I slam the phone down and swear under my breath. Since arriving at the office, I’ve been stuck with the receiver to my ear.

The back of my neck is aching, as are my shoulders. Every time I complain about this, my secretary gives me no sympathy.

She suggested ages ago that I get one of those headsets to save myself from the cramps I get from squeezing the phone between my head and my shoulder, but I cannot imagine anything worse than having a phone permanently stuck to my ear.

And so I continue to suffer.

I’ve barely finished the last call to the general manager of one of my resorts when the blasted thing rings again.

“Hello,” I bark into it, sounding as angry as I feel.

Right now, I curse the person who invented the damn thing. I mean, as far I’m concerned, life would be a whole lot easier if I could spend less time on the phone.

Perhaps I could disable it? My eyes fall on to the cell phone lying on my desk with three missed calls and eight text messages.

I roll my eyes.

Perhaps the indicator of how the day was going to pan out had been Mom arriving unannounced and uninvited at my apartment this morning.

Of course, she’s done it before, many a time, just not ever when I’ve had a woman stay the night.

This might be due to the fact I rarely have a woman stay over. Most of the casual hook-ups don’t make it back home with me. There’s no way I want them to get too fucking comfortable.

I mean, once I take a girl home, she might get fucking difficult to get rid of again. I’ve heard the horror stories, read the outlandish claims online.

I’m not falling victim to some gold-digging chick. Nope, not me.

“Oh,” I hear my mother’s voice and regret sounding so harsh. “I though you’d be over the moon.”

I frown. “Why?”

What is she getting at? Does she know something I don’t?

I hear Mom sigh. I hate it when she’s cryptic.

“Did you and Rose have a fight, dear? You seemed to be getting along fabulously this morning…” She drifts off.

Am I standing on the line or something? What the fuck is my mother talking about now?

“Um, why would we have had a fight? Did she say something to you?”

My mother laughs. “No, sweetheart, she didn’t say anything to me. You both looked happy and relaxed in each other’s company. I’m surprised the afterglow hasn’t lasted all day with you.”

I sigh. Fucking awkward.

“Tough day in the office, Mom,” I grumble and look at my too weak, too lukewarm pretend double shot flat white. When my assistant brought it in to me, I asked what she calls this.

“The coffee you ordered,” she replied and was gone before I could say anything else. Without actually tasting it, I know it’s going to be fucking awful. It looks like dishwashing water.

A coffee bean might have walked past it, but that is incredibly doubtful. How shops get away with selling this shit as coffee is beyond me.

Mental note to self—make sure office staff never ever buys coffee from where this one came from again, ever.

“Oh, that’s a shame, darling.” My mother is happily prattling away in my ear. She’ll be happy if she hears the occasional grunt, yep, or nope. I think my mother could talk under wet cement or water.

“Daniel, are you listening to me?”

Fuck. What did she ask?

“Sorry, Mom,” I mumble. “Had to answer a question from my assistant,” I lie.

“I asked if you like this girl,” Mom repeats her question.

I frown. “Which girl?”

After only two sips, I know this poor excuse for a cup of coffee is undrinkable. As soon as I can, I’m going to have to get someone to get me something better than this crap.

If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s drinking bad coffee. Life is too short to drink anything but strong, good quality coffee.

“Do you like Rose?” My mother repeats her question yet again. “Really, Daniel, I don’t know what’s the matter with you today.”

Interesting question. Do I like Rose?

I love to fuck her.

I like her scent, the perfume she uses, and those eyes.

I like the way she jokes with me and looks at me.

“Yes,” I reply after a brief hesitation. “Yes, Mom, I like Rose.”

Silence.

What happened? Did Mom faint?

“Mom?”

I think I can hear some sobbing. Oh no, fucking hell, please don’t let her cry. Inwardly, I groan.

I shouldn’t have said I like Rose. She’ll be making all kinds of fucking plans now. If I’m not careful she’ll arrange a wedding, book a baby shower, and celebrate our first anniversary―all in the blink of an eye.

“Can you bring her to dinner?”

Phew. I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Yeah, sure, I told you we’ll come to dinner.”

