Page 4 of Mr. Almost

“I don’t like it. If you see him, punch him in the nuts for me,” she huffs.

“Yes, ma’am, but I doubt I will see him. Do you really think the CEO of The Williamson Group is sitting at one hotel just waiting to ambush me?”

She sighs. “No. I suppose not. Littles wants to say hi. Hold on.”

Then the voice that reminds me why I’m doing all of this comes on the phone. My sweet angel.

“Mommy, are you coming home soon? Aunt Chloe said we can go get pizza.”

She still stumbles over her words, but I think it only makes her speech more endearing. I’m going to cry the day she stops it. She’s growing up so quickly.

“Mommy has to go see someone about a job, but as soon as I’m done, I’ll be home. You want anchovies on your pizza, right? I can call ahead.”

She giggles. “Ew. No, Mommy. I want the peppa…” She pauses, trying again. “Peppa-roonei.”

I smile at her mispronunciation.

“Pepperoni. Got it. Extra Anchovies. Love you, squirt. I’ll be home soon.” I kiss into the phone, hearing her do the same.

When Chloe comes back on, I sigh.

“It’s going to be hard being away from her for long periods. I miss the days where I only had to leave for an hour class.”

“You’ll be okay. I know this isn’t what you wanted, but go in there and own that place. Give them no reason to even think about how they know you,” she says sympathetically.

“All right. I better go. They are expecting me over there soon. Thank you for always having my back, girl.”

“You’ve got this. If Mr. Almost causes any trouble, I have a shovel. It will all work out the way it’s supposed to.”

“I hate it when you call him that.”

“I know, but we both know it’s true. Anyway, go do your thing. We will be waiting for you.”

“Later.”

As I hang up the phone, I place my hand on my churning stomach.

I hope she’s right.

MASON

“You need to come back here, man. Some shit went down with Melanie and Roger at the hotel, and shit is falling apart. We hired a temp agency to fill some voids for now, but it’s sinking.”

I sigh as I rub my forehead.

I haven’t spent much time in Boston in recent years. Running a multi-billion-dollar company will do that to you. It’s always another fire at another location that you have to run and put out.

Boston is our flagship hotel, though. The one my great-grandfather started in 1945. My brother Max has been the manager there since my father passed away. As the oldest, I was handed the reins to The Williamson Group, while he was handed the flagship hotel. Not that he minds. While it’s still stressful, it’s not at the level of my job. Still, the hotel is important, not just to our family but to me as well. It’s always been one I’ve enjoyed visiting.

So if it’s struggling, that means it needs to be my main priority.

“You can’t handle this yourself?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“I need your help, brother. I can handle the analytical side of things, but you know I’ve never done well with the social aspect.”

He’s not wrong. He has severe social anxiety. I wondered how he would handle such an important position with it, but his assistant helps him a lot. So much so that her salary nearly matches his. They might as well run that position together.

“Iris asked you to call, didn’t she?”

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