I Want You Back (Want You #1)(2)

I forced a smile. “Jaxson. How are you?”

He retreated at my cool demeanor and dropped his hands. “I’m fine. You’re looking well.”

And people thought we couldn’t be civil to each other. “Thanks. You too.”

“Anything I should know before Meems and I take off?”

Meems. He’d given our daughter another nickname, even when Mimi was already the shortened version of Milora Michelle. “Nothing worth mentioning. She’s been looking forward to this all week.”

Those beautiful eyes narrowed. “So don’t disappoint her, right?”

“Right.”

“Luce. I’m not—”

“Daddy, come on. Are we goin’ or what?” Mimi demanded.

“We’re goin’, impatient one.” Jaxson hauled her up and cocked her on his hip with seemingly little effort, because his eyes never left mine. “We can do the switch back at the Lund Industries thing on Sunday afternoon?”

“You’ll be there?”

“I work there, remember?”

In the past six months since Jax had joined the family business, I’d hardly seen him hustling around the building in a suit and tie, so I had no idea what his actual job title was. As far as I could tell, he didn’t “work” there like I did. Sunday’s event was a retirement party for a woman I doubted he knew personally. “I’m surprised. I wasn’t aware that you knew Lola.”

“The poor woman was tasked with getting me up to speed on all departments when I started at LI. I’d still be aimlessly wandering the halls if not for her.”

“Lola will be missed, that’s for sure. So if you want to bring Mimi’s things on Sunday, that’ll work. I planned on going for the two hours.”

“Sounds like a plan. Speaking of . . . what are your plans for the weekend?”

None of your business. “Oh, this and that. Mimi has more things planned for you two than you could fit into two weeks, say nothing of two days.”

His dark eyebrow winged up. “Now I’m taking that as a personal challenge.”

Mimi held her arms out for a hug. “Bye, Mommy.”

“Bye, wild one. Behave, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Promise to call me tomorrow sometime.”

She sighed heavily. “I’d call you all the time if I had my own cell phone.”

I chuckled. “Nice try. Use Daddy’s phone. Or Grandma Edie’s.”

“But all of my friends have iPhones.”

“Eight-year-olds do not need a cell phone.” I sent Jaxson a stern look as a reminder not to swoop in and buy her one just because he could. Then I kissed her cheek. “Love you, Mimi.”

“Love you too.”

Jaxson gathered Mimi’s stuff with her chattering away at him like she always did. I wondered how much of it he paid attention to.

Not my concern. I’d had to learn to let go of a lot of my issues with Jaxson’s parenting style since he’d returned permanently to Minneapolis.

I waved good-bye and locked the door behind them.



* * *



? ? ?

As I readied myself for my first date with Damon, my thoughts scrolled back to the first time I’d met Jaxson Lund a decade ago . . .

I’d left work early to take my mother to the doctor. After I’d dropped her off at her place, I pulled into one of those super fancy deluxe car washes that offered one-hour detailing inside and out. Winter in the Twin Cities meant tons of road salt and freeway grime, and my poor car needed TLC. Not that my Toyota Corolla was anything fancy, but it’d been a major purchase for me after I’d graduated from college. My first new car, and I took good care of it.

With an hour to kill, I grabbed a magazine and a Diet Mountain Dew. The lobby wasn’t jam-packed with other customers—which was a total contradiction to the lines of cars outside—but I embraced the quiet for a change and settled in.

My alone time lasted about five minutes. A guy blew in—the wind was blustery, but not nearly as blustering as the man yakking on his cell phone at a thousand decibels.

“Peter. I told you I’m happy to stay at the same salary.” Pause. “Why? Because a salary freeze for a year isn’t the end of the world for me. Especially if that means they can use that extra money to lure the kind of D-man we need.”

I rolled my eyes and wished I’d brought my earbuds.

“No. What it speaks to isn’t that I’m not worth more money. It shows that I’m a team player.”

I tried to ignore the annoying man. But he paced in front of me, forcing me to listen to him as well as watch his jean-clad legs nearly brush my knees as his hiking boots beat a path in the carpet. From the reflection in the glass that allowed customers to see their cars going through the automated portion of the car wash, I knew he was a big man; tall, at least six foot four, with wide shoulders, long arms and long legs.

And huge lungs, because his voice continued to escalate. His pace increased. He gestured wildly with the hand not holding the phone. He couldn’t see me scowling at him, as his head was down and his baseball cap put his face in shadow. Not that he’d looked my way even one time to see if his loud, one-sided conversation might be bothering me.

Look at me, look at me! My job is so crucial that I can’t even go to the car wash without dealing with such pressing matters.