16. PRESENT DAY – February
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
GARRISON ABBEY
T wo months pass in a blink. Willow and I keep the secret, and Jonathan isn’t brought up much at the Hale house, making it easier.
It’s also been two months since I’ve seen Willow in person, which is starting to get to me. We’ve talked about marriage and babies and begun to map out a future. Doing that has changed me a little bit. I want what we imagined together. One baby. Marriage. Soon-ish.
God, I want it.
But it’s not going to happen if we can’t see each other for months on end, so I came up with a plan.
And it could go really bad. It’s what I know as I wait for 3 p.m. to hit at Cobalt Inc.
No, I’m not quitting. Willow would probably break up with me on the spot if she heard that I quit to move to London.
It’s something else, but I’m nervous as hell because if Connor rejects this, then I’m not sure what I’ll do. I don’t have a plan B.
Maybe I should have a plan B.
“Abbey.” Keith struts over and stops at my cubicle. Cobalt Inc. hired him after his internship ended, and Keith, along with his team, was awarded a humongous bonus after their Valentine’s marketing push paid off. Some sort of magnet keepsake thing.
I don’t really care. My job isn’t in the “magnet” sector, so I don’t cram my brain with useless shit. But their giant cock-sized bonus is all anyone will fucking talk about. And if he starts yammering on about it, I may just check out early.
“I’m busy,” I tell Keith.
“This won’t take long.” He adjusts his Rolex, a gift from the CEO as part of the big dick bonus. “I heard from Diggy that you have an appointment with Connor at 3 p.m., and I need it.”
I narrow my eyes. “Why in the hell does Ryan Diggins like that you all refer to him as Diggy ?” Ryan is Connor’s assistant, and honestly, I don’t talk to him much.
“Because it’s cool as shit, just like him, and you’d know that if you showed up to any of the company parties.” He taps the top of my cubicle wall. “You’re missing the point.”
“Yeah, totally missed how you want my appointment time,” I say, sarcasm on my tongue. “Went right over my head.”
He lets out an aggravated noise. “Look, you don’t even need to schedule a time to see Connor. You could walk up to him at any point. Hell, you live on his street , Abbey. You could knock on his door if you wanted to, and he probably wouldn’t think that’s weird.”
He’s right. Connor wouldn’t.
But I wanted to do this the professional way. It’s a professional matter.
“Sorry, man,” I say. “It’s not happening.”
Keith glances at my mini-fridge. “You still need someone to grab you lunch and dinner from the caf? I’ve got you covered, no extra charge this time.”
His offer almost makes me smile, not because I’m going to take it. But because I don’t need it. “Thanks, but no thanks. I actually bring my lunch in to work now.”
I make a sub sandwich every morning when I pack Maximoff’s snacks for preschool. I took care of it once for Lily and Lo when they were both running late for work, and they’ve let me do it ever since.
I enjoy helping out, especially since I’m not paying them rent, and Lo would barely accept a check for groceries.
Keith rubs his eyes. “Abbey. There’s only a short window of time I have leverage for a raise, and you have one of the only available appointment slots—”
“It’s not available,” I cut him off. “I have it.”
Keith slowly blinks. “I’ve got blow.”
Jesus. “Then you should be going into his office begging not to be fired,” I snap. “Connor hates drugs.” At least, he doesn’t want his employees on them. I would know, I’ve had to take a fucking drug test every six months since I failed my first one. They’ve all been negative since.
“I didn’t say I use them,” Keith whisper-hisses. “But it’s good leverage for the assholes who do in here.” He says leverage and I hear blackmail .
I raise my hands. “I don’t want a part of your bullshit.” There’s a reason I enjoy my division existing of one person: me.
“Then give me your appointment and I’ll be out of your hair,” Keith says.
“You won’t have to talk to me. Otherwise…
” He reaches for the empty rolling chair, about to pull the thing over and park his ass next to me.
Probably for eternity. Cobalt Inc. is infested with annoyingly persistent type-A pricks.
“ Fine ,” I concede. “Tell Ryan you can have my time.”
Keith grins. “You’ll need to call Diggy yourself. He doesn’t trust anyone in the building.” No shit.
“Fine,” I repeat. “Just leave.”
He goes to pat my shoulder like we’re bros—I abruptly slide my chair away. “Don’tfuckingtouchme,” I snap so caustically and quickly it all slurs together.
