“We have nothing in common,” he says, folding under the pressure of my stare.
“Have you ever even tried to get to know her?”
“Why does it matter? She’s a grown adult who ran away as fast as she could when she turned eighteen. If she doesn’t want to have a relationship with us, then that’s her problem.”
“She likes hockey. She’s really smart, and not just with numbers and letters, but business-wise as well. She likes books and is an amazing cook. She’s not weird. You are just an asshole, and I don’t understand why.”
He scoffs, “So you know everything about her suddenly?”
“She’s lived with me for months, if you forgot.” I take a breath to try to center myself before I do something stupid. I switch interrogation tactics. “What about her don’t you like? Lottie is a loudmouth. She’s inconsiderate of others, and she only cares about herself. Yet you open your arms to her, you write glowing reviews, and I’m sure you guys talk on the phone at least once a week, maybe even more.”
“What are you getting at?”
“I’m not getting at anything.”
“Sure as hell sounds like you’re accusing me of something.”
“I’m not accusing you of anything. You are the one getting defensive, like you have something to hide. I was just asking about an observation I made.”
“I’m not getting defensive, and I don’t need to sit here while you try to psychoanalyze me.”
I raise my hands in surrender and lean back in my chair. Clearly, I’m not going to get anything out of him.
“You know what, never mind. You can go.”
“You’re kidding, right? You called me in here to interrogate me about my daughter, and now you’re just sending me on my way.”
“Yup, enjoy the rest of your day.” I look down at my papers, feeling my temper start to rise.
He lets out a huff of air through his nose before pushing away from my desk, his chair legs scraping the floor, making me fight back a cringe at the God-awful noise.
When he leaves, I glare at his back. Waiting until the door shuts behind him before I turn back to my workload. I’ve been asked to look through some paperwork for one of the other guys on the squad, just to see if I can spot anything that he didn’t.
I shake my head and try to put myself back into work mode. But for whatever reason, I’m unable to do so.
I run a frustrated hand through my hair, blowing out a breath through my lips before rolling my shoulders out.
I try once more to focus, but when all I can do is think about the woman waiting at home for me, I decide to call it a day and head home, taking my papers with me as I go.
It’s pretty early when I get home, and Sloane is nowhere to be seen. Her car is not in the driveway, and Mocha is M.I.A. as well.
Probably for the better.
I go upstairs and change into some gym clothes before grabbing a water out of the fridge and making my way downstairs to the gym.
I look around the room, and it smells like her, which just causes me to smile. Of course, she uses this room.
I look around, her pink Pilates stuff in one corner, her yoga mat still laid out from whenever she last used it. I go over to the treadmill and decide to clear my head.
The short run very quickly turns long, and by the time I’m all but doubled over, gasping for breath, I’m no longer thinking about Briar. I step off the treadmill, and I place my hands ontop of my head. I breathe in through my mouth and out my nose until my heart no longer feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest.
I sip on the water as I head up to the main floor.
“AHHHHHH! You fucking sneaky asshole bitch!” Sloane screeches, throwing a spoon at me when I accidentally sneak up on her.
It wasn’t my intention, but I couldn’t help laughing at her cuteness. “Good aim, baby,” I tease, picking up the small metal spoon that hit me in the chest before handing it back to her. She sits on the couch, laptop having been discarded, as she munches on some cherry sherbert.
“Where did you come from?”
