Still Tuesday. Can I call Tuesday a “See You Next Tuesday?”
LIKE I DO EVERY TIME I’m going to or leaving from somewhere, I run, in heels because a lady wears freaking heels.
I should start wearing running shoes with my skirts and dresses, oh, and maybe lose the stockings and forget to shave. I wonder how long it would take for one of the clowns I work with to say something. It’s tempting, but I’m not sure Logan needs to see how far I’d take something with those asshats. Not yet, anyway.
I’m buzzed into the school and jog into the office, then the nurse’s office. Cora is asleep on one of the cots, and she’s more than a little pale. “Hi, Mrs. Pierce,” the nurse greets me. “The poor little thing came in here looking awful. I’m surprised she didn’t have a fever before she left home this morning.”
Is she accusing me of sending my daughter to school with a fever? She better not be.
“Cora insisted on coming to school today,” I reply, “and she did not have a fever this morning.”
“And you took her temperature?” the nurse asks.
Those are fighting words. “How dare you accuse me of lying!” I say, keeping my voice low.
“I’m not accusing you, Mrs. Pierce, I’m simply asking.”
“Well, let me ask you something. Do you have children?”
“No, I do not.”
“Then, do not judge my parenting. Are we clear?”
“I was not judging, but clearly, Cora is quite sick. I suggest making a visit to her pediatrician.” I’m going to lose my shit in about two-seconds if I don’t get us out of this place.
I lift Cora up, cradling her in my arms as I grab her backpack that’s leaning against the cot.
“You’ll need to sign her out,” the nurse says, obviously waiting until after I’ve lifted my child up to remind me.
I sling her Shopkins backpack over my shoulder, grab the pen tied down to the clipboard and fill out the necessary information.
“Thanks a lot,” I tell the nurse.
“Hopefully, Cora feels better soon,” she says with a fake grin. What is her issue with me?
I carry Cora out to the car, shocked she hasn’t woken up yet considering she has never been the type to stay asleep while I’m transitioning her from one place to another. Once she’s strapped into her car seat, I dump her backpack below her feet and quietly close the door before falling into it and exhaling the exhaustion and pain in my chest. This seems like it’s never going to get easier. I swear, some days I feel like I’m not strong enough to make it to the end of the day.
As I lug Cora into the office, I begin to question if she does need to be seen by a doctor. She hasn’t woken up yet, but I can’t miss this meeting. I check my watch for the thirtieth time in the past hour, knowing I now have less than fifteen minutes until the meeting starts.
“Just hang in there, kiddo,” I tell her as we enter the elevator. While heaving against the wall and holding my forty-pound child like a baby, I can’t help wondering what Rick is doing at this moment. I can imagine him sitting in his office chair with his feet up on his desk, shooting the shit with someone about golf.
For every minute longer this stupid elevator takes, my arms threaten to give out entirely.
The door opens, and I hobble into my department and down the corridor to my office. However, I have no idea what I’m going to do with her now that we’re here. Spinning around, I kick one of the two chairs out from the wall and pin it against the other to make a bed, but I can’t seem to make them straight.
Logan turns the corner and doesn’t say a word before straightening out the chairs and peeling Cora out of my arms.
The release on my shoulders is pretty much the most incredible thing I’ve felt in forever, but I must look like a sweaty rat right now after running all over while carrying her.
“You have five minutes to freshen up and another five to prepare,” Logan says. “I’ve got her.”
I touch the back of my hand to her forehead, feeling the heat that wasn’t there this morning. The fever is radiating from her now. “I need to get her some Tylenol.”
Logan stares through me for a minute. “Okay, you’ll only have like three minutes to freshen up, but hold on.”
He jogs out of the department, disappearing without a mention of where he’s going or what he’s doing. I probably should have told him she can’t take adult Tylenol. It’s something only parents probably think about.
I kneel by Cora’s side, allowing the fear factor in me to take over all other thoughts and concerns. I want to wake her up, tell her I’m here and make sure she’s just sleeping off whatever this is, but maybe it would be better if she slept until after my meeting.
As promised, Logan returns within a solid ninety seconds, handing me a bottle of Children’s Tylenol. “Um—dare I ask?”
“The receptionist downstairs has two small kids at home. That’s why she only works half days. I figured if anyone had Children’s Tylenol on them, it would be her.”
I should have kids Children’s Tylenol with me too. I’m failing so badly at this game, it’s just sad.
