Page 12 of Merry with Me
“No. Have a good weekend,” I grumble, even though I don’t mean to. I’m not a complete asshole. Kathy is invaluable to meand this office. Of course, I want her to have a nice weekend. Just because I grumble the sentiment doesn’t mean it’s not true.
“You too, Dr. Thompson. Oh…” She steps into my office and places a small clear container with a red top that’s noticeably empty on top of my desk. I glare at it.
“What’s that?” I know damn well what it is. What I don’t know is why she’s giving it to me.
“That’s Blakely’s container. You have a meeting with her on Monday, a lunch meeting. I thought she’d want it back.”
I grunt in response.
Another fucking meeting. A lunch meeting at that. Hilary never did any of that. I’m going to have to remind Ms. Kincaid that I don’t want to be a part of the gala. I couldn’t care less about what decisions she’s made. I won’t be there to see them.
“Have a great weekend,” Kathy sings, walking out of my office. She’s not the least bit upset or intimidated by my reaction. Like I said, I’m not a complete asshole to work for. I like things a certain way, and having lunch with Blakely Kincaid is not on the list.
The marketing beauty is everywhere. I hear her name in the halls, in the cafeteria, in my office. Hell, she’s even in my head. Suddenly, it's as if she’s a part of my life.
She’s not. I don’t do relationships. Been there, done that, and I have the scars to prove it. They might just be emotional scars, but they’re still there all the same.
Shaking out of my thoughts, I get back to work. An hour later, I’m shutting down my laptop and grabbing my coat to head home. The empty container with the red top glares at me from the corner of my desk. I’m not sure an object has ever annoyed me. I guess there’s a first time for everything. Hitting the switch, I turn off the light, lock my door, and head out to my car.
Stepping outside, the cold greets me. My eyes scan the parking lot, looking for—well, I refuse to voice even in my ownhead who I’m looking for. I don’t see her car, and I heave a sigh of relief. Hitting the key fob, I remotely start my 4Runner as I make my way through the lot.
Once I’m behind the wheel, my eyes take another scan of the lot, just to be certain she’s not broken down again, or anyone, for that matter. Satisfied, I put my SUV in Drive and head home, ready to put this week behind me.
An hour later, I’m home, showered, and standing in the kitchen with an ice-cold beer, staring at the stack of takeout menus, trying to decide what to order for dinner. When my cell phone rings, I check the caller before answering. Thankfully, it’s not work. It’s my best friend, Brad.
“Hey, man,” I greet him.
“You sound defeated. Rough day?”
I huff out a laugh. “Rough week. What are you up to?”
“Marisa and Abe are at her mom's, working on his costume for the Christmas pageant for school.”
“Damn, preschool is brutal,” I mumble.
“Nah, Abe’s pumped about it. He gets to be a gumdrop.”
“Don’t they all have to look the same?” I wonder, thinking about a bunch of little four- and five-year-olds running around as gumdrops. Abe’s a cute kid, and it brings a small smile to my face.
“They do. Marisa volunteered to make all the gumdrops, with her mom’s help, of course, and Abe wanted to be there to help too.”
“So, you’re home alone?”
“Nah, I’ve got Carrie,” he says of his little girl, who turned one over the summer.
“Well, have the two of you had dinner? I was just getting ready to order something.”
“That’s why I’m calling. I was going to see if you wanted to come over and watch last night’s game. I didn’t get to watch it. My boys had practice,” he says of his varsity basketball team he coaches.
“Wait, don’t you usually have games on Friday nights?”
“Yeah, but we have a bye this week.”
“Well, I’d love to, but I’ve already had half of this beer.” I could drive on a half, but I don’t drink and drive ever. It’s my own personal rule, no matter that the law says, legally, I’d be fine. “You’re welcome to come over. I haven’t ordered yet.”
“Pizza,” he says in answer. “Meat lovers. We’ll be there in twenty.”
“What about Carrie?”