Rushing past Stefan and into the hall, I make my way to the end and push Franky’s office door open. Closing and locking it at my back, I lean against the solid timber and breathe through the crazy hummingbird sensations that flutter in my stomach.
Hell noto the stomach flutters. Absolutely not.
“Ah… Katrina?” Franky’s deep voice draws my eyes up before I break out the paper bags and allow myself a full meltdown. “Something up?”
Breathe. Relax. Stay strong!“Mm?”
“You okay, honey? Need to go to the hospital or something?”
“No hospital.” This isn’t Franky’s first rodeo. This poor man who never had children of his own still ended up with his hands full and a teenage pregnancy on his doorstep. “Mac’s in his booth eating minestrone right now. We’re good.”
“Okay. You need some privacy? I could step out…” He frowns. “Of my own office…”
“No!” I wave him off, ignoring the way my voice cracks. Standing taller, I fix the red and white spotted band that holds my hair off my face. “I just had a little indigestion. I needed a moment to burp in privacy, that’s all. But you’re welcome to stay for that.”
My bulky boss with saggy cheeks and comfortably dull eyes tilts his head and sees through my lies. He knows me as well as my own father does, and he definitely knows when I’m lying. “Honey… you got something you wanna talk about?” He sets his pen down and sits back in his chair. “Spill.”
“Nope.” Plopping my hands on my hips, I breathe in, in, in until my lungs want to explode, then I let it out again on a huff and swing the door open. “All better now.” I breeze through the door and back into the hall, only to take a fast left and swing into the locker room, which is more of a storage closet with fancy lockers lining the back wall. Walking toward my locker and entering Mac’s birthday into the keypad, I swing the metal door open and take out my phone with hopes to find the very thing I usually dread.
There he is, right at the top.Zeke Douglas.Four texts. Three requests for money. Two missed calls. One big fat nope from me. No apologies for his bullshit behavior last night. And zero inquiries into our son’s day.
Letting out another explosive breath, I turn and lean against the lockers with a smile. I hate Zeke’s smarmy, thieving, dumb guts, and his requests for cash – which arriveat leastonce a week – he reminds me why it’s cheaper and easier not to let handsome men smile at me.
I’m okay with being single for the rest of my life because I have my son, I have contentment in my family and work, and I have freedom from that idiot sperm donor so long as I stay on my toes and dodge him as skillfully as I have for the last few years.
What Iwantto reply is for Zeke to go fuck himself with a sandpaper-wrapped cactus bush. But what I actually reply is that I can’t afford to loan him any cash this week because the electric bill came in higher than expected, and maybe he’d like to pitch in for a little of Mac’s share.
It’s a lie; our electric bill is perfectly under control, and Zeke has never given me a cent that in any way resembles support of the child he helped me make. But my request will have him running again, and I’ll have bought myself another stretch of silence until he’s brave enough to try again.
Tossing my phone back into my bag and swinging the locker shut, I stop at the mirror on the back of the door for a brief pause and study the red lipstick that makes my eyes pop. I don’t wear a whole lot of makeup, but a swipe of mascara and bright red lipstick can make even the dreariest of days feel a little brighter.
Look out, world. My name is Katrina Blair, and I have my shit under control!No man can sweet-talk his way into my panties again because I’m older, wiser, my panties are made of steel, and I purposely lost the key so I could avoid temptation.