Hudson

“Mr. Rutherford.” Shoshannah rises at her desk the second she sees me. “You’re back early. I thought you were out of the office until the end of June?”

“Yes, well, it appears as though I’m back now. Doesn’t it, Savannah?” I grab the stack of mail at the edge of her desk, which doesn’t appear to have been sorted, then I toss it back toward her. “Sort this, please, Savannah. We’re not fucking animals.”

“Y-yes. S-sorry.” She scrambles to grab the mish-mash of envelopes on her desk, lowering herself to her knees to grab the ones that fell to the floor.

Up ahead, I see Tiffin from HR peek her head out her door before clambering back to her desk. I’m sure they’re all IM-ing each other with the news. They think they’re so clever, using instant messaging to cover their tracks, but the joke’s on them. I don’t give a flying fuck if they love me or hate me.

They’re sheep. Their opinions don’t matter.

Unlocking my office door, I burst through and slam it behind me. Dropping my briefcase on one of the guest chairs, I fire up my computer and prepare to catch up on emails.

I need to lose myself in work.

I need to get so fixated and focused on numbers and lines and parametrics that the goings-on of the last twenty-four hours don’t fucking matter.

An hour passes.

Then another, and another.

By the time I’ve caught myself up and responded to the senders of most importance, I tend to the desktop of my computer, where I’d saved the draft for Abel’s shed just weeks ago. Covering my mouth with my hand, I pull in a hard breath, release it, then drag the shed to the trash folder.

I already sent him the design, but I have a feeling we won’t be discussing revisions anytime soon.

* * *

“Mr. Rutherford.” Marta startles the second I enter my apartment that evening after work, dropping a cleaning rag at her feet. With being gone, I’d reduced her shift to half days while keeping her full-time pay. My treat to her for a job always well done. I was home this morning, and I should have left a note, but my mind was elsewhere. “I didn’t expect to see you. You scared me.”

“Sorry, Marta.” I step into the kitchen, sitting my briefcase on the counter.

“Back so soon?”

“I had to cut my vacation short.” I yank the fridge door open, staring at the empty, sparkling clean shelves. Makes sense. No point in keeping a stocked kitchen when the man of the house is supposed to be gone for a month.

Pizza it is.

“Where’s Ms. Collins?” Marta asks, glancing around like she expects to see her hiding behind the fiddle leaf fig tree in the corner.

“We’ve ended our arrangement.”

“I’m sorry to hear it didn’t work out, sir.”

Crossing my arms, I ask, “Be honest with me, Marta. Did you know Mari was pregnant?”

Marta’s dark eyes widen. “I did not. I take it the baby … is not yours?”

Pressing my lips flat, I say, “No, Marta. The baby isn’t mine.”

Her gaze darts around, like she has something she needs to get off her chest, but she’s afraid to say it.

“What?” I ask. “What do you want to say?”

“I’d rather not.”

“You can tell me,” I say. “It’s not like I’m going to fire you for being honest.” I huff, shaking my head. “There aren’t enough honest people in this world, Marta. Everyone’s got something to hide and something to gain by hiding it.”

Including … even myself.

In my heart of hearts, I know it’s not right to be so upset with her when I wasn’t exactly forthcoming when we made our little arrangement.

But a baby is a game changer.

You can hide feelings. You can hide your intent. You can’t hide a baby.

“You want my honest opinion, Mr. Rutherford?” Marta lifts a dark brow, taking a hesitant step toward me.

I give her my full, focused attention.

“I think it was wrong of you to put her in that position. To make her an offer no woman in their right mind would’ve refused,” she says, choosing her words carefully. “Regardless of her personal circumstances, you knew she needed money and you took advantage of that.” Exhaling, she places her hand over her heart. “Oh, goodness. That was a bit harsh of me, wasn’t it?”

I keep my expression blank, but I shake my head. “No, Marta. I needed to hear that.”

“She was a nice girl,” she says. “But I have to admit, I purposely kept my distance from her. I didn’t want to get close. I didn’t want to get attached. I’ve learned over the years to keep my distance from all the women you bring home because they’re never going to be around for very long. It’s easier to keep back and be cordial. They probably think I’m a bit cold, but it’s the way it has to be.”

“God, this situation is so fucked.” I bury my face in my palms, rubbing my eyes and groaning. “Maybe I have no right to be mad at her.”

“Maybe.” Marta smirks.

“And the guy who knocked her up? He has no intention of helping her. He’s just going to bail on her.”

Marta clucks her tongue in disapproval. “Shame.”

“She’s alone,” I say. “And homeless because I moved her out of her apartment. She has nothing. I’m sure she went home. To Nebraska. I can’t imagine she has anywhere else to go.”

“You should call her, sir.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I should.”