“There’s a better mom than me?” I ask with nervous laughter and a hint of sarcasm. I’m such a moron.
“Is Cora shy?” Logan asks, ignoring my question.
That requires a true laugh. “Definitely not,” I tell him.
“Okay, I got this. Go do whatever you ladies do in the restroom, and I’ll take care of this cutie-pie.” I think my ovaries just skipped a beat.
I remove my hand from Cora’s back and gaze up at Logan. “I don’t know where you came from or how you ended up here in my office, but thank you. Honestly, from the bottom of my heart, thank you,” I say, feeling a bit emotional, as tears threaten to appear in my eyes. Receiving help is something I’ve long forgotten about.
Logan places his hand on my shoulder and looks down at me with his hooded eyes. “You got this.”
He isn’t real. The warmth of his hand isn’t real. The sensation running through my body like warm water after a coming in from the cold isn’t real either.
The opening and closing of the department door is real, though, and my vendor is here.
“Shit,” I mutter to myself. I guess there’s no time to freshen up. I just have to hope I don’t have raccoon eyes.
I head out of my office, but before I have one foot out the door, Logan grabs my arm and pulls me back in, closing the door behind me. My heart is beating in my throat, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out what is going through his head or what is happening right now.
“I’m not trying to be inappropriate,” he says.
Um, at this moment in time, he’s free to be inappropriate, but I’m almost positive no one would want to be inappropriate with me in the current state I’m in. Words can’t find their way out of my mouth as he presses the pad of his finger under my lower lashes and gently sweeps to the side. “Happens to me all the time when I’m running around. Damn eyeliner,” he says with a wink.
“You wear eyeliner, huh?” It’s the only sensible response I can conjure at the moment. My face has gone untouched for the last year and a half of my life, and having him fix my makeup like this feels almost like foreplay.
“No,” he snickers. “My ex-wife did, and I’ve pretty much heard the pros and cons about the varieties of makeup more times than I care to share. She was a Clinique girl. My house smelled like new perfumes every day, and she never looked like the same person two days in a row. It was weird.”
He’s divorced. “That sounds terrible,” I tell him. Terrible? We’re talking about perfume and makeup. He didn’t just say he had walked in on his wife cheating with someone hotter than he is, if that’s even possible.
I glance over at Cora once more, watching as she turns over in the makeshift bed. “Go,” Logan says. “They’re waiting.” He shoos me off.
I walk at a fast pace down to the conference room, then calmly make my way inside to find a group of casually dressed younger women—younger meaning, I must be at least ten years their senior. “Good afternoon, ladies. It’s a pleasure to meet with you. I’m Hannah Pierce.” I reach my hand out to the first woman who appears to be in charge, judging by the look on her face. I can take a guess that she’s an all work, no play kind of gal.
“Caroline,” she says, affirmatively.
“Nice to meet you, Caroline.”
I take a moment to shake the other three women’s hands, and we all take seats around the table.
I had the overhead projector set up so they could present their pitch, even though I’ve been the one eager to bring in their company as an advertiser.
The video takes just over ten minutes, and I made the mistake of shutting the lights off before hitting play. Now, I’m fighting my heavy eyelids, hoping I don’t begin to snore, as well.
After the long drawn out explanation of why organic and BPA free are the two best combinations that earth has to offer right now, the video ends, and I lean back in my seat to hit the light switch.
With the research I’ve done, I know this relationship will be profitable on both ends.
“Ladies, I’m thoroughly impressed with what I’ve seen here today. I’ll need to run some numbers by the rest of the executive team, but I think we can reach an agreement that will be favorable to both of our companies.”
“I’d actually like to ask you some questions if you don’t mind,” Caroline says.
Facing the conference room window with the blinds only partially closed, I happen to see Logan running by with Cora cradled in his arms. What the hell is going on? “I uh—”
“Is everything okay, Ms. Pierce?” Caroline asks.
“No,” I say, cupping my hand over my forehead. “My daughter is very sick.”
Not one of them says a word. If they were moms, they’d say something. But they’re all like twenty-three.
“So, can I still ask you some questions, or—”
My baby is sick, and I’m stuck in here with these tweenybots. I look down at my watch, which is such a no-no for sales, and in general, it’s just a rude habit when talking to someone, but it is what it is. I pull in a deep breath, placing my trust in the hands of a hot stranger, who oddly enough likes to be around kids but doesn’t have any of his own. People like him don’t exist. I’m sure of it. At thirty-three, I think I would know. “Of course,” I say, hearing the high-pitched bite of my voice.
