Another

Ian: Well deserved.

I scanned over the message again, unable to stop my smile. I’d been doing a lot of that lately, staring down at my phone smiling, waiting for it to ding with another message. Hoping to hear from Ian. It probably wasn’t a healthy addiction, but maybe it was good we were building a slow connection through messages rather than face-to-face.

We tended to bicker when we were around each other, so the messages were a good barrier to get to know each other.

“What are you smiling at?” Jake asked, pushing through my cracked office door.

I shoved the phone to the side and sat up straight with my most innocent face like I’d been caught looking at porn.

“Nothing.”

His brows scrunched, but he smiled and shook his head, letting it go. “It’s good to see you smile more.”

“I smile,” I defended.

“Yeah, but you’re more serious.”

“Well, that tends to happen when you’re dumped.”

I regretted the words as soon as they popped out. I was feeling cornered and judged, and I snapped. I hated seeing his downcast eyes and clenched jaw. I hated seeing the guilt. If for no other reason than it reminded me of the demise of our engagement. But we still had our friendship, and I decided to let the past go so I could hang on to my friend. I didn’t have many.

“I’m sorry. I’m just hungry.”

His lips quirked up on one side. “You mean, hangry?”

“Maybe,” I said innocently.

“We ready to go over these numbers?” my father said, striding into the room, his eyes glued to a stack of papers.

“I thought we were meeting in your office in ten?”

“We figured we’d meet here, so you didn’t have to waddle across the floor,” Jake joked.

I gave him the middle finger at the same time as sticking out my tongue. I liked to mix petulant with adult hand gestures.

“Hey, now,” my father admonished. “That’s my little girl you’re talking about.”

Jake and I laughed because my father had put up with us play fighting since we were teens. At the same time, my chest warmed a little at his defense. It wasn’t always so hard to be around him, and it was moments like this that I remembered he really did love me, just in his own way.

“Before we get started, I wanted to give you this,” my father said, sliding a file folder across my desk.

I flipped it open and froze. My lungs worked overtime, and stupid tears burned the backs of my eyes as my mouth spread into the biggest grin. “You signed it.”

“Not that you left me much choice,” my father grumbled. “I looked it over, and not surprisingly, it’s a good plan. You are my daughter, after all.” I beamed with pride under his compliment. “There are stipulations with the timeline. Like it or not, Carina, you are pregnant and about to have a life-changing event. You’ll need time to adjust, and I don’t want you adjusting with too much on your plate. So, yes, it will happen. But we will talk timelines after your maternity leave.”

I pretended to think it over, but he was right, and I didn’t want to argue. “Okay.” He flopped down in the chair opposite my desk and sighed. “Thank you, Dad.”

He didn’t say anything, just gave me a wink and started the meeting.

We were finishing up the last page of the report when my secretary, Anne, poked her head through the door. “Carina, someone is here to see you.”

Her wide eyes and flushed cheeks sparked a bit of alarm. Was someone angry? Someone that shouldn’t be there? “Tell them I’ll be with them soon. I’ll be free in a few minutes.”

“Umm…” She held on to the door jam and turned to look down the hall before whipping her head back in. “I don’t thin—”

“Burger fairy, coming through.”

My eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets at the voice coming closer to my door. Anne stepped back and in walked Ian. I mean the burger fairy.

A rush of heat washed over me at seeing this tall man in a charcoal tailored suit, stretched around his broad shoulders, fill my doorway. My heart thundered, and I couldn’t tell if it was excitement at seeing him in my space, panic at having him in my space with my ex and my father, or sheer joy at the aroma of juicy burger wafting across the room.

He stepped all the way in, and I almost jumped out of my seat when I saw a cup with white cream on top.

“My milkshake,” I whispered, bringing all eyes to me.

Feeling heat rise in my cheeks, I cleared my throat and looked down until I could school my expression into something other than awe.

“Thank you, Anne.”

Anne took one more long look at Ian’s backside before finally walking away.

“You’re Ian Bergamo, right?” my father asked. “From Bergamo and Brandt.”