Series: Shifter Ops Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
And now he’s back, if stopping by for a fifteen-minute argument counts as back.
I focus on the work at hand. The contract review is for one of my boss’s many companies. The counsel for the other company has a dry-as-dust voice that drones on and on. I look serious for the camera, pretend I’m listening and nod at appropriate times. Mostly, I keep one ear cocked for the sound of motorcycle pipes in my drive.
This isn’t over.
Will he come back?
Do I want him to?
Channing could help Geo through his shifts. But any help from him might do more harm than good. I can only imagine the bad habits he’d teach Geo. Sneaking out of the house, running through the woods at all hours–Channing seemed to think this was all within the realm of normal behavior. Geo needs someone to teach him how to shift responsibly, not get in trouble. Channing wouldn’t be a good influence.
And when it gets too hard, I’m sure he’ll just bail. He’s not the type to handle responsibility. I don’t want Geo to get attached to him and then have his heart broken. Or worse, to see him as a role model and follow him into something reckless or dangerous.
I grip a pen so hard it cracks and spatters ink against my blouse. Luckily, I can adjust my computer, so my camera only shows my face, not my stained clothes. When my meeting ends, I change and brush my hair. Not for any reason. I’m definitely not thinking about having Channing in my house again.
Lord, it’s been way too long since Geoffrey died. I should’ve gotten myself out there and dated. Maybe I’d have met someone by now. Then I wouldn’t be so enervated over my dead husband’s much younger brother showing up. What’s wrong with me?
I stare in the mirror. I don’t recognize the Julia looking back at me. Her cheeks are flushed like she’s been day drinking. She looks half-wild.
More proof that Channing is a bad influence. Fifteen minutes in his presence affected me far more than it should have.
He said he wanted to help. To fulfill his promise to his brother.
How typical and absurd for Channing to show up, half-dressed, and pretend he’s going to be Mr. Responsible. How dare he look so much like Geoffrey and Geo, the two people I love the most. How dare he look so damn hot?
Or maybe I’m just mad at myself for being attracted to him. I mean, that’s just… crazy. I must be missing Geoffrey, and Channing is the closest thing I’ve seen to him.
But he’s ten years younger than I am!
When my morning meetings end, I take my aggression out on a badly-written contract, ripping it to shreds with comments, clacking at my computer with enough force to break the keys. Not even my mid-morning yoga break calms my nerves.
Geo comes home in the middle of one of my afternoon meetings. By the time I can check on him, he’s ensconced in his room, headphones on, doing his homework.
I’ve been so distracted, I forgot to plan dinner or call Geo’s current school to get his transcript sent to the new private school he’ll be attending, thanks to my boss. I blame Channing for this, too. A glance out the front windows shows an empty cul-de-sac.
My last meeting of the day is with my boss, Mr. van den Berg. A year ago, his main law firm hired me for some contract work. He was so pleased with my work, he created a full-time position for me. It pays well and works around my single mom schedule. It's mostly boring business and real estate contracts. Rich people tend to have all sorts of businesses and moving parts to hide their assets. And Mr. van den Berg is very, very rich.
At sixty-five, my boss is fit and tanned from his golf addiction, with a kindly grandfather face and a beard that’s more white than gray. He joins the video conference a few minutes late, and the screen gives me a view of his grand mahogany desk and crystal decanter filled with the world’s most expensive scotch. He raises his half-filled glass in a toast, his dark eyes twinkling.
“Hello, Mr. van den Berg. I hope I’m not interrupting something important,” I joke because we had this meeting scheduled. It’s no secret he has a standing four o’clock date with a glass of whisky.
“Not at all, not at all. You’ll forgive me for my little indulgence.” He sips his drink.
“Of course. Honestly, I need one of those.” As soon as my work day is over, I’ll pour myself a glass of wine.
My boss looks concerned. “Long day, Ms. Armstrong?”
“No, work is going well. I wish the rest of my life were as manageable.”
“Ah.” Mr. van den Berg sets down his glass with a clink. “I hope Geoffrey Jr. isn’t giving you trouble. He is of that age.”