His eyes widen. “Shit, sorry.” He raises his hands. “Christ.” He strolls away from my cubicle, and my pulse beats rapidly and hard. Like the Road Runner wields a sledgehammer inside my body.
Get a grip. I run a hand through my hair and grab my phone to call Ryan and take care of this. I’ll just have to find another time to talk to Connor. But it has to be today.
* * *
Late evening has arrived, the end of the workday, and I’m on Connor’s imperial floor of the high-rise. The CEO is shutting down his computer. Packing up his things.
It’s a huge risk to approach him right now. More than one prick has already been reprimanded for trying. I loiter near the glass office, just watching each sorry bastard get rejected. Leaving with their tails between their legs.
And Connor doesn’t even yell or raise his voice. He just uses a bunch of words that makes you feel like two pounds of shit.
Still…I approach him.
Heads swing, other high-level employees looking my way. Bodies rotating. I feel more on display than when paparazzi shove cameras in my face.
Connor locks his office door behind him and notices me with a quick glance. He’s casual, almost unsurprised that I’m here. Even though I go out of my way to avoid him at work.
Before I can say anything, his confident stride is aimed for the elevator. “Let’s talk on the way home.”
I think that’s his way of offering me a ride.
I shake my head. “I drove here—”
“Your car will be fine in the parking deck overnight.” He’s still walking, brisk but casual. I keep pace beside him.
“You want me to ride in your limo with you?” I’m having a hard time processing this, but I should be able to by now. I’m living with his brother-in-law.
Connor cocks a single brow at me. “You’re being impossibly daft today.”
I stop short just as he enters the elevator.
He braces a hand on the door, keeping them from closing on me. “You don’t want to ride home with me. Fine. But this conversation will have to take place in a home with four children under the age of five. When I say it’s extraordinarily loud in there, just remember I’m not the hyperbolic one.”
Now he’s inviting me to his house…
An older employee passes us, eyeing the interaction. I do something really dumb and look over my shoulder. A handful of employees are craning their necks to watch us, and I’m about to get special treatment. It’s fucking obvious.
Right now, I just don’t care.
This is for Willow. For us. That matters more to me than whatever anyone else thinks.
I enter the elevator with him. Doors slide shut.
On the way to his limo, he talks about his kids—Jane, Charlie, Beckett, and Eliot—like I’m his friend.
Happiness flows from every word like these little beings are the center of his whole world, and for a guy like Connor who bars most people from seeing his emotions, it’s a privilege that he lets me see this.
It makes it easier for what I’m about to ask.
As soon as we’re in the limo, he passes me a water bottle from the cooler. “We should be commuting together,” he tells me. “It doesn’t make sense for you to drive now that we work the same hours.”
“I like my car.”
“It’s not a matter of like. It’s called efficiency.
” He rests a finger to his temple and looks through me.
“Let me give you an example you seem to need. You wouldn’t have to make appointments with me if we have extra time to talk on our commute.
And without appointment times, you won’t have to worry about being hassled during your day. ”
My face scrunches, not understanding how he knows about my conversation with Keith today. “How did you…?”
Connor arches another brow. “It’s my company. I hear everything.” He uncaps his own water bottle. “And most of my employees think they’re sharks. As soon as Ryan told me you had an appointment today, I knew one of them would try to bite.”
I smile, realizing something. “You don’t call him Diggy.”
“I only use his nickname to his face,” Connor says and then studies me like he’s adding something up. “You remember Faust?”
Faust…
I couldn’t forget that place even if I tried. I lasted a good four months before being kicked out. But that boarding school—that’s the same one Connor attended, long before I graced their doors.
“ Fortunately for me,” I say dryly, “Faust is embedded in my brain.”
It’s an all-boys school. And I mostly hated it for that reason.
I lean my head back and stare up at the limo’s ceiling. “You were something like a legend there,” I add. “Everyone talked about you.” And these were students that didn’t even go to school with Connor. Just heard the same old stories passed down.
“I’d ask if they said good things, but I already know that answer,” Connor says, confidence laced in arrogance. He sets his water bottle in the cup holder. “You flunked out of Faust for a reason, Garrison.”
“Yeah,” I snort. “Because I wasn’t smart enough.” Those guys all spoke three different languages, were tutored in math before they could talk, and had proficiency in at least one musical instrument. They were blue-blooded social climbers with something to prove, and I couldn’t hack it.