cohen’s advice, I gave Mara some space. Work was the perfect excuse since I had to stay late to accommodate the new responsibilities. Plus, tonight was poker night at his and Birdie’s place, where they’d set up the garage with a fully stocked beer fridge and green felt table.

There were plenty of beers, snacks, and an abundance of good times. We’d been at it for so long I couldn’t even remember when we’d started meeting for poker nights. Probably around the time Cohen started his bar. He was just getting out of a relationship with his wife where he’d spent all his time on work and had hardly any life outside of that. So when he started his bar and I was his accountant, we hit it off and starting hanging out. Soon after, he hired Steve to manage the bar, and the rest was history. The three of us seemed to get on well, and we just never stopped.

When I arrived, Cohen and Steve were already sitting at the table, open bottles in front of them. As soon as I got out of the car, they started clapping and whooping. And since they didn’t normally do that, it was pretty clear why they were doing it now.

“Oh, shut up,” I said, despite the shit-eating grin on my face.

Steve patted Cohen’s shoulder. “Do you see the way he’s walking? It’s like Mara took the pole right out of his ass!”

“The only pain in my ass is you,” I retorted.

Steve and Cohen guffawed as I went to the fridge and grabbed a beer of my own. Then I sat at the table and began shuffling the deck of cards. “Where’s Birdie?” I asked. Her car wasn’t in the driveway. I wondered if she was at my place, hanging out with Mara on our new couch. Or maybe they’d gone to get supper together with Henrietta.

Part of me wished I could have gone with them. Or at least been a fly on the wall to hear what they were saying about me. About us.

God, I sounded pathetic, even in my head.

As if he could hear my thoughts, Cohen said, “Sounds like you’re doing well with the space thing.”

“I mean... Why do you say that?”

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