My emails on the computer are going bananas. Apparently, several people are in desperate need to discuss a range of different issues with me, from a blocked toilet, to a cat stuck up in one of the palm trees of one of our resorts.

I frown. What the fuck am I going to do about a cat stuck in a tree? Why are they bringing this shit to me?

“Sunday night.”

“Pardon?” That’s right, I’m still talking to my mom. “I’ve got to—” I start but she cuts me off.

“Come to dinner this Sunday night with that lovely girlfriend, Rose.”

I sigh. No point arguing about this. It makes sense for me to introduce Rose to my family, anyway; I’ve met hers already.

“Promise you’ll come to dinner this Sunday, Daniel. With Rose.” My mother sounds all serious, and I realize she’s calling me Daniel, not Danny.

“I promise, Mom, but I’ve got to get back to work now.”

After she’s hung up, I stare at the wall of messages and try and work out which one is the most important. I decide the cat one is the least important, and it goes to the bottom of the list.

But before I make the next work call, I better attend to something else. I pick up my phone.

“Hey, darling,” I say with a smile.

“Oh, hello there, handsome,” Rose replies, and I picture her sitting at her desk.

I wish she were here in the office with me. Perhaps I should see if I can find a job for her with me here.

Of course, I’m sort of getting her a job by doing this whole pregnancy thing. I know we’ve not discussed it since agreeing to getting to know each other, but we both know the end goals was―is―a baby.

“I just got off the phone with my mom,” I tell her.

“Good for you. She okay?”

I chuckle. “She’s fine. She was reminding me about the dinner she mentioned when she was at the penthouse. She wants us to come to their house this Sunday.”

There’s silence. I have no fucking idea what I’m going to do if she backs out now that she isn’t being put on the spot by my mom.

“Okay, sounds good,” Rose replies, and she sounds quite cheerful.

“You sure?” I double check. I don’t want her to do it because she feels obliged.

“Absolutely. I mean, your mom and I are practically best friends already after this morning,” she jokes and I hear her laughter. The sound is music to my ears.

“Great,” I reply and play with my gold-tip fountain pen. I need to end the conversation, but I don’t want to get off the phone with her yet.

After cursing the little device earlier, now I’m enjoying talking to Rose.

“I better get back to work,” Rose announces, but I just thought of something.

“Shall we make a day of it, and I’ll pick you up?”

“I can’t leave until later in the afternoon. I’ve got a busy week ahead and need to finish everything by the end of the week. Sorry.”

I wish we could spend the day together, but there’s nothing I can do about it.

“No worries, Rose. Make sure you look after yourself and eat properly and don’t work too hard.”

“You’re starting to sound like my boyfriend,” Rose observes, a smile in her voice.

“Isn’t that what I am, your boyfriend?”

Instead of a reply, Rose laughs and then she’s gone.

Isn’t that what I am―her boyfriend? An uneasy feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. Maybe we better talk about where we’re heading.

And soon.

Before I can pick up the phone and start returning these calls, my secretary buzzes me.

“What is it now?” I bark into the receiver and notice it’s nearly lunchtime. After this call, I think I’ll head out for lunch.

Since I’ve not had a proper cup of coffee this morning, I’ll need to have two with lunch.

“Sorry to disturb you, but I have someone on the phone who says they need to speak to you urgently.”

I roll my eyes. I’ve tried to train my secretary to give me all the information there is when she tells me about a caller, but clearly this has not sunk in yet.

“And who might this person be who needs to speak to me so urgently?”

“Sorry, sir, it’s a woman called Maggie.”

The only object on the desk is my cup of coffee, and so I take it and fling it across the room.

It lands against the blank wall with a little thud. Liquid splatters over the wall and onto the carpet. I don’t fucking care.

“I’m not available to speak to her. I will never be available to speak to this woman ever. If she calls again, don’t bother putting the call through to me.”

I slam the phone down and clench my fists. Slowly, I try and count to one hundred. I’ll need to bring my raging thoughts under control quickly.

When I’m still super fucking enraged by the time I’ve counted to four hundred and fifty, I decide I better go for a walk and get my flat white now.

I’m sure a walk and a good cup of coffee will put me into a better frame of mind.