Page 39 of Wild Card 13
My office sat near the end of the corridor beside Player Operations.
Temporary.
The word existed permanently in my head every time I unlocked the door.
Temporary workspace, position, involvement, life disruption.
I pushed inside and immediately stopped short.
“Oh my God,” I exclaimed to no one.
A massive bouquet of flowers sat in the center of my desk beside an enormous pink bakery box tied with gold ribbon.
Beside both sat a folded card in my father’s unmistakably terrible handwriting.
Lucy Bug,
You belong here.
I'm proud of you.
Love, Dad
P.S. Lo says breakfast first. Work second.
I stared at the words for a second before setting the card down.
You belong here.
Easy for him to say.
This was his world.
I'd spent years trying to build one that wasn't.
I held my breath for three full seconds before laughing helplessly despite myself.
Then immediately got annoyed all over again.
Because naturally my father would send flowers after accidentally detonating the one boundary he promised me he could maintain.
‘You won’t have to deal with players directly.’That sentence had lasted less than two weeks.
I dropped into my chair, tossing my bag onto the floor before carefully opening the bakery box.
The smell curled around me like a hug I didn’t know I needed. Butter. Brown sugar. Cinnamon. Warm peaches. Bourbon pecan sticky buns sat packed tightly beside peach hand pies dusted with powdered sugar.
Lo believed emotional support should come with sweetness and approximately nine thousand calories.
A knock sounded lightly against the open office door. Bea walked in holding a tea carrier while Freya followed behind her balancing two coffees and somehow still texting one-handed.
“Good,” Freya announced immediately. “You look terrible.”
“Wow.” I looked up slowly. “What a comforting thing to say to someone before nine in the morning.”
“You’ve got the face.” She pointed at me while setting coffee down on my desk. “The emotionally constipated overachiever face.”
Bea snorted quietly beside her.
