Chapter 33: The Wrong Boss: Chapter 33

Evie’s hand squeezed mine as we exited the 50 St. subway station into the hubbub of Manhattan’s streets. She wore her favorite yellow skirt-and-top combo under her puffy winter jacket, and I’d donned my best little black dress for the occasion. (“Bee colors!” Evie had exclaimed, beaming.) We’d done our hair together, and she’d chosen my lipstick for me.

So, wearing a bright cherry red lip, I walked hand-in-hand with my daughter the half block to the Gershwin Theater. A small crowd milled outside, and Evie’s eyes jumped from the people to the big letters above the theater’s awning: GERSHWIN. Her hand spasmed in mine.

“Where are we going to be sitting?” she asked me, awe lacing her tone.

“It’s a surprise,” I replied, not mentioning that it would be one for both of us. We crossed the street and entered the building. I perused the signs until I found the right line to stand in to pick up our tickets. Evie bounced on the balls of her feet, her head on a swivel as she took it all in.

My heart beat like the wings of a hummingbird. I remembered being Evie’s age, doing exactly this with my hand in my mother’s. It wasn’t Broadway—typically, it was a musty old movie theater that smelled like stale popcorn and fake butter—but it was as exciting and magical as this was for Evie. Thinking about my mother brought a soft smile to my lips as we shuffled forward in the lineup. Evie peppered me with questions about the story, the cast, whether we could buy a snack. I answered them all, feeling grateful to be able to give her this experience.

“When we get home, can you help me practice my words for the district spelling bee?”

My smile widened. “You’ve asked me that half a dozen times so far, Evie. Yes, I’ll help you. We’ll practice every day.”

“And we can get ice cream on the way home?”

“I think I owe you a cone for your win yesterday, right?”

Evie’s smile was wide and bright. “Yeah,” she said. “You promised.”

I curled my arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, leaning down to press a kiss to her head. “I’m so proud of you, Evie.”

The spelling bee had gone down to the wire, with Evie going up against Zara in a head-to-head playoff. Evie had come out on top. They’d had to move on to second-grade-level words, and Zara had been tripped up by the word “whine” by forgetting the h. The two girls had hugged it out, but I could tell Evie was thrilled to have won. I figured I could buy her all the ice cream she wanted.

“Name?” the man in the uniform asked from inside the booth, his voice slightly garbled by the window speaker.

“Carrie Woods,” I said, smiling. I glanced down at Evie, who gave me big eyes as she wiggled with excitement.

“Carrie Woods,” the man repeated, typing on his computer. He pressed a button, and the printer next to his hand began shooting out our tickets. He took them, tapped them on the counter to straighten them up, and slid them through the slot toward me. “Three tickets. Head on over to door B. Enjoy the show.”

I frowned. “Sorry—did you say three tickets?”

The man was already waving the next person forward. “Three tickets,” he confirmed, nodding before flicking his gaze to the old couple behind me. “The fourth is a receipt. Next!”

“I think there’s been a mistake—” I was jostled out of the way by the old couple and had no choice but to step aside. Frowning, I studied the tickets in my hand.

“Is everything okay?” Evie asked, voice small.

I looked down at her and forced a smile. “Of course. Let’s find door B.”

“Door B for bee!”

I chuckled, half-distracted by the third ticket in my hand. Why would⁠—

“Carrie!”

If my life were a movie, this part would’ve happened in slow motion. It took my brain a moment to connect the voice to the person. In that time, I looked up—and saw him.

My stomach yawned open, heat flaming in my chest and throat. My pulse began to pound harder as a high-pitched hum sounded in my ears. Evie’s voice came to me from a distance, garbled and unclear. She stood just behind me, her hand hooked into the pocket of my jacket, her arm pointing toward the doors.

The only thing that was crystal clear in that moment was Cole’s face. His eyes were light, and his smile was wide. He cut through the milling crowd like they didn’t exist, the bottom edges of his wool jacket flapping around his knees.

Horror—what I was feeling was a deep, gurgling horror.

The light in Cole’s eyes dimmed as he took in my expression. He was halfway across the lobby now, the distance between us shrinking all too fast with his ground-eating steps. A slight frown tugged his brows together.

I clutched the tickets—the three tickets—while time snapped back to normal speed.

“There’s door B, Mom!” Evie said. “Mom? Mom?”

She stepped out from behind me and looked up at me with those dark, too-perceptive eyes. I put my hand on her head and gulped, dragging my gaze from hers back up to the man striding toward us.

Except his strides had stuttered, and now his gaze bounced from me to Evie and back again, that furrow on his brow deepening. Six feet away from us, he stopped so suddenly it looked like he’d crashed into an invisible wall.

“Mom, door B is over there.”

“I see it, honey,” I said, surprised at how normal my voice sounded. My gaze was glued to Cole’s face—and his gaze was on my daughter.

Our daughter.

There would be no gentle conversation. There’d be no perfect words that I could put together, no softening of the blow. Cole knew. He knew. And he was finding out in the worst possible way. I wouldn’t be able to talk my way out of this, to explain that what I’d felt—what I still felt—for him was real. That I hadn’t lied, not about our connection.

But the Big Lie was still there, and there was no more hiding behind it.

