Chapter 8-Callie
We’ll have a nice clean break.
“I know it’s short notice and I apologize for that but-”
“Christ, Callie. Do you think I’m an ogre or something?”
“Of course not, Mr. Adams.”
“My name is Samuel. Start using it, for fuck’s sake. You are friends with my wife, we’ve spent time with one another socially and, in my opinion, you’re the best damn hire Anthony Sorvino ever made. Call me by my first name.”
My face grows warm. “The best hire?”
“Without question. Now, take your son to his hockey practices on…”
“Mondays and Wednesdays. I’d have to leave by four.”
He nods, looking back to his assistant Myrtle who’s been following us at a discreet distance after the large luncheon conference meeting ended. “Note in my calendar that Ms. Anderson is not to be disturbed after four on those days.”
“Already done. I hope he loves hockey, Callie.”
“Thanks, Myrtle.”
I’m not sure I want Wyatt to love it but I want him to have fun.
He’s been looking forward to this first practice today so much. Charlie has, too, though he’s had to take a crash-course in learning about hockey and, unfortunately, while helping Wyatt get the hang of ice skating, my stepdad cracked a bone in his ankle and now he’s laid up with crutches for several weeks. My mom offered to take Wyatt to practices instead but Charlie’s going to have appointments she’ll need to take him to. Plus, I don’t want to miss seeing my son play.
As for hockey itself, this should be fine. It’s not like the practices are being held at Power Play Arena. And, for now, Chase is at an undisclosed location ‘working through some things’ according to the media.
Since that night at the club two weeks ago, my interactions with Ezra have been limited. He sent an email with work-related questions one day. I went with Jameson Reynolds over to the arena to see to some software issues on another. We were civil when we spoke, a stiff, professional interaction in the outer hall while Mr. Reynolds glowered by my side.
No one would ever suspect he rocked my world with that kiss.
It’s almost as if it never happened.
We’ll finish the arena by the end of the year and I’ll have no further reason to go near it. Ezra can drift back out of my life again. Simple. Clean. Over.
“Sugar honey iced tea, forgot my tablet. Thank you, Samuel. I’ll catch the next elevator.”
The conference room is not empty as I expected when I return. Someone from the cleaning crew is already inside picking up after eighty people’s lunch leftovers, a big job for one person.
“Sorry, I needed to grab…”
The young woman with blonde hair startles and turns, her mouth crammed full of sandwich. I recognize her from that morning a few weeks ago when Mr. Sorvino led me here before Ezra later arrived.
Miserably, she struggles to swallow her bite while my own attention is drawn to the table full of forgotten food. They order so much when we have these meetings.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, glancing up at last. “It was there and I hadn’t had… lunch.” She’s quite lovely under the oversized janitorial smock she’s wearing with cornflower blue eyes and fair skin currently flushed pink with embarrassment.
“Please, don’t apologize. It’ll only go to waste sitting here.” She’s still uncomfortable, edging toward her cart of cleaning supplies. “Your name is Daisy?” I ask, noting her name badge. “That’s lovely. I’m Callie.”
“Hi, Callie. You won’t lodge a complaint, will you? I know I shouldn’t take it, that some would call it stealing. I’m new. If anyone complained…”
“I won’t say anything… except to tell you, you have a bit of mustard on your chin.”
Her eyes widen comically before the tension breaks and we share a giggle as she wipes her face. “Thanks.”
She casts a longing glance back at the table, the sweets in particular. “Mr. Sorvino brought the lemon cookies. They’re so good they’ll make your eyes cross. Looks like there’s one left. It would be a shame if it sat there getting stale.”
“That would be a shame,” Daisy says, giving me a sneaky grin as her hand reaches toward the box.
But, the door opens with a bang just then and she quickly dashes out the back door of the large room, leaving her cart and the cookie behind.
Mr. Barclay strides in, his sharp brown eyes landing on me. “Ms. Anderson, there you are. I found your tablet on the table in here,” he tells me, passing it over.
“You frightened Daisy away.”
“Who?”
“Never mind. Thank you for grabbing it.”
“These things are not free even if the company pays for them. You should be careful not to leave it lying about.”
You have a ten-figure bank account and you’re scolding me for leaving my tablet behind? “Of course, Mr. Barclay. I’ll be more careful.” He’s not a man who will ever insist I call him Grant.
“Well… waste not, want not,” he says, grabbing the last lemon cookie. He misses the way I glare at him as he takes a big bite. “Mmmph. Jameson mentioned he has class this afternoon. He wanted you to know that in case you have any plans to go over to the arena later. Or, I’d be happy to go over with you if you wish.”
My irritation over him taking the cookie fades. Each and every partner has been dutifully and delicately present lately since that cat’s been let out of the bag. It’s not strictly necessary but I appreciate it.
“Thank you, Mr. Barclay, but I’m not going to the arena today. I’m going to hockey practice instead.”
Taking my tablet, I leave the poor, perplexed man behind still holding his half-eaten cookie.