“Oh, come on. I’ve known you a long time.”
“Her name is Paige.” It hurt just to say it out loud. “She reopened the old diner and she’s…amazing. But, you know, I have a business and she has a business and I travel and she loves Whitford. So it was pretty much doomed from the beginning.”
“Wait. You left this woman because of the company?”
“What was I supposed to do, Scott? Walk away from it and hang everything and everybody—including you—out to dry?”
His right-hand man laughed at him. “You know I’m married, right? That I have two kids?”
“What the hell does that matter?”
“It’s not an either/or situation. I’m traveling right now because I need to be on-site for this phase of the job, but then I’ll go home. To them. And I’ll work from home until I need to be on-site somewhere again, and they’ll kiss me goodbye and then I’ll call every night to tell them I love them. It’s compromise.” Mitch started to say something, but Scott wasn’t done. “And don’t even tell me it’s different because you own the company. You and I share a pretty equal workload. As a matter of fact, if we split up the jobs on a more even basis now that we’ve all proven we won’t sink your company by running amok when you’re away, we could both have more time at home.”
“I’m almost never home. It wouldn’t be fair.”
“You choose to live this way. Almost everything you’re going to do for the next ten days to two weeks, you could do from New York. The planning, running the prints, projections. A shitload of computer work. And if you can do it from New York, you can do it from Maine. Oh wait…kind of like you’ve been doing for the last six weeks?”
“I should have fired you five years ago when you had the flu and forgot to call in sick.”
Scott snorted. “You missed your chance, buddy. And speaking of working from home, since I’ve wrapped up everything that can only be done on-site for the time being, I’m catching an early flight in the morning so I can spend the next two weeks with my wife and kids. You know, like normal married people whose work involves travel do.”
“Screw you.”
“Good to have you back, boss.” Scott stood and reached out to shake his hand.
“Thanks for not sinking the company.”
Once Scott was gone, Mitch poured himself another scotch and walked over to the window. He didn’t have much of a view, but it was something to look at, at least, while he turned the problem of Paige Sullivan over and over in his mind.
It wasn’t Paige who was the problem. It was him. She’d been living a wonderful life doing what she wanted, where she wanted. He’d blown into town, swept her off her feet—and been swept off his by her—and then he was gone.
And here he was in Chicago, doing what he loved and sleeping in a bed big enough for four people, and all he could think about was Paige. How he wanted to wake up with her in that bed. Every time he took a shower in the spacious bathroom, he thought of her. Everything made him think of her. And miss her painfully.
He’d thought it would ease up after the first day or two, but every time his phone rang and he hoped it was her or he thought of something he wanted to tell her, losing her hit him like a wrecking ball all over again. He had the feeling it would be a long time before he got over that. If ever.
The question was what he was going to do about it.
*
Paige heard the quiet purr of a car’s engine and the crunch of its tires on the gravel at the same time headlights cut through the darkness of her bedroom.
There was no reason for a vehicle to be in the lot between the diner and her trailer at almost midnight, so she pulled her phone off the charger and slid out of bed, her thumb hovering over the nine.
By the time she got to the window, the engine had stopped and she heard a car door slam. Not trying to be quiet, then. With her heart pounding, she peeked out through a crack in the curtains, careful not to disturb the fabric, ready to dial for help if she didn’t recognize the driver.
She recognized him, though, which did nothing to calm her racing pulse. It was Mitch, standing in the parking lot with his hands shoved in his pockets, staring at her door.
The seconds felt like long minutes as she watched him, neither of them moving. He looked tired. And, even though he’d shown up in the middle of the night, she got the impression he wasn’t totally happy about being there. She knew she should open the door, but she was afraid if she left the window—if she lost sight of him—he might change his mind about whatever had brought him there, and leave.