22. Mira

22

MIRA

Aiden won't sleep.

I wake him up in the mornings, and he's exhausted. He goes and goes and goes all day, but refuses to lie down in bed at naptime. Then, sometime in the afternoon, he eventually curls up in some corner or closet and goes to sleep.

I know it pisses Zane off that Aiden sleeps through part of their evenings, but I'm not sure what he wants from me.

It's the same thing day in and day out, and no one except me wants to do anything about it.

That's what I'm left to believe, anyway, since I can't talk to Zane face-to-face anymore and his assistant doesn't answer my emails.

I skim my inbox for the fifth time this morning and it's still empty.

"She really hasn't messaged you back?" Taylor is panting into the phone. I called her in the middle of a workout, but she swears she can StairMaster and talk at the same time. "Are you sure the emails went through? Do you have the right email address?"

I click over to my sent folder to quadruple check all of my emails actually sent.

Hanna,

Aiden is struggling to settle into his new room. I'd like to talk to Mr. Whitaker about my suggestions to make Aiden more comfortable. Could you let him know I want to talk?

Best,

Mira

"Everything sent. And I know she's seen them because she sent me Zane's schedule this morning."

Along with a note. Fifteen cruel, concise words. Mr. Whitaker won't be at the arena today. He has other business to attend to.

Taylor hums. Or wheezes. It's hard to tell which. "Maybe his assistant forwarded him your emails and he doesn't care."

"Well, he should!" I snap. "Aiden is his son. What does he have going on in his life that is more important than his kid?"

Other business to attend to . Is that code for following half-naked women into coffee shop bathrooms?

Something hot settles in my chest. Before I can stop myself, I shift Taylor to speakerphone and open up my text thread with Zane.

"What are you doing?" Taylor asks. "You're quiet. Are you still there?"

My fingers fly over the keyboard. "Texting Zane."

"Texting him what? Have you thought this through? Maybe we should workshop this for a few minutes before?—"

"Too late. I already sent it." I didn't even waste time proofreading it.

Aiden isn't sleeping because his room looks like a hotel. He likes small, cozy spaces like the closet. If you want him to sleep, you need to make an effort to decorate his room. Make space for him in your life.

Taylor exhales sharply. "Okaaay. And are you feeling good about this decision?"

The message shifts from Delivered to Read and anxiety threatens to climb up my throat. "He didn't give me a choice."

At least, that's what I tell myself all morning.

It's also what I tell myself when hours and hours pass without any response from Zane.

He might be offended, but that's not my problem. Maybe if he was talking to me, I could have been delicate about all of this. I could have gently explained to him that Aiden would rather sleep in the hall closet than in the queen-sized bed in his room. But Zane won't talk to me, so I didn't have another choice.

Especially since his assistant is useless. So much for her handling his "admin shit." She couldn't even forward an important email about Zane's own son.

Or maybe she did and Zane ignored it, just like Taylor said.

I know Zane doesn't care about me, but surely he cares about Aiden…

Right?

Aiden is finishing lunch when my phone rings. I lunge for it and then quickly try to convince myself it was not because I thought Zane had finally messaged back.

I always dive for my phone at the slightest vibration. That's normal.

But it isn't a text from Zane. It's a call from an unknown number.

Everything stops. My heart. My breathing. The whirr of Zane-related thoughts in my head. It all fades away and only one thought remains.

It's happening again.

I squeeze my eyes closed and answer. "Hello?"

"Miss McNeil?" a male voice I mercifully do not recognize asks. "I'm calling to let you know your car has arrived. I'll be out front waiting whenever you are ready."

Before I can ask this stranger what he is talking about, my phone vibrates with a new message. This time, it is Zane.

I sent a car. Take Aiden shopping and buy him anything you think he'll like. I trust your judgment.

I read that last line several times before it sinks in.

"Miss McNeil?"

I jolt, remembering all at once I'm still on the phone.

"Yes. Here. Sorry." I shake my head. "I will… Er, we will be down in a few minutes."

Aiden is watching me from the table when I hang up, a question written on his little face.

I give him a bright smile. "How would you like to go shopping?"

Bribing Aiden with stuffed animals works for about fifteen minutes before he's whining in the cart. He keeps reaching out and grabbing onto the aisles, trying to steer us back towards the front of the store.

"We can't leave," I explain, pushing the cart down the center of the empty aisles of the home furnishings department. "We have to get some things."

Weirdly, there are no other customers, but there are double the amount of employees, I swear. They stand dotted every twenty feet throughout the entire store and seem to be competing to see who can ask if I need help the most times.

What I really need is a slightly more patient four-year-old. I don't think these people are trained in that department, though. Nor are they capable of wizardry.

"Boring," Aiden whines.

"Wow! A new word." It feels weird to celebrate his complaining, but I ruffle his hair anyway. "Nice job, kid."

