More Than Anything (Broken Pieces #1)(29)
“Thanks, Suzie. You’re a star.” The woman blushed when he winked at her, and he got up and headed toward the silver double doors leading into the kitchen.
Libby had her back to the door, but her tall, slender figure was instantly recognizable. He smiled affectionately as he watched her issue brisk commands to her subordinates. They all hastened to do her bidding, comfortable with her natural leadership. She was completely in her element, and Harris loved watching her like this. So confident and self-possessed . . . the complete opposite of the heartbroken woman she had been the last time he had seen her.
She turned unexpectedly and froze when she caught sight of him, her face reflecting her shock at finding him in her domain. His smile faded and he cleared his throat, uncertain of his welcome.
“Hey, Bug. I’ve missed you.”
Tina had briefly spoken with Libby earlier about her friend’s after-work encounter with Greyson Chapman, but Libby hadn’t been very forthcoming. She merely said that she had told him to leave. The lack of information, as well as the cold tone in Libby’s voice, had disturbed Tina, but she hadn’t pushed, afraid that probing too much might hurt or upset Libby even further.
Besides, Tina had other things to worry about, like the fact that it was another disappointing service. Tina—coward that she was—had retreated to her office rather than witness another dismal turnout. Charlie was there, but the teen was doing homework, and other than occasionally checking on the peacefully sleeping Clara, she was wholly absorbed with that task.
Tina was grateful to be left alone. She had her laptop opened on the desk in front of her but was checking her emails, surfing the internet, doing everything she could to avoid the bookkeeping. She told herself she would have a clearer idea after the lunch service anyway. There was no point in doing it now.
She was only delaying the inevitable, she knew that . . . but playing solitaire and opening junk mail was a vastly more appealing alternative right now.
The office door swung inward, and a laughing Libby entered the small room with Harris directly behind her. The tiny space immediately felt claustrophobic and airless after Harris shifted his six-foot-plus bulk through the door.
Libby’s smile faded when she spotted Tina, and her perfectly shaped, full lips formed an O of surprise.
“Tina, I thought you’d be on the floor,” she said blankly, and Tina cleared her throat awkwardly. She should be out there, ensuring that things were running smoothly, but quite frankly she felt superfluous and a little out of her element. Thandiwe and Ricardo, their service manager—or ma?tre d’, as Libby preferred to call him—had things well in hand, and what could possibly go wrong when they had only a handful of patrons?
She had fled to avoid feeling like a failure and, worse, appearing incompetent and foolish in front of the staff.
“I had to do some accounting. And I’m drafting an email to the newspaper,” she said softly, angling the screen of her laptop downward so that they wouldn’t see that she had cat memes up on the screen.
She had intended to send an email to the newspaper to apologize and attempt to explain the mix-up. But she couldn’t think of a way to word the message without seeming like an unprofessional idiot. She would have to bite the bullet eventually; they needed to maintain a friendly relationship with the paper for advertising purposes. But Tina rationalized that it was Saturday, and they would probably only see the email on Monday anyway. So why not send it on Monday?
“Harris wanted to say hi to Clara,” Libby informed her, and Tina forced the corners of her lips up into what she hoped was a semblance of a smile. Harris was watching her closely, his hands shoved into his trouser pockets. He looked less casual this afternoon, dressed in charcoal-gray suit pants and white dress shirt, with the collar undone and the sleeves rolled up his strong forearms to his elbows. Still not full work regalia, but not as casual as the jeans and T-shirt of the night before. Or the sweats of that morning.
“That’s nice,” Tina said, her voice faint. Charlie was watching them all curiously, and Libby made quick introductions. Harris tore his unfathomable gaze from Tina’s face long enough to smile down at the petite teen, and then he had eyes only for Clara. His face softened dramatically as he stared down at her.
“God, she’s gorgeous. The pictures didn’t do her justice. She’s bigger than I was expecting.” He sounded awed and choked up. His hands left his pockets and reached for the sleeping baby before he paused, looking uncharacteristically uncertain.
“Can I . . . is it okay if I hold her?”
“Of course it is, Harris,” Libby murmured gently as she reached down and lifted the sleeping infant from her bassinet. She carefully transferred Clara into Harris’s strong, waiting arms, and he eagerly cradled the tiny body close to his chest, instinctively rocking as he held her close.
Tina kept her eyes on his face, the love and tenderness she saw there bringing scalding tears to her eyes, and she swallowed painfully as she watched him coo tender little nothings into Clara’s ear. He nuzzled the soft hair on the baby’s temple and kissed her cheek.
Tina’s hands balled into fists beneath the desk, and her short nails cut into the soft flesh of her palms. She welcomed the physical pain, since it detracted from the envy that burned like acid in her gut. How easy it was for him to hold Clara and how at home he seemed with a baby in his arms. It left a bitter ache in her heart, one that she loathed herself for feeling. She shouldn’t care. Not anymore.