“So, say we purchase the space of a web banner for the duration of three months—” I’m not sure I completely hear what comes after the first few words because my mind is spinning with worry.
“Yes, you’re correct,” I tell her. “A web banner for three months will offer you the highest exposure.”
“That’s not what I asked,” Caroline deadpans.
“I’m sorry, could you repeat your question.” My head is not at this meeting and not on veggies or ad space, or—shit, is she talking again?
“Would you be willing to negotiate in with a link on your sidebar as well?”
“Typically, that isn’t something we do, but I like you, so yes, we’ll offer that incentive for the first month of your plan.”
“Great, so what about—”
“Caroline, normally, I wouldn’t do this, but as I mentioned, my daughter is very sick, and I’m going to need to end this meeting a bit early today. Please don’t take this as any form of disrespect, but my daughter must come first, before I can give you my full attention. I’m sorry.”
“Okay, we’ll—” Caroline looks around to the other three. “We’ll be in touch, I suppose.”
I ignore the frustration in her voice and jet out of the meeting room to go find Cora and Logan.
The moment I exit the department doors, I find them in the corner, hovering over a large plant.
“We didn’t make it too far,” Logan says.
Cora is leaning over the plant, vomiting.
“Oh, baby.” I run over to her and take her hair from Logan’s hand. “I am so sorry.” I’m apologizing to both of them, but I’m looking at Logan.
“You think I haven’t seen puke before?” he asks with laughter.
“I suppose.” I’ve never been a fan of watching anyone else vomit their guts up, but it comes with the mom territory. I don’t have a choice in the matter, but I want to spare Logan from the experience as much as possible, especially after all he’s already done for me today. “Thank you for taking care of her.”
“She woke up, interrogated me for a full two minutes, finished by asking who the ‘hell’ I was, then told me she was going to be sick.” Oh, Cora. Why? Why? Why?
I place my hand on my forehead. “That’s my daughter.”
“Feisty little thing,” he says.
Cora stands up and wipes her arm across her mouth, with a sickened look tugging at her sad eyes. “I think I feel better now,” she rasps.
“Oh good, sweetie. Let’s get you some water, and I’ll take you home.”
“Who is this beefcake? Is this the Batman man, Mom?” My eyes nearly fall out of my head, hearing her mention the words beefcake and Batman, which was only said by me late last night when I was talking to Brielle on the phone for a whole two minutes. Cora had been asleep for at least three hours when I made the call.
“Cora!”
Logan looks up toward the fluorescent lights and bites down on his bottom lip. I’m absolutely mortified and have nothing to say in response to this. I’ll scold her later when we aren’t standing in front of the beefcake.
“I’m just kidding,” Cora says, dryly. “I already know his name is Logan, and he’s your term.”
“Temp,” I correct her.
She shrugs her shoulders. “Same thing.” Cora sighs and looks back over at Logan. “Do you know he was a baseball player?”
How did I produce this kind of spawn? “I may have noticed it on his resume,” I say, realizing Cora has no clue what a resume is.
“Yeah, Logan and I are going to play when I’m better. I told him I’d kick his butt.”
“Cora, we don’t talk like that,” I remind her. Why am I constantly reminding her how to not be like me? I feel like I read something when I was pregnant about every child being born as a cave-person, and it’s our job as parents to teach them how to act like civilized human beings in the twenty-first century. Considering I still haven’t figured it out for myself, how the hell am I expected to raise another human to act civilized?
“Sorry, I’ll just beat him good,” she corrects herself.
Oh, please stop, child of mine.
“Well, that sounds like fun, but Logan has a job to do,” I say, trying to place some separation into this playing house situation we seem to be in at the moment. I don’t know a thing about Logan, other than the simple fact that he’s gorgeous and good with kids. I can take a simple guess that he’s every woman’s dream man, and I’m not part of a crowd he’d enjoy choosing from. Plus, I’m his boss, and I shouldn’t even be having this internal dialogue thing going on. Shut up, Hannah.
“Does he work all day and night?” Cora asks.
“So, I’m going to head back into the office now,” Logan says, pointing toward the doors. “How did the meeting go?”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure I blew it,” I tell him.
His lip quirks downward, seemingly bummed. “Sorry about that,” he says.
I kneel at Cora’s side and pull her into me. “It happens.” To me—the mother of one, the wife to no one, and a woman with the kind of luck she should have a black cat named Lucky.