Letters to Molly (Maysen Jar, #2)(87)

I jumped, twisting in my seat. The movement knocked Bridget’s hand off my arm. The frown on Molly’s face was as unwelcome as the realization that my most trusted and loyal employee had feelings for me.

Bridget looked between the two of us, putting the pieces together. Then she looked at me, her eyes wide and full of judgment. “She is your date?”

“Would you mind?” Bridget was blocking Molly’s chair. She took a step forward in an attempt to make Bridget back off. “I need to get my purse.”

Bridget didn’t budge. And I knew her well enough to know she’d dug her heels in. She’d make Molly walk all the way around to get her purse.

God, I was such a fucking moron. Did all men miss shit like this with women? Or was I especially clueless? I saw it now though. It was lit up brighter than the neon Bud Light sign in the restaurant’s front window.

I stood from the table, inserting myself between the women. It forced Bridget back two steps, giving me enough room so I could duck under the table and retrieve Molly’s purse and pass it over.

She slung it on a shoulder then crossed her arms. Even with them wrapped tight across her chest, her shoulders trembled. Not in fear, but anger. Her eyes were cold as she looked at Bridget.

Molly didn’t hate. Ever. She didn’t antagonize. She didn’t make enemies, which meant for her to look at Bridget like she was ready to wrap her hands around Bridget’s neck, Bridget had pushed much too far.

My protégé—my friend—had been awful to my wife.

It had happened right under my nose, and I’d been oblivious.

“We’d better get going.” I took Molly’s elbow, prying her arms apart. She fought me for a moment then gave in. With her arms hanging by her sides, I captured her hand and held it tightly.

Bridget scowled at our clasped hands, then she looked at me, her eyes full of disbelief. “Really, Finn? Her?”

What the fuck? Who was this stranger? Because she certainly wasn’t the Bridget I’d known for years.

Molly tried to pull her hand away, but I tightened my grip.

“Yes, her. It’s always her.” I pushed past Bridget, tugging Molly along. “See you tomorrow. Enjoy your dinner.”

The fresh evening air was impossible to enjoy as Molly and I walked to my truck. With every step, she retreated away from me, even though our hands stayed locked.

All of the progress we’d made, the good time, had been ruined.

I took some deep breaths as we walked, hoping to calm down. But my anger only burned hotter. We were ten feet from the truck, but I couldn’t take another step.

My feet ground to a halt. “What did she do?”

Molly tried to keep walking. I didn’t loosen my grip. “Let’s just go, Finn.”

“What did she do?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Molly,” I whispered. “Please. Tell me.”

She met my gaze. “You work with her. I don’t want to cause problems with that.”

“There are problems. No matter what you tell me tonight, we’ve got big problems. And I’d really like to hear it. From you.”

Her chin fell as she nodded. “I think she thought I was a joke when she started at Alcott. That I was just your silly wife, pretending to manage a business. She was curt. Polite, but curt. Then we got divorced. The polite stopped.”

My molars ground together as I forced myself to stay quiet and let Molly continue.

“She took your side. I understood that. But she was nasty, always glaring and muttering things behind my back. Then there was that night, the one where I went to Alcott and she called me a bitch while you were watching TV.”

“I swear I didn’t hear it.” I wouldn’t have let that go. Fuck, I hated myself for that night.

She nodded. “I believe you.”

“What else happened?”

“Well, you told her about me. About . . .”

“The other guy.” I closed my eyes. “Fuck. I’m such a fucking idiot. I never should have told her. What did she do?”

“She stopped muttering things behind my back and told me right to my face that I was a whore.”

What. The. Fuck. My vision turned red. “You’re not a whore.”

“No.” She locked my eyes, her spine straightening. “No, I’m not.”

“Anything else?”

“She’s been her usual bitchy self ever since. I’ve avoided her at all costs.”

“Is that why you stopped coming to Alcott?”

I shrugged. “It’s part of it. Mostly I stopped coming because it was yours, not ours anymore.”

“I’m sorry. I want you to know I’m going to make this right.”

“Don’t stress over it.” She squeezed my hand once then nodded toward the truck. “I don’t need that woman’s approval to be happy.”

No, she didn’t. But she did need to know that I had her back.

And tomorrow morning, Bridget and I were having a discussion.

The drive to Molly’s house was quick and quiet. It was hard to block out the incident with Bridget, but I was determined to get this date back on track. So I drove with one hand, the other holding tight to Molly’s so she knew I was there. I wasn’t letting her pull away.