The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue #2) - Jessica Hawkins Page 0,66

now, Amelia’s a mistake I’d be happy to make.

SEVENTEEN

It’s almost five when we arrive at Sadie’s office. Since it’s Friday, I worry everyone will have left for the day, but when we exit the elevator, floor seven is buzzing. The male receptionist who greeted us last time looks up.

“Well, hello, Bell.” His eyes wander up my body. “I see you brought me an afternoon snack.”

“Snacks?” Bell asks. “I have gummy bears in my backpack.”

“That’s okay.” He winks at me. “I prefer a different kind of bear.”

“Keep dreaming,” I tell him. “Sadie here?”

“She’s in her office.”

“Office?” I ask. “You mean her desk?”

“Oh, Sadie.” He smirks. “I thought you said Amelia.”

I narrow my eyes at him as I take Bell’s hand. We walk through the agency, right by Amelia’s office, toward Sadie’s desk. Amelia’s door is closed, but she has a window that looks into the office and the blinds are open. I glance inside just as I hear, “Surprise!”

I look back in time to see Sadie jump a mile high in her seat. She whirls her desk chair around. “Bell? What—”

“We came to ride the subway,” Bell says.

“Jesus.” Sadie looks wide-eyed from Bell to me, her hand over her heart. “You can’t go around surprising pregnant women, Andrew.”

I roll my eyes. I’ve never heard of anyone pulling the pregnancy card as much as Sadie does. “Bell was feeling antsy at the garage,” I explain. “She wanted to surprise you.”

Sadie glances around the office. “I wish you would’ve called first. Amelia really doesn’t like children in here, and she’s in a particularly bad mood today.”

“She is?” I cinch my eyebrows. “How come?”

Sadie combs her fingers through Bell’s tangled hair. “Jesus, Andrew. Ever heard of a brush?”

“Why’s your boss in a bad mood?” I ask.

“What? Something to do with men, I’m sure.”

I cross my arms and glance toward Amelia’s office again, but I can’t see her. Am I the reason for her mood?

Sadie rakes Bell’s hair into a ponytail. “Thanks for surprising me, honey. Aunt Sadie has a lot of work to do, though.”

While Sadie’s distracted, I take a couple steps back, angling my head until Amelia comes into view. She’s seated at her desk on the phone, her blonde hair pulled back from her face. She isn’t in a flirty, colorful blouse and skirt like when we met but a suit jacket and white button down. As she talks into the receiver, she adjusts black-rimmed glasses I’ve never seen her wear before. All covered up. It’s the bubble-bath-photo bullshit all over again.

“It was Daddy’s idea to come,” Bell says.

I slowly turn back to Bell to pin her with a look, but she’s not even paying attention to me. Little traitor.

“But your dad hates the city.” Sadie glances up. “Why are you here?”

I shake my head, nod at Bell, and mouth, “Liar.”

Sadie cocks her head, then after a moment, her eyes widen. “Oh my . . . shit.”

“What?” I ask.

“Um.” She smooths her expression. “I-I think the baby just kicked.”

“And your first reaction was ‘oh, shit’?”

“No. You’re right. It was probably indigestion.” She looks toward Amelia’s office and back at me. “You, uh, couldn’t have changed clothes?”

I’m in the white t-shirt and jeans I’ve been wearing all day. “What’s wrong with this? Not good enough for the New York City fashionistas?”

“You’ve got grease on your face.”

“And?” I lick my thumb and scrub my cheek. “I work with grease for a living.”

She sighs. “Did you say hi to Mindy?”

“Who?”

She shakes her head and throws up her arms. “Forget it. Jesus. Just forget the whole thing. What’re you guys doing now?”

Bell grins. “Dad promised me more ice cream.”

“More ice cream?” Sadie asks. “How much have you had today?”

Bell giggles. She may not know the word bribery, but she’s smart enough to understand she’s getting away with something. “A popsicle after school.”

Sadie’s computer pings. “Well,” she says, checking an e-mail, “since you’re here, let’s go get dinner. You guys decide what to eat while I try to sweet talk my boss into letting me leave early.”

“Five’s early?” I ask, but she ignores me, which is good because I’ve got a narrow window of time to figure out my next step. This—a few furtive and unreturned glances at Amelia—won’t be enough to satisfy me. In fact, seeing her and not being able to talk to or touch her is making things worse. Admittedly, the buttoned-up librarian look is growing on me. “We can bring food here if you can’t get away,” I say. “Or, I thought, since