Page 8 of Oathbreaker

But…I sigh again as I pull into the parking lot.

I wanted just a little bit of time with Colt that wasn’t taken up by everyone else, that didn’t leave me on the sidelines with a complicated knot of feelings, a heavy dose of uncertainty (and insecurity) as I watched.

Because I’ve spent a lot of my time watching my life go by.

Back then.

And now.

So, maybe it was wrong, likely it was wrong. But Colt and I need to talk. I have things I need to explain—so many things—and he needs to heal. Because he’s in absolutely no shape to face the Gamebreakers.

They’ll chew him up and spit him out.

He needs time to rest up, for those bruises to fade.

We need time to talk.

Then he can tackle handling the guys.

That’s not what they would want, but they’re just going to have to deal.

I park in my spot—one of the perks of working for the big man is that I have a designated parking space (it even has a sign with my name on it) right by the entrance of the building.

Initially, this was because I was hauling Frankie into the office with me and those car seats are no joke when it comes to loading and unloading from the back of a beat-up sedan and hauling them up to the top floor of a skyscraper—especially when a woman makes chonky babies.

Back then my arm muscles were on point.

As was my cardio.

And eventually, the spot became something I’ve earned.

Something I’ve worked hard for.

Something that’s landed me in the office on a Saturday.

Sighing—because that seems to be my M.O. for the day—I snag my purse and haul my butt out of my midsized SUV (all the better for hauling Frankie and her friends, and all the gear kids require, around), and badge into the building.

Badging again to get up to the executive floor.

Fancy, huh?

One would think so…except circling back to the whole working on a Saturday thing.

Atlas is already there by the time the elevator doors open up and spit me out in front of the glass-enclosed offices. He’s in a white button down and slacks, the only accommodation to being here to put out corporate fires on a Saturday the fact that his sleeves are rolled up and he’s not wearing a suit jacket. The jacket is likely tossed over the back of his chair.

The sleeves are either Lily’s doing…

Or because he’s frustrated and ready to kick some ass.

Maybe both.

“That good, huh?” I ask as he storms toward me, scowl upon scowl marring his handsome face.

Said scowl deepens. “I don’t get enough time with Lily as it is, and now I have to come in on one of the few fucking days I have with her, and all because of a fucking container ship going awry and shareholders getting antsy.”

I step close to him, loop my arm through his, and start guiding him back to his office where I know the team from all over the globe is on video call as we all frantically work to fix this…and settle the tetchy shareholder. “You know I can handle this.”

He keeps scowling—and this time it’s directed down at me. “I know you can. But if we both tackle this shit, we’ll figure it out and both be home sooner.”