Page 116 of Six Month Wife
“I can.” The answer comes out before I even think. “I think between Sue and Bets, I can make sure the store is covered. I can work on office stuff on the go. It’ll be fine.”
His shoulders drop slightly, like he wasn’t sure I’d say yes.
“Thank you.”
I cross the space between us. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m in this with you. Whatever this is.”
Something shifts in his face. Not a smile, not quite. But something unguarded. Something almost tender.
He nods once. “We should pack.”
Parker drivestoward the airport while I stare out the window, watching the palm trees rush by. I sense his gaze flickering toward me every few seconds.
It's not awkward, but the air in the car is charged, likewe’re both tiptoeing around the fact that everything feels different now. Neither of us knows what to do with it.
Parker adjusts the air, then drums his fingers on the wheel. I glance over.
“You think Anders is flying us to Vermont to cut us out face-to-face?”
He shoots me a look. “You always start with the sunniest option, don’t you?”
“I’m saying. If I were about to drop a financial guillotine, I’d probably make the other person fly to me.”
He snorts. “If they were gonna cut us loose, they’d have done it by certified mail. And even if they try, we’ve got options.”
“Leeland’s shady little backdoor clause?” I ask.
“Looks like. And now that he’s issued a full retraction and apology, that article shouldn't be proof of anything except a jealous and controlling brother.”
I bark out a dry laugh. “Still can’t believe that part. A public apology? From the man who thinks humility is a communicable disease?”
“Technically, he blamed his assistant. Claimed she submitted the article without clearance.”
“Of course he would technically blame it on someone else,” I mutter. “But that doesn’t explain why he issued the retraction at all. You had him cornered. With what?”
He doesn’t answer right away, but I notice his left leg is jumping slightly.
“Parker.”
His eyes close for a second, and he puts one hand on the gear shift, like he's trying to look casual, but so isn't. “Roger showed me something the last time I saw him, back in New Orleans. Said it was important I understood a few things about my father.”
I glance at him. “What kind of things?”
His jaw flexes. “Things I didn’t want to believe at the time, things that seemed weird that my uncle would share with me about his brother. I didn’t ask questions or poke. I tucked it away.”
“And now?”
“Now I get why he showed me. It came in handy.”
I want to ask more. But whatever this is, it’s not gossip or ammo, it’s personal. And it's upsetting him, based on his worrying jaw and flared nostrils. So I rest my hand on his leg instead, letting the silence settle.
I’ll wait until he’s ready to tell me the whole story.
"If this isn’t about the article, what is it?”
“No clue,” he says. “But we're in this together.”
We. The implication wraps around me like a hug. I twist in my seat to face him.
