Page 23 of The Press Secretary's Passion
“I’m sorry?”
“He’s my dad,” the boy says kindly, not angrily. “You’re his girlfriend?”
“Umm…”
“My name is Caleb, but most people call me Cabe,” he says gently like he’s talking to a spooked animal, and he takes a slow, intentional step toward me. And then another.
“I think there’s been some kind of a mistake,” I whisper.
“I don’t,” he says, and I see now that his dark eyes and hair frame a face still a little soft with the last bit of youth, but this almost-a-man undoubtedly was born to Ryan. Shit. I need to leave. “I’d like to talk to you.”
“I think I should go.”
“No!” he says sharply. “Don’t do that.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say on a sad smile. “I intruded, and I didn’t mean to.”
“Lacy, go get Dad,” Caleb says to the girl, and now it’s my turn to shout.
“No! Don’t do that, honey,” I reply, softening my tone. “I’m so sorry.”
“Lacy, go,” he says again. His eyes never leave mine.
“No, no, there’s no need to do that.”
“Lacy, baby, I think you should go get your daddy,” the blonde says, and my eyes swing to hers. “Now.”
She doesn’t look angry, more inquisitive, and she speaks in a melodic twang that’s a softer version of Ryan’s. It breaks my fucking heart, because I know without a doubt this beautiful woman and their two gorgeous children belong to Ryan like I never would.
“Let’s just talk,” her handsome son says as his sister gets up and pushes through the door. I swing my head back to look at him, and I feel my panic surge to new levels.
One thing is certain, and I should have been paying attention to my gut, because it’s never steered me wrong before. I don’t belong here, and we all know it. I refuse to step farther into the room and sit down to talk—or worse, wait for Ryan who is apparently fine to come and set me straight in front of his beautiful family. God, now I know why he was so angry after he took me. He didn’t want to, because he has a family at home waiting for him.
The truth slaps me in the face.
In all the things I have said and done in my life to get where I am now, I never compromise my morals. I grew thick skin, and I can take a heavy dose of criticism, but never, not ever did I lower my standards. That is until I let Ryan Black fuck me on the marble floor of my foyer and I became the other woman.
I feel sick to my stomach.
“Dad will be here in a second,” the girl says when she pushes back through the doors.
I can’t believe this happened. This isn’t me. This is not who I am, and if I’m anything, I will stop this right now. So I do the only thing I can.
“I’m so very sorry,” I say softly, letting out the full meaning of the words I’m feeling for what I’ve done. “I shouldn’t have come here.”
And then I turn and run.
“Wait!” the blonde with the tinkling bell voice shouts, but I push through the doors. I hit the button for the elevator again and again. God, please let the doors fucking open. “Caleb, do something.”
And then praise Jesus and all the baby angels, the elevator doors slide open, and I practically jump inside, hitting the button for the ground floor as I do. Ryan’s son is there just as the door is about closed, and I will never for as long as I live forget the sad expression on his face that says just how sorry he is that this is happening.
“Don’t do this!” he shouts, and then he’s gone.
I don’t wait to find out what happens next. I run out of the elevator, through the emergency room, and out to my car long before Ryan, his son, or any other member of their beautiful family can find me and tell me what an awful person I am.
I jump in and pull out of the lot, not sure where to go. I don’t want to go home, so I drive around for the longest time. My phone rings over and over in the seat next to me, but I don’t answer it. I pull into a fast food drive-thru and get more junk food than I should. I already feel sick, so this won’t change that.
It’ll only make it worse, voice tell me, but I ignore it.
