Small victories.
As we pull onto the road, Logan reaches over and squeezes my knee briefly before putting his hand back on the wheel.
River kicks his feet lightly. “Daddy, when can we see the baby again?”
“When they’re settled,” Logan replies. “New parents need quiet.”
I twist in my seat to face them. “Don’t be sad baby. I put Reese’s in your lunches today.”
Both boys light up instantly.
“But,” I add, pointing at them, “I want every single vegetable gone. I mean it. If I open those lunch boxes and see uneaten carrots-”
“They’re baby carrots,” Myles corrects.
“Exactly. Baby carrots. Eat them.”
River nods solemnly. “I’ll eat Myles’s.”
“Don’t you dare,” Myles snaps, clutching his backpack.
Logan laughs under his breath. “Out, out. Before your mother drafts a vegetable contract.”
We pull into the drop-off line instead of walking them in, and once the doors unlock, they tumble out in a rush of backpacks and noise, yelling goodbye as they sprint toward their teachers.
I know sending River to preschool is a little premature. He’s barely four. But the kid has so much energy that some kind of structured outlet was necessary. Besides, Myles’s school hasexcellent early programs, and it keeps them in the same routine. It’s a little pricey, but thankfully, we can afford it.
Logan waits until both teachers wave at us before pulling away from the curb and merging back into traffic.
Only then do I reach into my bag and pull out my tablet, unlocking it as I shift into work mode.
When we’re a few blocks from the office, Logan casually says, “I’m firing Arnon today. You should be there.”
“Why?” I ask, genuinely confused why he wants me there.
At a red light, he turns slightly toward me. “When I fire that jackass, I want him to know exactly why. And I don’t want him expecting a reference.”
I bite my lip, a ridiculous surge of attraction catching me off guard. Protective Logan is unfairly sexy.
“Do you think we can do that?” I ask. “What if he sues us for unfair dismissal?”
“Jess,” Logan says flatly, “being a perverted asshole isn’t unfair.”
“It is when there’s no proof and the only complainant is the boss’s wife.”
“Babe,” he says, “you’re the boss too.”
“That’s worse,” I argue. “I want him gone as much as you do, but I do not want to pay that man a cent more than we have to.”
Logan smirks. “We’re in Texas remember. It’s an at-will state. We can fire him for being an asshole without a formal complaint.”
I blink. “I can’t believe I forgot that.”
He raises a brow. “Something Jessica West forgot?”
I narrow my eyes at him.
“Careful,” I warn. “I’m still your boss.”
