Chapter 3 - The Photograph on His Desk
Reed’s private office did not look like the office of a mafia boss.
That was the first unsettling thing about it.
There were no guns displayed on the walls.
No leather chairs surrounding a poker table.
No stacks of cash.
Instead, there were bookshelves, old Chicago photographs, a fireplace, and a large desk facing a window that looked out onto the snowy alley.
It felt almost normal.
Which made it worse.
“Put her there,” Reed said.
He pointed to a cream-colored sofa near the fireplace.
Someone had already brought in blankets.
A portable crib stood in the corner.
I stared at it.
“That was already here.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Reed took off his suit jacket.
“Because people have children.”
“Not in your office.”
“No,” he said. “Usually not.”
Ava reached toward the light above the desk, making soft happy sounds as though she had not nearly caused the end of my employment ten minutes earlier.
Reed watched her.
His face had become unreadable again.
“Does she need anything?” he asked.
“She needs a bottle in about an hour.”
“Formula?”
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
I named the brand.
Reed looked at Tommy, who had remained by the door.
“Get it.”
Tommy looked at me.
Then at Reed.
“You want me to go buy baby formula?”
“I want you to go buy the exact formula she needs.”
Tommy blinked.
“Yes, boss.”
The door closed behind him.
I stood beside the sofa, holding Ava too tightly.
“Why are you doing this?”
Reed did not answer right away.
Instead, he walked behind his desk and picked up a framed photograph.
He set it face down.
But I had already seen it.
A little girl.
Maybe two years old.
Dark curls. Gray eyes. A yellow coat.
My chest tightened.
“Your daughter?” I asked.
Reed’s hand stopped.
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
His gaze remained on the photograph.
“Dead.”
The word fell heavily into the room.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
He nodded once.
“She was three.”
Ava reached toward him from the sofa.
Reed stepped back.
Not much.
But I saw it.
A man feared by judges and businessmen had just flinched from an eight-month-old baby reaching for him.
“She died six years ago,” he said. “A car accident.”
I did not know what to say.
So I said nothing.
Reed looked at Ava again.
“You brought her here because you had no choice.”
“That’s what I said.”
“No,” he replied. “You said your babysitter canceled.”
His eyes moved to my coat, my wet boots, and the ripped seam near the pocket.
“You did not say you have eleven dollars in your account and probably no food in your apartment except whatever you can stretch until payday.”
My face burned.
“You looked into me.”
“I had Tommy check after I found a baby near my office.”
“You had no right.”
“No,” Reed said. “I did not.”
There was no apology.
That should have made me angrier.
Instead, I felt tired.
Too tired to protect the parts of my life that had already been exposed.
“I don’t need charity,” I said.
“Good.”
His answer surprised me.
“Because I am not offering charity.”
“What are you offering?”
“A job adjustment.”
I laughed once.
“That sounds like a threat.”
“It may be.”
Reed moved toward a filing cabinet and removed a folder.
“There is an upstairs office used for vendor meetings. It is empty most weekdays. You will work fewer floor shifts temporarily. More prep work. More administrative work. Same pay.”
“You can’t just decide that.”
“I own the restaurant.”
“I don’t want special treatment.”
“Then call it practical treatment.”
He looked at Ava.
“You cannot serve tables with a baby hidden behind the freezer.”
“That is not permanent.”
“No,” Reed said. “It is desperate.”
The truth stung because it was true.
Then Ava made a small coughing sound.
I rushed to her.
Reed stiffened.
“What is it?”
“She’s fine,” I said quickly. “She just coughs sometimes when the air is dry.”
But he did not move away.
He stood near the sofa, watching her with an expression I could not understand.
Then Ava reached for his finger.
This time, Reed let her take it.
Her tiny hand closed around one of his.
His face went completely still.
And that was when Tommy returned with formula—
followed by a man I had never seen before.
A man in a long gray overcoat.
A man who looked directly at Ava.
Then at Reed.
And smiled.
“Well,” he said softly. “That is interesting.”
Reed’s expression turned to ice.
“Get out.”
The stranger did not move.
“You should be careful, Callaway,” he said. “Children make men predictable.”
Then he walked away.
Reed locked the office door behind him.
For the first time, I understood that bringing Ava into Callaway’s had not only put my job at risk.
May you like
It had put her in the path of people who knew exactly how to hurt Reed Callaway.
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