The Wrong Boss: Chapter 37

I straightened the sleeves of my sweater over the watch I’d just checked. They were very nearly late. Shifting on the hard wooden seat, I resisted the urge to check it again. I knew it had only been about ten seconds since I’d looked at the watch; it wasn’t the time that was making me antsy.

I was about to meet my daughter.

Touching the bag next to me to make sure the gift I’d bought was still there, I stole a glance at the clock on the restaurant wall. Then cursed myself.

This wasn’t like me. I wasn’t some nervous ninny. I negotiated with important people. I managed a portfolio of assets worth billions. And a six-year-old was making me sweat?

The door opened, and I stopped kidding myself. It wasn’t just the six-year-old that was making me nervous. Carrie came breezing through the door, looking as beautiful as she had the first day we met. And the day she walked into the office. And the day she trounced me at golf. And every day in between, before, and since.

I hated how much she affected me. I resented the fact that she was here at all, when she didn’t deserve to supervise a thing after keeping our daughter a secret from me, after lying to me for weeks and making me believe that she really cared about me. She’d made a fool out of me, and I still wasn’t over it. I doubted I ever would be.

“Hi, Cole,” she said as she came to a stop at our table.

I nodded. “Hello.” My gaze shifted to the little girl clinging to Carrie’s side. She stared at me through dark brown eyes, her hair braided back from her face so I could see just how much she resembled me. “Hi. I’m—” I stopped. What was I supposed to call myself? “Cole” seemed informal. “Dad” seemed presumptuous.

“You’re my father,” she supplied, then glanced at her mother. When Carrie nodded, the little girl stuck her hand out. “Mom said that I could choose what to call you. Zara calls her dad ‘Daddy’ and Imogen calls hers ‘Papa’ but I haven’t decided, so I’m going to call you Cole.”

A girl who knew what she wanted. Couldn’t argue with that. “Sounds fair.”

She gave me a businesslike nod. “I’m Evie.”

“Short for Evelyn,” I said, and couldn’t help my smile.

Evie beamed at me. “Yeah. You remembered!” She slid into the chair and looked at Carrie, who took a seat beside her. “Mom, can I get the brownie with ice cream and chocolate sauce?”

“You have to eat lunch first, Evie,” Carrie said, sounding firm—but I could see the love in her eyes when she looked at her daughter.

I felt like an outsider looking in. I cleared my throat and said, “You like brownies?”

“Yeah,” Evie confirmed, nodding vigorously. “And pie.”

“And cookies,” Carrie provided. “And cake.”

“And especially ice cream!”

Evie’s grin made me laugh, and I couldn’t help the urge to look at Carrie. She half rolled her eyes, but her smile widened.

I caught myself smiling back at her. Not liking how easy it felt, I cleared my throat and grabbed the bag I’d stashed on the chair next to me. “I got you something,” I said to Evie.

She stood up straighter and peered over, then took the bag. Her face brightened. “A bee plushie! Mom, look!”

“Wow,” Carrie said, putting her arm around the back of Evie’s chair as she leaned over to inspect the gift.

“Feel how soft it is,” Evie commanded, pushing the stuffed animal—stuffed insect?—toward her mom. Then she did the same to me, thrusting the fuzzy black-and-yellow bee toward me.

I dutifully petted it with my fingertips and nodded. “Really soft,” I confirmed.

Evie smiled, then brought the bee to her chest to cuddle it.

Now, I’d been in business for a while. And I’d worked in many different industries, from finance to advertising to tech. I’d brokered huge deals, and I was generally considered to be a hard ass who got the job done. But nothing—nothing—had come even close to being as satisfying as seeing that little girl hug the gift I got her. I actually got a little choked up. The Italian restaurant Carrie had chosen was dusty to begin with, but my eyes suddenly became suspiciously watery.

“What do you say?” Carrie asked.

“Thank you!” Evie said, still hugging that silly stuffed bee. “I love it. I’m going to call her Freya.”

“Freya?” I frowned.

“The hero of Bee Good,” Carrie explained, reaching over to stroke her daughter’s hair. “It really was a good show,” she said, and a little awkwardly, added, “Thank you.”

“I’m going to be a beekeeper when I grow up,” Evie informed me.

I frowned. “Is that even a full-time job?”

Evie shrugged. “Who cares?”

Carrie snorted, and I couldn’t help my own laugh. The three of us looked up when a waitress stopped by our table to introduce herself and take our drink orders, and I used the opportunity to steal a glance at Evie—and one at Carrie.

This…wasn’t awful. I’d sat here sweating about how hard it would be to talk to a little girl I didn’t know in the presence of the woman who had betrayed me, but in reality, it was as easy as breathing.

Evie told me about the play, then segued into bragging about winning her school’s spelling bee. I found myself reading words off the menu for her to try to spell. She sounded them out and occasionally looked to Carrie for guidance, who was always patient. She never gave Evie the answer but gently prodded her to figure it out herself.

I’d never had that. In my house, I’d been on my own for homework, even though my brothers got endless hours of tutoring. If one of them got a bad grade, somehow it would be my fault for not supporting them properly. I had to struggle on my own from the start, wondering the whole while why I was being treated differently.

As I watched Carrie interact with her daughter, I realized that what I felt was relief. She was a good mom, and she loved her daughter. Even though I was still furious about her lies, I could acknowledge that she’d done a good job with Evie.

We had lunch, and then I ordered three brownie sundaes, which made Evie’s eyes go comically wide. “I get one all to myself?” she whispered to her mom.

“Don’t make yourself sick eating it,” Carrie cautioned in response. She glanced up at me and explained, “Usually we split one of these between us.”

“Well, it’s a special occasion,” I said. “It’s our first meal together.”

“That’s true,” Evie said, and whipped her head around to beam at her mom. We ate brownies slathered in ice cream and chocolate sauce, and then I paid the bill and walked the girls outside.

Saying goodbye was harder than I expected. As I drove back to the city, I realized that a bit of my anger had chilled.

Carrie had kept Evie’s existence from me—but seeing them interact made me think that it might not have had everything to do with me. Maybe she was trying to protect her daughter. That’s all I’d wanted and needed when I was a kid—how could I begrudge Carrie for giving that to Evie?