14. Stan
Chapter fourteen
Stan
I spend all night searching for the guy who harassed Sam. I told her I wouldn’t, but it was all I could think about. Who the hell did this Henry Williams think he was?
I won’t hurt the guy—not physically. But that’s not to say there aren’t a few strings I could pull to make him go away. At least at Sam’s old company. And maybe the corporate world altogether.
As I drive Ruth to school, I’m a bit distracted. She asks me if I’m alright, and I smile, telling her I’m fine. Ruth gives me a look. We’re supposed to have a chance to talk to her mom this weekend, which seems to brighten up her day. I love seeing her smile. The kid has been through so much that she deserves a little bit of peace.
After I drop her off, I head to the office, but the stress doesn’t fade. It shifts back to all the things I have to do. I spend the drive stressing about all the things in my life I can’t control. So naturally, when I walk to work, the first place my eyes land is Sam’s desk. It’s empty, which is just as well. She doesn’t need me panting around after her when she already has so much on her shoulders.
I hope she slept in. But when I get to my desk, I know she hasn’t. Because there’s a sticky note that says, “Thanks for last night. You owed me one, anyway.”
I smile and touch the note before looking over at her desk. I am bound and determined to give her the space and respect she needs to work through this bumpy phase of her life. To support her in any way I can, and smile when she spreads her wings and takes off again. Because I’m a grown-ass man. A dad. I can be mature.
Which is why I slump down in my chair and make the phone call I’ve been putting off for far too long now. A single swipe, and my phone rings. Once. Twice.
“Stan!” My mom’s warm voice fills my ear, and I smile.
“Hi Mom.”
“How’s my boy?”
“Well, as it turns out, I have a daughter.”
I decided earlier that ripping the Band-Aid off would be the best approach for my folks.
“Sometimes I forget that you and your father aren’t the best at delivering news,” she says after a moment. “Hopefully, your daughter would be better at it.”
I almost can’t believe how easily she’s taking the news. I knew my mom would be the one to talk to first. Where Dad would blow up and calm down eventually, Mom is just better at this. That’s always been our dynamic. Plus, the older I get, the less I want my parents meddling in my business. I know they mean well, but it irks me all the same.
“Figured it was best to just come out with it,” I admit.
“I imagine if you’d done that, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” she laughs, and I burst into laughter, too. Her smutty joke has just broken the ice completely.
“I had a fling with Catherine,” I tell her. “Remember her?”
“The cute little girl who apologizes a lot? Well, I figured if you were going to settle down with someone, it would either be her or that Samantha girl.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Mom.”
“I’m sorry. No one prepared me for this conversation. And that’s really saying something, considering the things I hear on a daily basis in this town. Care to elaborate on why you were having unprotected sex?”
I groan loudly. “Fuck my life,” I grumble, scrubbing a hand over my face, wishing the floorboards would give out and drop me down into a dark hole. “I, uh… I don’t know how to answer that. ”
Mom sighs heavily. “Well, looks like you didn’t inherit your father’s pull-out game,” she sniffs.
My cheeks turn red. I don’t know how exactly my mom is comfortable talking about her sex life with my father with me, her son.
“Right,” I say. “Well, anyway, she’s living with me right now and will be around for the foreseeable future. So if we could not talk about her like she’s a burden, I’d appreciate it.”
That brings on some silence from my mom. The reality of it is sinking in now. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. Have… have you crossed your t’s and dotted your i’s?”
I know this is her gentle way of asking if I’m being responsible from a legal perspective. I’ve got a lot of assets to consider now, as my lawyer and financial advisors remind me repeatedly.
“I have. Her name is Ruth. And, well, she wants to meet you. And Dad.”
“Yes, this will be special news to break to your father.” I can hear the amusement in her tone. “You conveniently called me at the time of day when you know he works out. Am I meant to let him know? Using your mother as a shield in your thirties is kind of a cop-out.”