He was the father of my daughter, the little girl who looked like a mini, female version of him, the light of my life, the fulcrum upon which my entire existence hinged.

He dragged his gaze up to meet mine. His eyes were black. “Carrie,” he said, and it sounded like an accusation.

Evie finally registered his presence. Her little face scrunched as she took in Cole’s considerable height, his dark jacket, his darker expression. She shuffled closer to me, tucking her head under my arm.

“Cole,” I replied, still in that normal, pleasant lie of a voice. “What are you doing here?”

He was staring at my daughter again. Time moved oddly, speeding up and slowing down with every expression he made and word he spoke. I wanted to throw up.

“I’m here to see Bee Good,” he said, and nodded to the tickets in my hand. “I—I just came from the hospital— My father—” He finally met my gaze, and thunder crackled between us. “Who is this?” he demanded, meaning Evie.

Evie snuggled closer to me, clearly afraid.

And that pissed me off.

I stood up straighter. “This is my daughter. I wasn’t aware you’d bought yourself a ticket too. That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“Oh, part of the deal,” he repeated, letting out a bitter scoff. “From where I’m standing, it doesn’t look like you have much of a leg to stand on there, Carrie. So I’ll ask you again. Who is this?”

“Mom?”

“It’s okay, Evie.”

“Evie,” Cole repeated, and the sound of her name on his tongue struck a gong of fear inside me. I saw the worst possible future stretch out ahead of me. He’d fight me for her—and he’d win. He had the power and the resources to get anything he wanted.

“Short for Evelyn,” my daughter clarified. “That was my grandma’s name, but I never met her. She was my mom’s mom. Who are you?”

“I’m—” Cole stopped, his chest heaving. “I’m Cole. I’m…your mom’s boss.”

“Oh,” Evie said, and looked up at me. “Is he going to watch the show with us?”

“No, honey,” I said, clutching the tickets close.

Cole’s brows rose high on his forehead. “No?”

“No,” I repeated. This was going all wrong, but I wouldn’t sit next to him—and I wouldn’t let him spend time with my daughter when I hadn’t prepared her for it. When he could tell her⁠—

“That’s pretty rude, considering I’m the one who bought the tickets,” he said, voice low. At some point, he’d moved closer. He stood just in front of us, and I kept my arm around Evie’s shoulders, like I needed to protect her from him. Deep down, I knew I was only trying to shield myself from the consequences of this meeting. The consequences of my lie being unraveled.

“You bought the tickets,” I agreed, “but clearly you’ve never dated a mother, because no one would agree to introducing her child to her lover without prior warning,” I hissed. In my peripheral vision, I saw Evie look up at me. Her little hand reached under my jacket to cling to the back of my dress at the base of my spine, as if she wanted to fuse herself to my side.

This was all wrong. Everything about it was wrong.

Cole looked at me like I was a stranger—no, like I was worse than a stranger. I was a contemptible, worthless worm in his eyes.

Heartbreak was a hidden explosion inside me, but overlaid on top of the hurt and the grief over what-could-have-been and what-almost-was was something much, much bigger.

I was angry.

Angry that he’d shown up here, without warning, intending to introduce himself to my daughter. Angry that he’d taken away my chance to talk to Evie. Angry that he’d been so presumptuous⁠—

“How old are you, Evie?” Cole asked.

My daughter glanced up at me, frowned, then looked at him. “Six.”

“When’s your birthday?”

“That’s enough,” I snapped.

“No, I want to know,” Cole said, his smile a cold, awful thing. “When were you born, Evie?”

“My birthday is July⁠—”

“Hush, honey,” I interrupted, but it was too late. I watched as Cole counted backward. Watched as he rocked back on his heels, the month of her birth being all the confirmation he needed.

Hurt flashed across his features, but he locked it down and covered it with anger and disgust. I deserved it all.

“Let’s go,” I said, walking past Cole. I glanced at the exit, my heart pounding with the need to escape. But Evie’s hand slipped into mine, and she tugged me toward door B. Through the theater’s speakers, a bell rang to indicate that everyone should find their seats.

As if in a dream—a nightmare—I let my daughter tow me across the lobby toward the theater doors, where ushers waited to scan our tickets. When we were through, I glanced over my shoulder. Cole stood exactly where we’d left him, wearing a face made of stone, his fists clenched into tight balls.

The crowd carried us into the darkened theater, and we found our places.

We had the best seats in the house. Of course we did. Nothing but the best for Cole Christianson. I sat on the plush chair and settled Evie beside me, glancing at the empty chair to my left like a snake would pop up on the cushion and bite me.

It was over. The lightness, the love, being the most beautiful woman in the world, if only in one man’s eyes. Never again would I kiss him, or touch him, or hear him laugh.

I’d known it would happen, and it was still excruciating.

When Evie glanced up at me, concern etched on her face, I cleared my expression and smiled. “This is going to be great,” I promised her while my insides turned to ash.

“Who was that, Mommy? Was he really your boss? Are you in trouble?”

“He’s my boss,” I confirmed. For now. “Don’t worry; I’m not in trouble. Everything’s going to be okay.”

Her frown deepened, but before she could ask anything else, the lights dimmed and the first thread of music began to play.

I sank into my seat, but I saw none of the show. My life, as I knew it, was over.