Chapter 13
"Mr. Lancashire!" Jessica gushed. Waving away the receptionist, she beamed at the man who was standing inside the lobby, an impatient look on his face. "They should have brought you right to my office."
"I'm in a hurry," he told her rudely. "I understand Ms. Foster is no longer employed here?"
She took a quick study of his face and wondered if she should play the aggrieved employer or a sympathetic woman who had tried to give the woman a chance, but his face revealed nothing.
"I had to--"
"I need her home address," Rodney cut her off abruptly.
"Is there something I can do? Something I can help you with perhaps?"
"No. The address," he said curtly, instantly disliking the woman. "And if I find out she was wrongfully terminated, there will be hell to pay."
Fear came swiftly. "I had no choice--"
"You'd better hope I don't hear differently from her." His golden eyes swept the dingy foyer. "Or I might just feel the need to buy this place for her. Address?"
Snapping her fingers, she sent the receptionist running towards the back to get the information.
"I don't want us to be enemies--"
"You overestimate your importance, ma'am." He reached out a hand to take the piece of paper, then pinned her with a look. "And I don't want you calling and warning her that I'm on my way to her. Is that clear?"
"Of course not. I hope she's okay. I really had no choice--" His icy gaze stopped the rest. Without another word, he strode towards the door.
Jessica's hand crept to her throat as she stared after him. Swallowing the lump that had lodged itself in her throat, she wondered if she had made a huge mistake in letting Melanie go.
*****
Rodney almost turned around several times. He had spent two days agonizing over his decision. He had blown it with Karen and that was after he had forced himself to go to her place.
He could not touch her. He had finally left, mumbling an apology and gone straight home to get well and truly plastered.
She was lodged inside his head. The words that damn woman had said to him haunted him. The guilt was horrible and was eating away at him.
No amount of pep talk or reminders that she was the one who had wronged him had worked. He couldn't sleep.
Eating had become a chore, and he was living like a bloody recluse. He had not even visited his own mother.
The neighborhood was quiet, the houses too close together for comfort. He had passed a park a few blocks away that was now deserted. The cottage was shabby, but someone, and he had a feeling it was her, had tried to brighten it up with a bold blue trimming on the windows.
There was the undeniable evidence that a kid was in residence by the football left in the tiny driveway and a blue bike turned over on its side.
He had no idea what he was going to say to her, but he knew he had to do something. Yell at her, shake her or haul her in his arms, just to get a taste.
Shoving the door open, he alighted. The gate was hanging slightly off the hinges and took only a nudge to push it open.
Wind whipped through his jacket as he climbed the porch steps. He was saved from knocking when the door swung open.
He felt the jolt straight to his heart as he stared at the boy. He was the spitting image of his mother. Wide and curious mahogany stared at him frankly.
"Who are you?"
"I need to speak to your mother. I'm--"
"Mom!" Without taking his eyes off Rodney, the boy called out. "There's someone here--"
