Her voice is quieter when she says, “I miss Mom and Dad. I miss the way Mom smells. I miss her hugs. I miss everything, and stupid Billy Horton thinks it’s some big joke that they’re gone, but it’s not. I just want them back. I keep thinking one day they’re going to walk through the door and that it was someone else’s family in that accident, not mine.”
She dissolves into tears. I have to unbuckle my seat belt and awkwardly side hug her, internally punching my own face for taking it one step too far.
I wish I had someone to bounce this stuff off of. I think about the way Kailyn hugged her and offered her support today and worry that I’m not going to be enough.
Word to the wise, instituting an electronics ban on a thirteen-year-old is the worst torture in the world, and not just for her, but for me, too. Because the whining is incessant. I imagine this must be what hell is like.
It hasn’t even been a full twenty-four hours yet, but it feels like an eternity. I end up having to suspend the ban the following day because Emme has homework that requires her laptop. I also have to allow her to use her phone because I’m dropping her off at the library while I meet with Kailyn. I would take her with me, but I don’t want to create more anxiety for her.
The library is only a block from Kailyn’s office, but I don’t feel right about not having a way to get in touch with Emme. The ban seemed good in theory, but not so much in practice.
“I suspended the data,” I tell her as I pull into the library parking lot.
She gapes at me. “You didn’t have to do that. I wouldn’t have texted my friends. They’re all in class anyway, and I don’t want anyone to get in trouble because of me.” She stuffs the phone in her pocket, punches the release on her seat belt, and gets out of the car, closing the door harder than necessary.
I arrive at Kailyn’s office at 11:25 with coffee in hand. Yesterday wasn’t a shining moment for me. I hadn’t expected her to be at the school, witnessing what felt like my first failure at parenting.
I have a plan today. And it includes an apology for being a jerk, recently and back in college. Maybe what I perceived as a friendly rivalry, she perceived as something else. My friends were always making comments, so it’s possible she took them personally when they weren’t meant that way. She proved yesterday that she’s trying to help, so I should attempt to be civil even if she’s prickly as fuck with me.
Her assistant does that blinking thing women often do when they recognize me. She did it the last time I was here, too. I’m not being an egotistical jerk, it’s just a fact. First comes the fast blinks, then the hair and/or clothing adjustments. Then the wide smile and the fidgeting, followed by the high-pitched greeting.
“Mr. Hughes!” And there’s the high pitch.
“It’s just Dax. How are you this morning, Cara?”
“Great! Fantastic. Let me see if Miss Flowers is ready for you.” Instead of picking up the phone, she pushes back her chair. Her skirt today is a little on the short side for office wear, but it’s not my office, and she’s not my assistant, so maybe it’s appropriate here.
She returns a minute later with Kailyn in tow. I do a complete visual sweep, starting at her face and moving slowly—slower than I should, probably—over her. She’s wearing another pencil skirt, complete with jacket. It’s black today, the jacket buttoned, highlighting the dip in her waist and her hourglass figure. Her legs are encased in black hose with a delicate pattern on them. I don’t know why I find them so sexy, but I do.
In law school she used to wear these funny shirts, or funky-colored jeans or shoes. She was always serious in class, but she wore her personality and apparently still does. I keep scanning until I reach her feet. Her heels are fire-engine red. I bet they’d look amazing resting on my shoulders with that skirt pushed up to her waist and that crisp white blouse unbuttoned. I wonder if she’s wearing thigh highs and garters. Probably not, I decide.
Shit. I need to get my head out of the gutter. Especially considering this woman barely tolerates me. I bring my gaze back to hers, aware I’ve just been caught ogling, based on the unimpressed arch of her brow.
I hold out the coffee. “Hi.”
“What’s this?” She eyes it suspiciously.
“A nonfat, two-pump vanilla latte with extra cinnamon. It’s a thank-you for taking time out of your schedule for meeting with me today and for coming to the school yesterday, and for the way you treated Emme.”
She shoots a suspicious glare at Cara before giving me one of her cold smiles. “Oh, well, you’re a client, so…why don’t we go to my office?”
I give Cara a wink—she’s the one who gave me the coffee details—and follow Kailyn down the hall to her office, disappointed by the way her jacket hides the curve of her ass.
She moves toward a small table where a pile of highlighted and tabbed documents are spread out neatly. Just like in college, there are a selection of funky pens in a variety of colors beside the documents. Even her organizational skills are a turn-on. I think I really need to get some action. And soon. For a moment I imagine shoving the papers off the desk, laying her out, and just…fucking away the ever-present tension between us.
She motions to the chair in front of me. “Why don’t you have a seat and we can go over the details.”
Right. We’re here to talk about Emme, not get naked. Why is my head so deep in the gutter this morning? “After you.” I pull out a chair and wait for her to sit, tucking her into the table before I take the seat next to her. It’s overkill, but I’m looking to change her opinion of me, and being chivalrous is a better place to start than what’s really going on in my head.
She picks up a document and sets it in front of me. “How’s Emme today? Actually, where is Emme today?”
“She’s down the street at the library working on a school project. I would’ve brought her here, but I don’t want to cause her more stress if I don’t need to. Besides, she’s mopey and you don’t need to be subjected to that.”
“Oh? Did something happen?”
“I took away her electronics until Monday.”
Kailyn’s eyebrows shoot up. “That’s like taking a baby’s pacifier.”
“Yeah. Pretty much.”
“I wonder who’s more miserable, you or her.” She grins a little, like that might make her happy.
“It’s probably pretty even, at least for now. I assume it’ll be far worse by the end of the weekend.”
“Good luck with that.” She taps the trust document. “I only have until twelve thirty, so we should get down to it. The trust is safe, and the allocated funds will still be transferred into your account at the beginning of every month to help finance Emme’s care.”
“An allowance?”
“You can think of it that way if you like, except the money will be transferred into a joint account that I’ll have access to until the custody case is resolved, and you’ll have to provide me with receipts for all expenses.”
“Excuse me?”
She glances up from the document, her expression placid. “I’m legally responsible for tracking the funds and making sure they’re actually going toward Emme’s care.”