Chapter One
“What do you mean you can’t get him on the phone? Have you tried his secretary?” Emma Sullivan took off her glasses and pressed two fingers to her temples. “We need to get these papers ready on time.”
Her assistant, Roger, stared at her from behind wire-rimmed glasses, fingers hovering over the tablet. “I’ve left him several messages. His secretary has even tried his personal line, but no one has been able to reach him.”
Emma blew out a breath, pushed her chair back, and stood up. “Get me his secretary on the line. Now.”
Roger lowered the tablet and nodded. He took a few steps back, then spun around and scurried out of the room, the smell of cheap cologne lingering in his wake. Through the glass window, she saw him step behind his desk, cluttered with files on either side, and mutter to himself. Then, he disappeared behind the mountain of paperwork, and Emma turned away from the door and looked out the window.
Even the city’s skyline didn’t comfort her, as it usually did, and the sight of dark clouds gathering on the horizon only worsened her mood.
She felt the chill deep down in her bones, making her want to trudge home, crawl under the covers, and emerge when the sun was out.
But she knew it wasn’t possible—not with a little girl relying on her to be reunited with her mother.
It was just like Stevens to drag his feet when it came to paperwork, especially with the holidays around the corner. As much as she hated to admit it, Emma was forced to consider whether or not she could make good on the promise she’d made to herself. Already, she’d received several hopeful phone calls from her client, Ms. Monroe, who was eagerly awaiting a reunion with her daughter.
Come on, Stevens. You’re not really going to keep them apart with Christmas around the corner, are you?
Frowning, Emma rubbed her temples and glanced at the phone on her desk. When Roger’s head emerged from behind the mountain of paperwork, he wore a grim smile. Emma reached her desk in two strides and cradled the phone between her neck and shoulder. A short while later, she hung up and buried her face in her hands.
Stevens’s secretary was almost as bad as he was, and her ability to lie was even worse.
Emma didn’t think she would make it in the business for long, but she pushed the thought out of her mind and sat up straighter.
Exhaling, she spent the next few minutes skimming through the files on her laptop and waiting for something to jump out. She had two fingers pressed against the crick in her neck when Roger reappeared at her door, hair in tufts on top of his head, tie messy, and an envelope in his hand.
“This just came for you in the mail, Ms. Sullivan.” Roger left it on the edge of her desk and raced back out, the door clicking shut behind him.
Emma blinked, rubbed her eyes, and rummaged through her drawer for her letter opener. Her eyes were still glued to the screen as she slid the letter open and wrenched her gaze away. Pushing her chair back, she stood and held the letter to the light.
But it didn’t reveal any hidden secrets.
Or anything else, for that matter.
Emma,
You need to come home.
Your father
He hadn’t even bothered with a greeting or any of the usual niceties, and on her second read, Emma felt her stomach tighten.
Why was her dad reaching out, and through a letter, no less?
Was she not even worth a phone call or a text message?
Did she really mean so little that a letter was all she was worth?
It felt cold and impersonal, and it made her want to toss the letter out and pretend she’d never gotten it.
She had never known him to be the first to reach out in her entire life, and since their explosive confrontation almost fifteen years ago, they had little to say to one another.
Not since he’d made his feelings about her career and life choices very clear.
Emma’s stomach tightened as she sat down and thought about the last time she’d visited her family in Rockport. She remembered the nervous laugh she’d shared with Andrew in the driveway—how solid and warm his fingers had been against hers. She could still recall the chill that had hung in the air asthey’d stood on the front porch, waiting for her parents to open the door.
Even now, butterflies fluttered in her stomach as she remembered how Andrew had dipped her head back and kissed her, his lips tasting like snow and peppermint cocoa.
