Page 114 of The Right Kind of Wrong

Blake had to go somewhere else in her mind so that she didn’t laugh. It would only encourage Maisie and teach her that acting out got her attention. Still, it was easier said than done when she looked down at a scowling Maisie, who was wearing her cowboy boots and tapping her foot.

She picked up Maisie’s backpack. “You ready?”

It was clear that something clicked in Maisie’s brain, and she started bouncing excitedly. “Do I get to ride in your truck?”

Almost exactly sixty minutes after she’d called, Monroe appeared in the doorway of Blake’s office. Her dark, curly hair was wilder than Blake had ever seen it—outside of the bedroom, at least—like she’d been running her hands anxiously through it on the drive back.

Which, in Monroe’s defense, was understandable. Blake hadn’t gotten any more information out of Maisie. If she had, she’d have relayed it to Monroe immediately.

For a split second, Blake had thought Monroe was going to crash into the room and scoop Maisie up in her arms, but instead, she slowed her pace, leaning against the doorframe instead.

Like she finally could breathe, Monroe stilled, and Blake could see tension melting from her body once she laid eyes on Maisie, who was sitting next to Blake at the far side of her desk, coloring.

Maisie very pointedly decided not to look up—like if she didn’t acknowledge Monroe, it could mean that Maisie was invisible.

It was sound logic for a five-year-old, and Blake had taken the same tack in her own life more than once over the last couple of months.

Except where Monroe was concerned. When it was big, blue eyes boring into her, Blake wanted to be seen.

So, just like she did every other time she felt Monroe’s unwavering stare, she looked up and met those eyes, her stomach fluttering from just having Monroe this close to her.

Monroe waved her hand, gesturing toward Maisie. “Thank you again,” she told Blake. “I’m really sorry about the imposition.”

“Monroe,” Blake chided, feeling the spark shoot through her at something as simple as saying her name.

And it’s not like Blake was proud of it, but she couldn’t stop her eyes from scanning up Monroe’s body, taking her in. She was wearing her requisite all black, but she’d donned a tight, tucked-in button-down with a thin belt instead of her usual tank top. It was very flattering, if Blake did say so herself.

There was also the fact that Blake had been exploring Monroe intimately until the early hours of the morning.

So the clothing was really just window dressing for the main event, which Blake would love to see again. As soon as possible, really.

Monroe had knocked something loose inside of Blake. Something that was impossible to slot neatly back into the space where it had been and pretend like she was ever going to be the same person again.

And it probably wasn’t the same for Monroe—her interest in women wasn’t a new development—but still, Blake saw the want on Monroe’s own face, mirrored right back at her.

Her gaze dropped down to Monroe’s lips. “Just being helpful, friend,” she said, sliding her gaze upward and daring Monroe to say something back.

Monroe’s lips tipped into a smile, and she started to speak when Denny skidded to a stop in front of the door, right behind Monroe.

“What’s everyone doing here?” he asked, craning his neck over Monroe’s head as he noticed Maisie. “And more importantly, why didn’t anyone tell me? Did you bring coffee?”

Monroe crossed her arms and glanced at Maisie before making room for Denny to join her in the doorway. “Maisie needed to be picked up from daycare. I came here from Austin, so no, I did not bring coffee.”

He looked at Monroe, then at Blake, then at Maisie and thoughtfully scratched his chin. “Sounds . . . unexpected.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Blake could see that Maisie’s crayon had stopped, and she was listening closely to the conversation playing out.

Blake rolled her chair back so that Maisie was visible, even though Blake was looking at the other adults in the room. “You know, I got in trouble for fighting once.”

Monroe and Denny both looked at her with doubt, but it was Monroe who voiced it. “I find that hard to believe.”

“I did,” Blake defended herself, feeling somewhat proud of the fact. She wasn’t exactly known for being a rule breaker otherwise. “When I was about Maisie’s age, I had a doll that I absolutely loved. Elijah Dobbins threw her in the mud. So I pushed him in the mud, too.”

Only her situation had ended far differently than Maisie’s would; Blake knew that without a doubt. She’d gotten the scolding of a lifetime after her mom, who’d cared very little about the why in young Blake’s reasoning, had come to pick her up from school.

All her mom had cared about was that Elijah Dobbins was the son of the PTA president. She was convinced that she was going to be blacklisted from working the best events, the ones that came with the most social clout.

Blake hadn’t understood it at the time.