He frowns. "Boring."

"I know," I sigh. "But we can't go home until we have everything you need for your room. It'll be fun."

Aiden's lower lip juts out in disagreement, but I toss a giant stuffed sea turtle into the cart and it buys me another twenty minutes.

Twenty minutes to choose a twin-sized bed frame, a mattress, new sheets, and a comforter.

I spin the cart toward the check out and throw my arms into the air. "They said it couldn't be done, Aiden, but look at us! You are going to have a new bedroom and it took less than an hour."

"Because you didn't buy anything."

My body recognizes his voice before my brain does.

A shiver works down my spine as I spin around to find Zane storming down the main aisle towards us. His mouth is pressed into a grim line and his eyes are dark. It's the most intimidating I've ever seen someone look while carrying a rainbow lamp in one arm and a Spiderman poster in the other.

"What are you doing here?" I breathe.

He drops the items in the cart and playfully tugs on Aiden's ear. "What I asked you to do: getting Aiden whatever he likes."

Of course, the first time we talk in days and it's so Zane can tell me I'm not doing a good job. Color me surprised.

I fling an arm at the cart. "What do you call all this?"

Zane grabs the navy blue pack of sheets and holds them in front of Aiden. "Are these sheets exciting for you, Aiden?"

Aiden wrinkles his nose. I'm dangerously close to calling a four-year-old a traitor.

"All of this stuff is boring," Zane continues. "I sent you here to get him what he wants ."

"He's a kid. He could want the entire store if I let him."

"Then buy him the entire store."

I dip my chin. "You're not serious."

Zane takes a step towards me and I'm suddenly on board with a texting-only work relationship. There's no danger of his wintergreen scent turning my brain to mush via SMS.

"When I tell you to go shopping, your job is to go shopping. Money is no object for me, Mira."

As if trying to prove his point, Zane finds an employee and has him scan things on the shelves as we make our way out of the store. He points to a big disc chair, shelves shaped like clouds, and a piggy bank big enough to hold the contents of my bank account twelve times over.

For the first time during the entire outing, Aiden is smiling. He's squeezing the stuffed turtle I gave up and staring up at his dad with awe.

I'm a little in awe, too.

I knew Zane was rich, but this feels like a whole new world.

"Three days is the earliest standard delivery," the young cashier explains. "If you want expedited delivery, we could have it to you by tomorrow."

"Charge me whatever it costs to have everything at my house and set up by tonight."

The cashier frowns and looks to me as if to say, Is this guy serious?

I'm asking myself the same question.

"My assistant should have given you my address already," Zane says. "You can schedule the details with her."

Without any further confirmation, Zane scoops Aiden out of the overflowing shopping cart and carries him out of the store.

"Do you want me to stay?" I ask, chasing after him. "I can make sure everything gets delivered if you're worried about?—"

Zane stops in the middle of the sidewalk and turns to me. I have to scramble to avoid slamming into his chest.

"The only thing I'm worried about is whether or not you can follow directions."

Weird—I'm only worried about whether I can hit you hard enough to knock you out or if I'm going to have to keep listening to you … is what I want to say. But considering Aiden is looking at me with his wide, innocent baby-deer eyes and I don't want to traumatize him by assaulting his father on the sidewalk, I bite my tongue.

Suddenly, Aiden twists around and leans over Zane's shoulder, reaching towards the display window of a children's boutique. They have a full superhero display featuring graphic tees, superhero-themed sneakers, and capes. Aiden's eyes are pinned to the Spiderman pajamas.

Zane follows his son's attention. "Do you want to go in there?"

"Yes," Aiden says. Even adding in a last minute "please" for good measure.

"You got it, buddy. Let's go."

And then we do it all over again.

Zane fills a cart with enough clothes to last Aiden the next fourteen years of his life, at least, and the owner watches us walk through the small shop with flashing dollar bill signs in her eyes.

If I was the kind of woman Zane's sponsor seemed to think I am, this would really be doing it for me. Watching Zane buy whatever he wants without even checking price tags would be revving all of my engines.

But I don't care about that. I never have.

What I can't look away from is the way Zane holds everything he grabs in front of Aiden to see if he likes it before tossing it in the cart.

My knees go wobbly when Zane quizzes Aiden on his favorite superhero and doesn't get frustrated when Aiden can't find the words to explain why he would rather have the power of invisibility than super strength.

And when Zane loops Aiden onto his shoulders and ducks through the front door of the boutique, bags dangling from both arms, I have to give my lady bits a firm and forceful command to stand the fuck down.

This is a rare glimpse of him in his element—but it just reinforces that I don't belong here. Soon enough, I won't be anymore.

This is temporary and Zane's asshole Scottish sponsor was right about one thing: I should stay far, far away from Zane Whitaker.

And his tadger.