Page 75 of Better Daddy
I push to my feet, my chair rolling back several inches. “This sounds like something our paralegal can assist you with. It’s more of a support staff thing.”
“Of course,” the one on the right agrees.
“Great.” I rush out of my office and close the door behind me. This isn’t the time for the walkie-talkie Jersey intercom system. I need to get out of that room. “Lo!”
She peeks her head out of her office.
“These two need your help with a…” How do I phrase this? “Situation?”
She narrows her green eyes at me as she steps out into the hall completely. “I swear to God, Sully, if they’re crying?—”
“No.” I shake my head.
Tears have always made me uncomfortable. For my wife, I’m willing to endure them. I can take any emotion she throws at me, but with anyone else, I run at the sight of moist eyes. And when I run, Lo is the one who has to step in and handle the issue. On multipleoccasions, she’s threatened to toss me out a window. At least while we’re in Jersey, our office is on the first floor.
I plaster on a smile. “I promise it’s not tears.”
She exhales loudly, the tight line of her lips telling me she’s still suspicious. Bloody hell, she has no idea. But she stomps to my office. The moment she steps inside, I dart out of the building.
Yes, I’m avoiding Lo’s impending wrath, but I also need to run an errand before Sloane gets home. Today has been a quiet day, and Lo and I are the only people in the office, so now is the perfect time. Even my nosy brother is in the city picking the boys up from school.
I stride quickly around the side of the building, heading for my car. The box is tucked carefully in the trunk, but I’ve got to get it across the street without being spotted by Lo.
Package in hand, I slam the lid and spin. The sight that greets me makes me jump a foot off the ground.
“Sullivan.” Madame E’s jet-black hair waves gently in the cold breeze, that white streak as unnerving as ever. “Up to no good?” She laughs, her purple eyes scrutinizing me with an intensity that makes me shiver. “Hmm, maybe the opposite. Though it’s important to know that the burn of fire and action might seem easy, it’s not always the answer.”
I run my hand over my face, deciphering—unsuccessfully—her words. She got the incubator right, and she even knew Sloane and I would dance in the kitchen with the teakettle bubbling nearby. But fire? I haven’t made any plans that utilize a fireplace or a firepit or even candles.
Clutching the box tighter, I take a step toward her. “Can I ask a follow-up question?”
She chuckles and floats toward her Mini Cooper. “You boys need to remember that I only see what I see.” With that, she climbs inside and peels out of the parking lot, cutting off a car on the road. The blare of its horn is ear-piercing, making me wince.
I shake my head. One day she’s going to crash.
Once she’s out of sight, I scan the parking lot, ensuring I’m alone.Then I stride across the street to the Grasshopper. Inside, I make a beeline for the bartender, ignoring the way the hostess side-eyes me.
“Is the owner here?” I ask as I set the massive box on the bar top.
“What’s up?” The guy, who looks to be in his twenties, tosses a rag over his shoulder and rests his forearms on the lacquered surface between us.
I give the box a tap. “I’m hoping to convince him to host a karaoke night this Saturday. I’ve got the machine here and will gladly pay for any other equipment you don’t already have on hand.”
He rubs at his jaw, giving me a thoughtful look. “This has winning back a woman written all over it.”
I’d say he’s perceptive, but when is any wild idea a man comes up with not because of a woman? We’re always either chasing after or running from them.
“Help a bloke out?” I ask.
He straightens, lifting his chin. “I’ll see what I can do.” With a chuckle, he turns and pushes through a door I assume leads to the kitchen.
“Did you really buy that thing to impress your girl?” the man two stools down asks. He picks up a mug of dark beer and sips it, watching me over the rim.
I nod simply. “I’d do pretty much anything to make my wife happy.”
He snorts. “Newlyweds.”
Not even close. “Married over fifteen years.”
