Unbreak My Heart (Rough Riders Legacy #1)

Dad: HAH! Text me later so I know you got home safely. XO

I looked up and yep, Mom’s eyes fired daggers at me. I made a show of pocketing my phone and excusing myself before I headed to the bar.

Drink number five went down smoothly. Probably not good to drink on an empty stomach. I wandered over to the cake table. If I put four mini-squares together it might actually make a normal-sized piece of cake. I did that and carried my spoils back to the table.

Damn. No fork. Well, they called it finger food for a reason, right?

My tablemates appeared uncomfortable with the fact I was, oh, eating. Their discomfort turned to judgy silence when Char dropped off drink number six.

I was feeling pretty mellow and wanted to leave on a high note, but driving was a no-go. Boone hated texting but I couldn’t exactly call him and say, “Hey, babe, I’ve knocked back six drinks just to make it through this stupid party and now I’m tipsy, so can you please haul that hot ass of yours over here and pick me up?”

I snickered. That’s exactly what I texted him.

B-Dub: OMW

Me: Cool. Oh, and can you pick up a bucket of fried chicken on the way? The food here SUCKS

B-Dub: No

Me: Dammit, I can’t find the emoji sticking its tongue out, so imagine that, k?

B-Dub: Stop dirnkign

I squinted at his text. Stupid autocorrect.

But that’s when I realized autocorrect hadn’t fixed it. I was seeing what Boone struggled with every day. That configuration of letters probably looked right to him.

No wonder he didn’t like to text.

No wonder I was falling in love with him, the man who trusted me enough to share his vulnerability.

Great. Now the “I love you, man” phase had kicked in.

Another text popped up from my assistant Nikki:

NZ: The quarterly reports for the Prestwood expansion are not where they’re supposed to be.

Me: There’s nothing on the checkout sheet about who might have them?

NZ: No. I didn’t misplace or misfile them.

Damn you, Greg, for not owning up to your fuck-ups and putting every assistant in the company on edge.

Me: I’d never accuse you. If you can’t find them they’re gone.

NZ: I hate to bring this up, but I think someone in the office is trying to sabotage you. You need that data to compile your report. No data, no report and you look incompetent.

I briefly closed my eyes. Dammit, the words were blurring.

Me: Whoever took it is an idiot to think I wouldn’t make backup copies. I scanned everything and sent a copy to the secure server as well as my personal cloud for this type of situation.

NZ: I figured you did, because you’re on top of things, but I thought I’d ask. Do you need me to do anything else?

Me: You know the next two projects on tap, so see if the files containing that data are missing. Make a list and we’ll discuss on Monday.

NZ: Will do. Thanks boss

When I glanced up from my phone and saw the distasteful looks, I offered a benign smile. “I’m sorry, you probably think I’m being horribly rude, but I’m not. See, I wasn’t initially invited to this event and being the boss, I do work on Saturdays so being out of touch isn’t an option.”

They blinked as if work was a foreign word.

“Do any of you have jobs outside the home?” When no one answered, the whiskey started talking. “None of you wanted a career outside of…whatever it is you do all day? You’re content to boss the servants around? Have lunch at the club and brainstorm ways to help the less fortunate? No offense, but that kind of life would drive me bat-shit crazy. I didn’t graduate from college and gain all this knowledge so I could support my husband behind the scenes and run a household. I run a company. A multi-million-dollar corporation. I have employees who rely on me. I have bosses who rely on me. And since I’ve reached this level of responsibility, I can’t just politely pocket my cell phone in my twin-set and ignore my business just because it’s the weekend. I’ll bet none of your husbands left their cell phones in their lockers this morning before they strutted onto the golf course.”

Two of the woman looked surprised, two looked defiant, two looked embarrassed and one woman looked annoyed.

My drinky-poos caught up with me. I excused myself from the table to search for a bathroom.

Upon exiting the ladies’ room, I saw my mother across the narrow hallway, pretending to study the photos on the wall, but I knew she’d been waiting to pounce.

She faced me. Her eyes had the nasty glint that promised this ass-chewing would be a doozy. “Are you happy now that you’ve humiliated me in front of my friends on what’s supposed to be my big, special day?”

“How exactly have I humiliated you?”

“Where would you like me to start? By getting drunk? By shoving cake in your mouth as if you were food deprived?”