The Boss Upstairs - Roya Carmen Page 0,88

bites his lip. “Yes, I like our playtime very much too.”

Snap. Snap. Snap.

“Perfect,” he says. “You’re a natural. Good girl.”

I smile. I’m kind of loving this. Who knew I was such an exhibitionist. “You need to send me all the pictures. All of them. Including the ones from the park.”

“I will.”

“And after you send them, I want you to delete them all from your phone.”

Snap. Snap. Snap.

“What?”

“I’ll erase the ones I don’t like,” I explain. “Touch up the others, and send them back.”

“Oh… okay. As long as you don’t erase too many.”

“I won’t,” I promise. “They’ll be beautiful, you’ll see.”

I spend all Friday night and Saturday morning working on the photos we took. He’s actually not a bad photographer. He seems to have an eye for composition, and a relatively good understanding of his phone camera.

Some of them are horrible though, and I quickly get rid of them and pretend they never existed. And thankfully, I manage to touch up the bruises on my behind. I add vignettes and play with the lighting until they look like professional photos. I’m giddy when I email him the finals, and wonder what he’ll do with them.

The more I look at the photos, the more I’m thankful he took them. I may not be perfect but I like what I see. I especially like the photos we’ve taken of the both of us, and the ones I took of him. I like the idea of having images of him, memories of our happy times. No matter what happens in the end, I’ll always have these to cherish.

It’s Saturday morning, and Ethan is enjoying his favorite cereal again. I’m cooking him an egg, scrambled like he likes. He loves it with ketchup, just like I do. I’m super excited about today’s excursion; lunch and a trip to Shedd Aquarium.

“We’re going to see lots of fish,” I tell him. “And all kinds of sea life like stingrays and jellyfish and maybe seahorses.”

He smiles up at me, completely clueless. He doesn’t know what I’m babbling on about, but he knows I’m excited. So he’s excited too, of course.

I hand him his sippy cup. “Maybe we’ll even see a shark.”

His eyes widen, as if he understands me. I wonder if he does.

“And then we can go to the gift shop, and I’ll get you a stuffie. Maybe a dolphin or something.”

My phone pings, and I get excited when I see it’s an email from Weston.

Hello Grasshopper,

I’m so very sorry but something has come up. Due to very recent circumstances, I won’t be able to make it today. I was so looking forward to it, and I’m sure you were too. Give my apologies to Ethan. We will reschedule as soon as convenient.

Best, Weston

My heart sinks. I reread the message twice. Ethan is still smiling, happy as a clam. I was so looking forward to this. This is exactly the kind of thing I’ve been trying to avoid. This breaks my heart. More than it should. And why? Because I’ve let myself fall for him.

No more.

How dare him send me an email to cancel. He should have called. The man has the social skills of a chimpanzee. Actually not even. Chimpanzees are pretty social beings. He’s more like a bear or a rhinoceros.

Being the masochist that I am, I read the message again.

Recent circumstances. What freaking recent circumstances? He could have been a little bit less cryptic.

Give my apologies to Ethan. “Mr. Hanson sends his apologies, Ethan,” I say matter-of-factly. “He unfortunately won’t be able to make it today.”

Ethan giggles. He apparently finds my serious voice very amusing.

Well, at least one of us is still in a good mood.

We will reschedule as soon as convenient. Convenient for whom? For him, I bet. What a narcissist jerk. He seems to think my life revolves around him. No, we will not reschedule.

Best, Weston. Best? Really? He could have left it with Yours, like he usually does.

Ugh.

I hate him.

I try to make the best of the weekend and put on a brave face for Ethan. The fact that I’m stewing inside shouldn’t ruin our time together. We go to the park and the library. We watch a few Disney movies and make cupcakes.

I really enjoy this time with him. Weekends are now cherished. I took them for granted before when I had him almost twenty-four seven.

I’m glued to my phone all weekend, waiting for another message from Weston, an email or possibly even a phone call. Every hour that goes by