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"I don't." I shake my head and try to relax my shoulders again, which isn't the easiest thing anymore. The last few years have worn me down in some ways and sharpened me in others. I know how to argue a hell of a lot better now than I did a few years ago when I let the board push me around all the time.
But I've lost a lot of things in exchange. The days are isolating now. There are times when my entire body seems to ache for no reason. I've gotten used to taking pain killers for my stress migraines.
I let out a sigh and lean back against my chair as my muscles slowly work themselves out of their stiffness. Mason is still watching me, but I don't pay any attention to it anymore.
"You seem to really like this girl."
He says it out of nowhere, and I feel the knee-jerk reaction to cut him off and tell him that he should shut up but I seem frozen for some reason. A stunning wave of something cold hits my veins and makes me lock up in place for a long moment.
And the worst part is that Mason is still watching me. He's teased me enough times about different girls to know thatthis... this is not the way I react. Ever.
"You're putting a lot more thought into this one than you did the last one," he says finally. Like he's justifying it before I can collect myself from arguing against him.
I open my mouth, but my brain's still buffering too much for me to form any sentences. The cold is fading, and I can feel my ears getting hot as I scramble to try and explain how this isn't the case.
I'm not doing all of this because I like Cora. In fact, I barely know her. I'm just doing this because it's the right thing to do.
"This situation is a bit more complicated," I mutter. It's true, but I know that it doesn't convince Mason at all.
"You seem to like her more."
That part I can't argue against at all. I do like her more. I like Cora probably the most out of all of my employees, minus Mason.
"Cora is good at her job. She's polite and professional," I nod. There's no point in saying that I don't like her. And it feels wrong to even think about it, let alone say it out loud.
"You really, really like her," he whispers. I just roll my eyes and turn back to my computer; my eyes narrow on the dozens of tabs that I have open. There are probably a few new emails that I have to read through and reply to from the board. That is going to be a pain in the ass, but anything beats actually meeting with these people face to face and having to talk to them.
Mason gets up from his chair. He walks around my desk to lean over my shoulder to look at my computer screen for a moment. I just click on an email at random, scan through it, and let out a sigh that seems to drain me of the rest of my energy.
And then I start typing my reply.
"Wow, youreallydo like her."
"Shut up."
SIX
~ Cora ~
The car ride home is silent and filled with anxious thoughts. I stare out of the window, not really processing anything I see as I let my mind wander.
There's a real chance that I will lose this job. I don't know how public things might be, but with Mister Fletcher on my side, I'm relatively sure that it can be done quietly. Maybe... Maybe this is a good thing if I lose my job. It's been difficult working as a secretary, and I know that there have been times when I've seriously considered quitting
But then there's Mister Fletcher's promise to me. It was quick, and it seemed like maybe he didn't have a grasp on the situation either. But he seemed to mean it. That last line in his previous email reassured me that I'd be at work tomorrow.
The car comes to a stop. I glance around and realize that we're parked in front of my apartment complex. I'm left scrambling for a moment as I try to gather up everything and get out of the car, and when I turn to the driver, he seems to expect my question.
"Your friend already paid." He gives me a firm nod, and I try my best to nod back.
"Thank you."
I manage to get out of the car without tripping over anything in my still half-dazed state. The second my shoes touch the concrete, he's gone, and I'm left to be alone with my thoughts again.
The only reason I can get up to my apartment at all is because of muscle memory. My feet walk through the hallways, onto the elevator, and carry me to my door. My hands reach for my keys in my purse and fumble with them until the door unlocks.
Once the door swings open, my brain starts to collect itself a little. I look around my apartment, which still seems a little unfamiliar to me. I moved in a week ago after a few months of convincing from Thea.
It's a nicer place than I could afford on top of everything I already have to worry about, but I'm starting to like it. There's a big living room with a comically tiny balcony that looks out to the city. I still have a few moving boxes on the floor. The kitchen is still a little bare, but Thea's been slowly sneaking me more pots and pans from god knows where.
