I didn’t think she’d reply, but that didn’t stop me from staring at my phone for the next half hour. Finally, the screen lit up with a message from her.
Callie
I’m okay. I just need time. Please give it to me.
I closed my eyes, relief and regret tangling in my chest. She was safe but choosing distance from me, and I had nobody to blame but myself for that.
I stared at her reply for a long moment, wrestling with sending another text when she asked for time. Ultimately, I decided I needed to explain one more thing before giving her what she needed.
Silence could look like guilt, and she’d lived with enough uncertainty from me. Especially if she’d somehow overheard part of that damn conversation last night. I couldn’t let her go on thinking that I had room in my heart or head for another woman when my wife was the only one for me.
Me
Sophie told me she had feelings for me last night. I shut it down immediately, and she won’t be working with me anymore. I didn’t want there to be any secrets between us, even now.
Take all the time you need. I’ll be here.
The messages whooshed away, and I heaved a deep sigh. Then I set the phone face down on the table and leaned back, staring up at the ceiling.
The waiting would be hell. But for once, I’d give Callie what she needed, even if it broke me.
I was already feeling battered when I woke up the next morning. I’d barely slept. A couple of hours at most, and even those were short bursts of unconsciousness between long stretches of staring at the ceiling, replaying every way I’d let Callie down.
By dawn on Monday, a deep ache settled into my muscles from the hours I spent lugging furniture around yesterday. Ilooked like I hadn’t slept in a week, but I still arrived at Langford Tech earlier than usual.
I rode the elevator up and walked through the executive floor, greeting a few early risers with nods. When I reached my office, everything inside was exactly as I’d left it. Neat and orderly. The opposite of my personal life.
I booted up my computer and forced myself to focus on emails and budget approvals. When I stepped out to get coffee from the break room, I passed Sophie’s empty desk.
A throat cleared softly beside me, and I turned to find a woman standing there.
“Mr. Prescott?” she asked.
“That’s me.”
“I’m Harper. HR said I’d be covering your administrative support until Lucy returns from maternity leave,” she explained.
“Welcome.” We shook hands. “How comfortable are you with scheduling software and calendar management?”
Her answering smile was confident. “Very. I specialized in workflow optimization at my last job.”
That got my full attention. Now that my eyes were open to my mother’s manipulation and Sophie’s boundary-crossing, I couldn’t stop reexamining everything. “Perfect. I need you to audit my calendar for the past three months.”
She blinked. “Am I looking for anything in particular?”
“I’d like a thorough rundown of every meeting that was moved or cancelled.” I considered the missed appointment that had sent my marriage spiraling. “And a log of all the notifications, if that’s possible.”
Harper nodded. “Your IT administrator should have an audit log, but I’ll probably need permission to access the information.”
“Let me know when you hit a roadblock, I’ll make sure you have whatever you need.”
“I’ll get started immediately,” she murmured, rounding the desk to sit down in front of the computer.
“Thank you.”
I wasn’t sure what I wanted more—proof someone had tampered with my schedule, or confirmation that I’d ruined things entirely on my own.
13
