You Are My Reason - Willow Winters Page 0,25
me a million fucking questions, all of which I’m sure I don’t want to hear. Why was my father so persistent on meeting me? Why did he come in here asking for a conference over and over and demanding I sit down with him?
“It’s been a bit rocky between us for the last few months,” I say with my voice low enough that it’s just the two of us in this conversation. I know Margaret, our secretary, is right down the hall and close enough to hear if we talk loud enough.
“Few months?”
I stare at him, feeling my expression hardening. It was a necessary evil for me to stop talking to my father a while ago. I’m caught between wanting to do what’s right and not knowing for sure that I’d be doing the right thing. So instead of taking action, I avoided him every chance I got.
It worked my entire life up until now. Until he told me what I already knew, confirming it and forcing me to face the truth.
“Don’t worry about it.” I give him a tight smile. “It’s got nothing to do with the business.”
“And what about you?” he says, pushing further. “I can’t be worried about you?”
The simple answer I give him is bullshit and he knows it. “I’m fine.”
“Yeah, you keep saying that,” he says then turns like he’s going to head back into his office as the phone rings.
“Go get it.” I nod toward his office. “I’m just picking up a reuben from across the street.”
“All right.” He heads into his office but before I make it another two steps, he’s popping his head outside of the door again to ask, “Will you get me a Coke?”
Glancing over my shoulder, I tell him yes as the sounds of everyone else working get louder and louder.
I don’t break my stride as I head down the hall. Our company owns this entire floor of the Rising Falls Building; it’s a tall office building that’s made for businesses just like ours. The second I stepped in here, I knew this was where I wanted to work. There’s clear glass everywhere. So much natural light and impressive views of the city to provide constant inspiration.
Even the cubicles have plexiglass walls.
“Out to lunch?” Margaret asks as I stride past her, needing to shake the nagging feelings that wrestle in the pit of my stomach.
“I’ll be right back.” I nod, again not slowing my pace and head past all my employees to the elevator.
“Yes, sir,” Margaret answers with a light-hearted tone. I’ve never seen that woman not smile. As if being our secretary is the highlight of her day. She’s damn good at what she does too. At first, I was opposed to letting someone step in and take control of scheduling and inventory, but as we grew, I just couldn’t handle it all.
Pressing the button for the elevator, I try to think about anything other than my father. With the button lighting up, I’m reminded of Jules’s text. The irritation and anger nearly vanishes.
Just the thought of what was going through her mind when she messaged back makes me smile. She’s a testy little thing. I didn’t expect that. There’s more to Miss Summers than I thought and I’m definitely intrigued.
I check my Rolex as the elevator dings and the doors slowly open. There’s no one inside, so I walk right in and hit the button for the ground floor. Only six hours until dinner.
My chest feels tight and the small smile leaves me. It’s fucked up in so many ways, but she’ll never know. I’ll make sure she never finds out.
Julia
There are pink macarons and crystal chandeliers everywhere I look. I love this place. It’s a tiny shop and the treats are far too expensive for what they are, but it’s the vibe I truly love. I scoot my silver stool closer to the small round table and unpeel the wrapper on my cupcake as I listen to Suzette.
“I want to know every detail,” she says with barely contained joy. Kat glances between the two of us and so far, she hasn’t touched a thing on the etched tray in the center of the table. I know there’s something there that would make her smile, but she’s not interested. I bet she and her husband had another fight. I wish they wouldn’t; they love each other. It’s been obvious to me since the day she met him.
Clearing my throat, I avoid replying to Sue’s comment. I can