or my personal assistant had Natalie’s way with some of our clients. Helena doesn’t take any special interest in their personal lives, but Natalie made sure to send baby gifts or condolence cards. And I don’t know what happened between Charlie and the dry cleaner, but we had to make a switch and write off an entire suit.
“If you need any help…”
“I need to do this by myself.” She inhales and squares her shoulders. “It’s good for the girls to see me work for myself.”
“Seeing you work for me wasn’t good?”
Her voice is rigid. “Seeing me do nothing but work for you wasn’t good.”
“You weren’t work—”
“Not that I made work for you, but that I was nothing more than a stapler or a folder or-or”—she flings a hand out—“a laptop.”
I stare at her. Her cheeks are tinged with pink and it’s nice and clear because the towel has her usually wild hair all wrapped up.
“I didn’t realize you felt that way,” I say stiffly.
She rubs her face with one hand, fatigue weighing her shoulders down. “All those times I asked you to take a break, to completely unplug so we could go on a real vacation, the hints about missing supper—again. But it was always about work until I didn’t think you knew there was a difference between a wife and an assistant.”
I jerk, her words hitting hard and unexpected. “How can you say that? I was—”
She cuts a hand through the air. “You know what? I’ve got a long day. We’re rehashing a marriage that’s ended and I need to do some work before I go to the hospital.”
“Fine.” I hope the girls are still asleep. My expression has to look thunderous. Natalie’s right about one thing—this isn’t the time. But I have one thought as I take the stairs up to the other bathroom. This isn’t the end.
Natalie
“Hi, Aleah. There’s been a family emergency and I won’t be able to meet you this week.” I wince at how guilty I sound. But missing my appointments with my trainer makes me less guilty than ditching Dad at the hospital for a few hours.
“Oh no. I’m sorry to hear that. I hope everything’s okay.”
“I think it will be. My mom’s in the hospital with pneumonia so I’m taking turns with my dad staying with her.”
“How are the girls doing?”
“Weird thing. Their father’s actually jumping in to keep an eye on them.”
“Mr. North Dakota?”
I nod, knowing that she can’t see me. “In the flesh. Want an autograph?”
She laughs and I sink my head into my hands. Am I reading too much into the way his gaze devoured me when he caught me wearing nothing but a towel on my head? I know that look. If we were still married, I would’ve been flat on my back with my legs wrapped around him.
My body flushes hot, but it’s not welcome. I never thought I’d feel this way again. I thought I moved on from the way he made me feel, or assumed that he didn’t find me sexy anymore, that the divorce contract opened his eyes to the fact that he can get way more sophisticated and sexy women than me.
“No autograph necessary. Just your smiling face when you come back. I’ll adjust your half-marathon training to account for the time off.”
“Oh. Yeah. Thanks.” I haven’t thought of the race once since Simon stepped foot in the house. Between prepping for my online work and Mom, I can’t think about fitting in runs, and I’m in the early stages of training. If a mile or two four mornings a week seems onerous, what’s it going to be like when I’m up to six or seven?
As if she reads my mind, she says, “Don’t worry about it. The point of the half is to challenge you and show you that you can do it. Life isn’t going to stop because you want to train. We fit training around life. All I need you to do is drink water and get some rest.”
“Water and rest. I can do that.” I don’t know if I can do that. I’m going to lay in bed worrying about Mom, fretting about starting my own business, and if I manage to drift off after that, the image of Simon gawking at me will keep me awake.
The call ends. I drop my phone on the bedside table and stare at the closet. I need to finish getting dressed. After Simon stormed out, I rushed to get a bra and