“You know how Dad is. He’ll fly off the fucking handle and then calm down and get to work. You know he’ll be here wearing his ‘World’s Best Grandpa’ t-shirt in a matter of days. I just don’t need him to call in the cavalry to save me from this, okay? If you tell him, you can make sure he doesn’t come in guns blazing.”
She laughs now. “No doubt about that. Except we’re in Portugal for another few weeks. Then we’ll spend the summer in Rose Haven.” She gives what sounds like a sigh of happiness. “You know, I’m really excited about meeting this girl. Why don’t you tell me more about her?”
I’m ready to just launch in, already feeling the relief of talking to my mom. “So she’s —”
“No. Actually, first, how are you, my boy? How are you holding up?”
I shrug, and all it does is remind me of Ruth. How am I? “I’m doing my best, Mom.”
“I’m here! And I brought Lesley!” Sam announces as she waltzes through the door to the office, my billiards opponent following behind.
Where she’s all smiles, he’s all frowns. But his frown isn’t nearly as deep as when he lost to me last night.
He tips his chin at me and says, “Gonna take a look around.” He rolls up the sleeves of his thick plaid shirt and storms off like he’s on a hunt for someone to fight with.
“He’s charming, right?” Sam whispers conspiratorially as she approaches my desk.
I lean back in my chair, like the extra distance between us will help me want her less. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t. I steeple my hands beneath my chin and regard her.
She’s doing that thing she always does, where she acts extra chipper to smooth out any ripples. I watched her do it with Lucas and the other kids each summer of our childhood and teenage years, and now she does it so naturally, I wonder if she even notices. It’s like she thinks her problems aren’t worthy of attention because they might be inconvenient to other people. And in thinking that, of course, she’s wrong.
Her glossy smile doesn’t hide the skin around her eyes that’s still puffy from her tears. My chest aches at the thought of her crying alone in that guesthouse. Aside from that, she’s polished from head to toe. Hair ironed straight. Wide-leg dress pants in a camel color, topped with a soft, creamy sweater. A gold necklace dangles around her neck.
My hand absently moves up to it, and soon I realize how close I am to the pendant. When her eyes pop down to my hand, I stop and clear my throat.
“Lesley? Oh, yeah. All charm.”
“If he’s mean to you, let me know. I’ll punch him. Thumb on the outside.” She winks and holds up a fist before shifting on her feet. It seems we’re both uncomfortable after last night but won’t give voice to it .
We can’t talk about it. I can’t, at least. I’ll say something I shouldn’t. I’ll just have to stick to action. She doesn’t need another boss perving on her. And I don’t want to be a perv-dad-boss.
So, I fall back on an old tactic: teasing her.
“You’d probably break your cute little knuckles if you tried to hit him,” I jab.
She rolls her eyes. “There he is. Stan the Movie Boy is back.”
I hate being a dick to her, but I just don’t know how else to act around her. So, I grab the envelope from my desk and hold it out to her.
“What’s this?” The tips of her fingers brush against mine when she takes it, and I cover the shiver that races down my spine by shifting in my seat.
“A signing bonus. An employment contract is in your email. I’ll need your direct deposit information for future payments.”
When she opens the envelope and sees the check, her lips pop open and her eyes go wide. “No.”
“I wasn’t asking your permission, Sam.”
With a quick peek up at me, she says, “Let me clarify—hell, no.”
“Hell, yes,” I reply impassively.
Her head shakes, but her eyes stay latched on the check pinched tight between her fingers. “Nah.” She glares at me head-on now. “It’s too much.”
“No, it’s not. I pay my employees well. Always have.”
She shakes her head. “This is a start-up. It’s not in the budget. I’ve been working on those spreadsheets. I know.”
I tilt my head. “It’s in the budget.”
“You don’t give people with zero experience a signing bonus like this. I can’t even give a good reference.”
My molars clamp down at the mention of her fucking references. “Well, I do.”
Her lashes flit rapidly, like she’s trying to keep from crying. I hope she doesn’t. If she cries, I’ll be up and out of this chair faster than you can say, “Henry Williams is dead. ”
She holds back the tears and is about to say something, but Lesley returns, and I’m left wondering what she was going to say.