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“She was nearly in tears when we left.”
Crying? Skye was crying? My heart becomes a cannonball in my chest.
I say nothing.
“Are you there?” Tessa finally asks.
“I’m here.”
“I guess it was pretty out of line to call you,” she says. “Skye was just so sad to leave that poor puppy there. She can’t be more than about ten weeks old, probably missing her mother something awful.”
“Give me the information,” I say.
“Are you going to get her? Skye will be so happy!”
“I’ll figure something out. The information, Tessa.”
“Right. She’s puppy number 347. A Heeler mix. Black with white markings.”
“You remember her number?”
“I have a way with numbers,” she says again.
“I’m glad you do,” I tell her. “I’ll call my driver in Boston and have him pick up the pup. Don’t tell Skye, though. I want to surprise her.”
“Braden, thank you!” Tessa gushes. “If there’s anything I can ever do for you, please, I’ll do it.”
I chuckle slightly. “I can’t think of anything at the moment. Thank you for letting me know about the puppy, Tessa.”
“You’re welcome. And thank you. Skye’s the luckiest woman ever. Bye.”
I text the information to Christopher quickly, hoping it’s not too late.
An hour and a half later, I get a text back from him.
Congratulations. It’s a girl.
Chapter Forty-Seven
I return to my Boston penthouse early in the afternoon on Saturday.
I’ve purposefully thrown myself into my work the last two days in Manhattan, purposefully not called or texted Skye. Purposefully stayed off Instagram.
I needed a clear head to finish up the business with Foster McCain, and while I was in Manhattan, I took care of some other loose ends as well.
Try as I might, though, my thoughts never fully strayed from Skye.
She’ll most likely be angry that I haven’t been in contact with her. Why shouldn’t she be?
Normally, when I’m seeing a woman, I don’t mix business with pleasure. I don’t think about her at all while I’m working. Only when we’re together. So naturally, I don’t call and text often when we’re not together. I’m determined not to do things differently with Skye, which is why I haven’t communicated with her since her text about the pearl choker.
The difference, though?
I’ve wanted to.
Every time I look at my phone, I think about giving her a quick call or sending her a quick text. Even just checking Instagram.
Every time I check email—which is a lot—I think about writing to her, just to see how she’s doing.
