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Dottie throws her head back and laughs. “Even then! It’s just a part of getting old, but you’re not there yet so my advice to you is to have a little fun.”
A part of me wants to, but each time I come close to letting loose, I see TJ’s face. I remember how small and pale he looked against the white sheets of his hospital bed as the monitors beeped around him. For months, I’d wake up screaming and shaking until my sister, Dinah, would climb into bed with me. We’d rock back and forth until exhaustion came for us.
I try not to think of that night, but it often sneaks up on me. When it does, I feel just as bad as I did the first time when I was hovering near the door in TJ’s hospital room with tears streaming down my face. To make matters worse, he doesn’t blame me. He has barely evenacknowledgedthat it is, at least partially, my fault. I could’ve handled his anger, his resentment, or even the end of our friendship, but the kindness makes it worse.
Because it makes me feel like shit and Idon’tdeserve the leniency or the forgiveness.
I hated that my mother called in favors just to have the entire thing covered up and out of the news. Given my grandfather’s position, the press would’ve descended upon me like vultures and picked me apart. At the time, I understood my mom’s need to protect me and our family by extension, but there was something about the whole thing that didn’t make sense.
Crashing into the tree was an accident. I hadn’t set out to do it, and a thorough police investigation would’ve only proven my point. But none of that seemed to matter to my mom, whose sole concern was protecting my future and ensuring that none of the colleges I got into heard of the incident.
Luckily, it worked. I was able to go to college with my reputation intact, and the entire thing was written off as an unfortunate turn of events.
I just wish TJ’s disability was as easy to fix…
SHANE
“It’s a stupid fucking idea. That’s what it is.”
I blow smoke rings out of my mouth and out the window as I overlook the busy streets below. People rush past in either direction with their phones pressed to their faces. They are little more than tiny dots from where I am standing.
“Do you have anything useful to contribute besides your opinion?”
After stubbing out my cigarette, I walk over to the circular table and pull out my chair. It makes a loud screeching noise, but I don't care, especially as I sit and fold my arms over my chest.
Across from me is Isaiah Gallagher. He is in a pressed button-down shirt tucked into a pair of dark jeans. His eyes are dark, narrowed, and appraising.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that he wants to put my head through the wall. Sometimes, I feel like he is seconds away from doing just that. I feel a part of me wants him to, just to watch his careful, blank mask slip and reveal the human underneath.
The most I ever got out of him is cold indifference.
Isaiah is an incredibly private man. Even after working alongside him for the past ten years, with the last two years bringing us closer together as investors and business partners, he has given me little insight into the man behind the glasses. No one, not even the men he’s known for most of his life, knew much about him except that he was the son of immigrants who’d worked his way from the bottom. He has scraped and hustled to become the notorious man he is today.
“You’re trying my patience,” Isaiah warns in a tight voice. “Considering the fiasco with customs, and our client, Ronaldo, I would’ve expected you to be more complacent.”
My eyes tighten around the edges. “They tried to fuck us over. I did us all a favor by calling in a few favors.”
Isaiah’s expression remains unmoved. “Ronaldo is one of our oldest clients.”
“Maybe it’s time to expand.”
Isaiah raised an eyebrow. “And what would you suggest?”
“New clientele,” I replied after a brief pause. “New investors. I’m sure there isn’t a shortage of them.”
“We can’t expand because we don’t have the capital.” Isaiah stands up and clasps his hands behind his back. “Not right now at least. There’s too much scrutiny because of Emilie. I warned her what would happen if she was not careful. Now her shortsightedness is going to cost all of us. She overspent on the last marketing campaign.”
I jump to my feet and brace my hands on either side of me. “I still don’t think Governor Coombes is the answer.”
“He is,” Isaiah says calmly.
Half of me wants to slam my fist through the nearest wall, but I know it won’t do us any good. Over the past few days, the two of us have done nothing but go back and forth regarding the best way to move forward. Our priority is, as always, to protect the company from any kind of blowback. However, with the stunt Emilie pulled by overspending and getting into business with the wrong client, I am beginning to wonder if there is any kind of way around it. She is already on thin ice and banned from working as a marketing consultant on projects for the foreseeable future, but I knew what Emilie is like.
She isn’t going to let something like breaking a few laws get in her way.
There is a reason she is the best in the business.
Thankfully, neither Isaiah nor I have any interest in associating with the stink that surrounds her as a freelance marketing consultant, and the board is on the same page too.
