Chapter 40 – Remington #2
My I don’t have a savior complex claim is put to the test the week before Christmas.
The office is swarming with supply chain issues for the upcoming spring line as well as a rush to get products to stores for those last minute Christmas shoppers.
Preliminary finance numbers are up though, which I’m able to happily report to my father.
I’m feeling great when I enter on Monday, anticipating which snarky name Mindy is going to call me today. Friday had been Your Massive Royalness.
“Good morning, Ms. Espinoza,” I say on my way by her desk.
“Morning,” she replies somberly, not even looking up from her computer, and my footsteps falter.
I pause, waiting for more, but she says nothing else.
Continuing into my office, I get to work, but a frisson of unease flows through my veins as I check through the emails Mindy sorted and forwarded to me.
When I’m done with the emails and my daily cookies and coffee, I return to her area, perching on the corner of her desk as she expertly wraps up a phone call while simultaneously flipping through some papers in her hand.
“How’s everything going?” I ask.
“Fine,” she replies, and I don’t like the tightness in her voice.
“Everything okay with the apartment?”
Her head is down, the red curtain of her hair shading the side of her face. “It’s great. Thank you for letting me know about it.” She sniffles at the end of the statement, and my gut tightens.
“Are you sick or something? You know you get sick days, right?”
“I’m fine,” she says, not sounding fine at all.
I sit there like an awkward bird perched on her desk as she keeps her head down and pages through whatever report she’s looking at. Finally, I say, “Mindy, look at me.”
She makes a huffy sound in her throat. “I told you I’m fine.”
“And I told you to look at me.” My words are soft but firm, and when she finally lifts her head, some kind of animal rises inside me. Something large and ferocious like a bear.
Her eyes are red-rimmed, and while currently dry, it’s obvious she’s been crying at some point this morning. The grizzly inside me wants to rip apart whoever did this to her.
Reaching across her desk, I pick up the phone and dial. As soon as the executive-level receptionist answers, I say, “Amanda, this is Remington Hale. Ms. Espinoza is handling something for me, so can you field any phone calls coming in?”
“Of course, Mr. Hale. I’ll get the switchboard to reroute them to my number.”
“Thanks,” I say, hanging up and looking down at my assistant. “My office. We’ll talk in the lounge area.”
Then I stand and walk toward the corridor, calling back over my shoulder, “Now, Ms. Espinoza.” I smile when I hear the adorable snorting noise of annoyance because I also hear the sound of her chair pushing back and the stomping of her heels on the floor.
I return a couple minutes later with a caffè latte in one hand and two lemon butter cookies in the other. Mindy is seated on my couch, head down again as she picks at the cuticle of one thumb. Setting down the offering, I take the spot beside her.
“Did I do something wrong?” she asks, still working on that nail.
I still her hands and replace her fidgeting with the cup of coffee. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Take a drink and tell me what’s bothering you. If it’s something work-related…”
“It’s not. Everything is fine with work,” she quickly says.
“But something outside of work is not fine?” I surmise, glad when she sips on the coffee.
Her hair is still curtaining one side of her face, and I brush it behind her ear so I can better see her. She doesn’t startle at the intimate touch but leans into it for a brief second, eyes closing.
“I’m going through a divorce.”
I swear on my Brioni shoe collection, if she says she misses her ex, I might puke. “And you’re having second thoughts?” I ask tentatively.
Her head whips up, those red locks catching fire in the winter sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my corner office.
“Fuck no,” she spits. “I’d like to punch Twatface in his non-existent balls.”
Ah, now we’re getting to the crux of the matter. “What did he do to you?” I grit out through my teeth.
“Oh, would you like me to start from the beginning?” she asks, and without waiting for my answer, she launches into it.
“First of all, when I asked for a divorce, he got me fired from the bank where we both worked. Claimed I was making it a hostile work environment.” A sneer forms on her lower face at those last three words.
“I barely even saw Roger at work, so that’s complete bullshit.
And when I got home from being fucking fired, he was out back, burning all my clothes and my favorite purse in the burn barrel.
Then…” she says, raising one finger in the air, “I grabbed a few things I could salvage from my drawers and went to stay at my friend’s house for the night.
When I came back the next day to get the rest of my stuff, Twatface had changed all the locks. ”
“So Twatface has all your things, and you want them back,” I surmise. “You know you can get the police to escort you to the house to get them, right?”
“Oh, I’ve tried multiple times, but he won’t agree to a time because he’s too busy spending my money. I’ve driven down to Galveston unannounced a few times, but somehow he’s conveniently not there when I arrive, even after work.”
My mind mulls that over. “Do you think maybe he’s tracking your phone and just leaves when he sees you’re heading that way?”
Mindy’s eyes almost pop out of her head. “Shit, we did have location sharing. I didn’t even think of that.” She grabs her phone, and a second later says, “Fixed it.”
Something else she said niggles at me. “What was that about him spending your money?”
Her pretty face turns murderous. “I had money in a savings account, which I’d been saving for years to open my own bakery one day. He drained that account and our checking.”
Yeah, Twatface Roger needs his ass kicked. I rub the vein in my temple that is attempting to burst through the skin. “What does your lawyer say about all this?”
Mindy averts her gaze and picks up a cookie, sinking her teeth into the softness of vanilla, butter, and lemon. “I was just able to rehire her recently because my check bounced the first time. That’s how I found out my accounts were empty.”
Jesus fucking hell. She’s been dealing with all this shit, as well as a fucking grumpy boss—who happens to be me, by the way—and doing it with her head held high? I’m a bit in awe of this woman.
“And does she think you’ll get your money back?”
A small smile crests her lips. “Yes, she’s pretty sure I will.
She was able to trace all the deposits and can prove they were all made by me.
We’re also going after half the house since I paid half the mortgage payments.
I talked to her early this morning, and she’s hoping everything will be finalized by the end of December. ”
I can’t say that doesn’t give me a little thrill. “Well, that sounds like everything is on track. You’ll be done with Twatface in a couple of weeks.”
That’s when her chin wobbles and a tear finally makes an escape over one lower eyelid. And I swear, this woman can shatter my soul with one tiny droplet of salty fluid.
“He… he…” Her voice is a trembling leaf in a hurricane, and I take her coffee and cookie, setting them aside before reaching for her hand.
“Take your time, Mindy.”
She clutches my hand like a lifeline. “I don’t know if you remember, but I have a salt and pepper shaker collection.”
My brain takes me back to the memories of that night in the Waffle Ho when her face lit up at the mention of her collection.
“I remember. A lot of them belonged to your grandmother.” She nods, and something hard and hot lands in my stomach. “Did that asshole destroy them?”
Mindy shakes her head and swallows hard, obviously trying to control her emotions. “No, thank god, but my lawyer just received information from Roger’s attorney. He sold them.”
And that’s when she breaks. She’s been so fucking strong through all this shit she’s been enduring, but the loss of her legacy is too much for her to bear, and her face crumples.
“Come here,” I say softly, pulling her into my chest. Her arms wrap around me, and she sobs as I murmur into her hair that it will be okay, though I know it won’t.
Rubbing my hand up and down her back, I selfishly inhale the scent of her, letting it invade my veins with its sweetness.
After a few minutes, she pulls away, swiping at the makeup left on my suit jacket. “I’m so sorry. I made a mess of you.”
If that isn’t the truest fucking statement I’ve ever heard, though not in the way she thinks. “It’s fine. I’m just worried about you.” I remove my handkerchief from my pocket and dab at her gorgeous, reddened face.
“Thank you, and I’m sorry I unloaded all that on you.”