Page 21 of The Do-Over

With a curt nod, she was back to hunt-peck-hunt-pecking. “Now, get those donuts off my desk.”

With a grin, I did what she asked and took them to the small kitchen in the back of the building.

Okay, fine. I took one back to my desk to eat.

I enjoyed the quiet of my office for fifteen minutes before my officemate appeared. Marianna Ortiz, she of the booming voice, arrived in a whirlwind of wild black curls, muttering under her breath.

“Stupid traffic… stupid drivers…”

Marianna held entire conversations with herself, rattling off rapid-fire while she tapped away at her computer or reviewed paperwork. A bit older than me, she’d recently divorced and currently hated all men past, present, and future, save her two little boys who were equal parts adorable and troublemaker.

“The traffic this morning,” she sighed. “Some days, I dream about getting out of my car and explaining to those people how to drive.”

“I believe that’s called road rage. Highly discouraged.”

She flopped in her chair. “Speaking of killing, I want you to know whenever you’re ready, I’ll help you bury his body.”

Again, no need to clarify the he in this scenario. It was laughable how my own parents hadn’t been so clearly on my side as the people I worked with. In some strange way, it made me feel both seen and unseen.

“Got it.”

“I cannot believe him. He couldn’t—”

Marianna’s phone rang—thank the stars—before she could continue that statement. Frowning at the number, she answered, her tone already belligerent. Must be the ex-husband. I checked my email, trying hard not to listen in on a heated discussion about “agreements” and “they’re your kids too” and “you’re so selfish.” Abruptly, she yanked the phone from her ear and pressed the end button.

“I miss being able to hang up on someone like we used to,” she said.

“Didn’t go well?”

Marianna slouched in her seat, her long legs stretching out in front of her. “No. Something came up and he can’t take the kids tonight for their visit.”

I nodded in sympathy, not quite making eye contact. “That’s tough.”

Leaning forward, she rested her arms on her desk. “The thing is”—a crooked smile flashed across her face—“I have a client interview this afternoon at five and I need to pick up the boys at four, so…” Her voice trailed off, a hopeful note hanging in the air.

Mathias’s voice played in my head. Stop letting them take advantage of you at work. I should do that. Of course I should. But Marianna’s dark eyes were pleading, and she’d mope and sigh and mutter under her breath all day if I didn’t volunteer.

“Fine. Yes, I’ll take the interview for you.”

She blew me a kiss. “You’re the best.”

“No big deal,” I said with a shrug. What did it matter anyway? I didn’t have a boyfriend or kids to rush home to. Pity party, table for one.

“Perci!” Miss Ruby bellowed. “Client’s here.”

A few years ago, Dad had installed a fancy phone system with intercom capabilities. Miss Ruby flat-out refused to use it. “My voice is plenty loud all by itself.” She was not wrong.

Still, I could have cried tears of joy at the sound of her. My chair almost toppled in my haste to stand. “Coming.”

“He’s a pig, you know. That’s exactly why—” Marianna railed on while I gathered my paperwork. With a wave, I slipped out of the office.

Mike and Shelly Granger were waiting in the small conference room, sitting side-by-side at the oversized round table. Their file informed me they’d been married for five years, had a two-year-old daughter, and another on the way. No credit cards, no car loans, no school debt. No credit history to speak of.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” I said, shaking hands with them in turn.

“Yes, us too.” Mike nodded and wrapped a long arm around his wife’s shoulders. “We’re eager to start looking for a house.”

Shelly patted her belly. “Baby will be here in three months. We’d love to be settled by then.”