Chapter 6
Maya's POV:
Sunday with Amy felt like being stuck in slow motion.
We spent the entire day at the park. Amy sat on a bench near the pond, watching people walk by like she was some tiny anthropologist studying human behavior.
"Look, Mommy." She tugged my sleeve. "That man has three dogs."
I glanced over. Sure enough, a guy in a Red Sox cap was being dragged along by three leashes. "He does."
"Why would someone need three dogs?"
"Maybe he likes dogs a lot."
Amy considered this. "That's a lot of poop to pick up."
I choked on a laugh. "Yeah. It is."
She went back to watching. An elderly couple shuffled past. A jogger with earbuds. A woman pushing a stroller.
I checked my phone. We'd been here for three hours.
Amy hopped off the bench and wandered over to the water's edge, sitting cross-legged on the grass. She just... stared at the ripples. For twenty minutes.
I tried not to fall asleep on the bench.
Eventually, she struck up a conversation with an old man feeding ducks. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but Amy was nodding seriously, asking questions, her little hands gesturing as she spoke.
The old man looked delighted.
By the time the sun started setting, Amy finally announced she was ready to go home.
"Did you have fun, baby?"
"Yes!" Her face lit up. "That was the best day."
---
We grabbed burgers on the way home. Amy ate her fries one by one, humming to herself.
Back at the apartment, I was dead on my feet.
"Alright, baby. Bath time, then bed."
Thirty minutes later, she was tucked in, her curls damp against the pillow.
"Night, Mommy."
"Goodnight, sweetheart." I kissed her forehead. "Sleep tight."
---
Monday morning, six-thirty a.m.
I went for a quick run around the block, then came back and showered.
By the time I started making breakfast, Amy was already awake.
"Mommy, good morning!"
I turned. Amy was standing in the doorway, already dressed in her daycare outfit—a yellow t-shirt and denim shorts. Her hair was a mess, but she'd tried to brush it herself.
"Morning, baby." I smiled. "Did you pick that out?"
She nodded proudly. "Do I look pretty?"
"You look beautiful."
She beamed and skipped over to the bathroom to brush her teeth.
By the time she came back, breakfast was ready. She climbed into her chair and dug in, her legs swinging under the table.
"This is so good, Mommy."
"Thanks, sweetheart."
"You're the best cook in the whole world."
I laughed. "I don't know about that."
"It's true!" She took another bite of eggs. "Better than Auntie Chloe."
"Don't let her hear you say that."
Amy giggled.
---
I dropped Amy off at Sunny Days Community Daycare at seven-forty-five, then headed to the T station.
Rush hour. The Red Line was packed. I squeezed in between a guy eating a breakfast burrito and a woman with a backpack the size of a small car. The smell of refried beans and body odor was overwhelming.
I gripped the pole and closed my eyes, trying not to breathe through my nose.
My heels were already killing me, and I still had to transfer to the bus.
I need a car.
But a car meant money. And I didn't have much of that.
Between rent, daycare, groceries, and the occasional emergency—like Amy needing new shoes because she'd outgrown hers again—I barely had anything left at the end of each month.
Maybe a used car. Something cheap.
---
By the time I got to Garrison Industries, I kicked off my heels under my desk and rubbed my ankles, sighing in relief.
I got to work.
Honestly, working for Julian in Boston was a lot easier than it had been in Cleveland.
No drama. No phone calls from sad women. No messes to clean up.
Julian had actually been... professional.
---
Back in Cleveland, Julian had been a nightmare.
Julian's reputation preceded him. He was a player. A rich, charming asshole who couldn't keep it in his pants.
Women threw themselves at him. And he caught them. Every single time.
Then they'd get jealous. Or possessive. Or they'd realize he was never going to commit.
And they'd show up at the office. Screaming. Crying. Demanding to see him.
And Julian? He'd hide in his office and send his secretary out to deal with it.
That's how he'd lost his first three assistants.
---
I'd been desperate when I applied.
Two years out of work. Two years of sending out resumes and getting nothing back.
No one wanted to hire a woman with a two-year gap on her resume. No one wanted to hear that I'd been raising a baby. That I'd had no choice.
So I stopped trying to explain. Stopped applying for jobs in my field.
I applied for everything.
That's how I ended up at Garrison Industries.
Their HR department was just as desperate as I was. Julian had burned through another secretary, and they needed a replacement fast.
---
The first few months were hell.
Julian tested me constantly. Showed up late to meetings. Forgot important calls. Left me to deal with angry investors while he charmed his way through business lunches.
And the women.
God, the women.
There was always someone. A date from the night before. A one-night stand who thought she was special. A longtime fling who'd finally had enough.
They called. They texted. They showed up.
Julian would glance at me and say, "Handle it."
And I did. Because I needed the paycheck.
---
But then he crossed a line.
Late one night, past midnight, we were finishing a presentation. Julian had been drinking—whiskey, three or four glasses.
He tried to kiss me.
I shoved him hard. He stumbled, unfocused. "Come on—"
I didn't think. I grabbed my bag and swung.
It caught him square in the jaw. He yelped. I hit him again.
"Don't. Touch. Me."
He fell into his chair, holding his face. "Jesus Christ!"
I stood there, breathing hard, my bag still raised.
He blinked up at me, suddenly sober. "Shit. I'm sorry—"
He left. I thought I was fired.
---
The next day, he found me at my desk.
"I'm sorry. I was drunk. It won't happen again."
I stared at him, then nodded. "Okay."
From that day on, he never tried anything again.
---
Click. Click. Click.
The sound of high heels echoed down the hallway.
I looked up from my computer.
A woman burst through the door. Ten-inch stilettos. Leopard-print bodycon dress. Big, bouncy brown curls.
She had the kind of body that turned heads—curves in all the right places, wrapped in fabric that left very little to the imagination.
I sighed.
Oh, for fuck's sake.
Another one of Julian's mistakes, no doubt.
Guess some dogs never learn.
My peaceful morning was officially over.
"Where the hell is Julian?" she shouted, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. "I want to see him. Now!"