Page 28 of Due Diligence

“Asshole!” she exclaimed with her eyes wide and her cheeks starting to darken. “You think you can tell me about myself? You don’t know a thing about me. You may have this idea about who I was ten years ago, but I’m not that person anymore.”

“I just—”

She inhaled sharply before she took a step closer to me. “And not that it matters to me if you know this, but I didn’t drop out of law school because it was difficult. I dropped out because my parents cut me off and I didn’t want to take on hundreds of thousands of dollars of debt just to get the same degree as my jackass of a father. So stop trying to make me feel ashamed of that. It’s pathetic.”

I paused, watching as Cassie took a step back, held up a finger, and closed her eyes. It wasn’t too dissimilar from what I usually did. My six-second reset.

As she composed herself, I let this revelation wash over me. It felt like a cold shower, stinging my skin. “Your parents cut you off?”

“Six years ago,” she said simply, factually. She didn’t offer anything else.

I didn’t know what else to say to her other than, “I’m sorry.” It was the honest truth, but as soon as I said it, I knew it wasn’t going to land well with her.

“No you’re not,” she snapped, eyebrows furrowed. “Why would you be sorry? You started off the day wanting to fight with me, and now you’ve gotten exactly what you wanted.”

I shook my head. “No, don’t—I…I’m not just being an asshole for the sake of it.”

“Then what did I do to deserve this? Is this about me being horrible to you when we were eighteen years old?” She let out alaugh, mostly in disbelief, because there was absolutely nothing funny about this conversation. “Who were you then, Marcus, and who are you today? Are you the same person?”

“No, but—”

“And neither am I,” she insisted as she began to back away from me. “Whether or not you can see that isn’t my problem.”

This time when she left, I didn’t follow her. I remained standing there in the middle of the sidewalk, watching her walk away under the rows of scaffolding that covered the walkway. My eyes stayed on her retreating figure, fixated on her blond hair until I couldn’t see her anymore.

Fuck.

When I turned to my side, I saw that duo of teenage girls still watching me. One of them was frowning, eyebrows pulled together tightly. The other was staring at me with her jaw lowered, shock on her face.

“Well, go get her!” she called out, her words muffled through the glass pane between us.

I lifted an eyebrow at the idea. The notion alone was laughable. Instead, I turned and headed back towards the office, my hands in my pockets and my shoulders heavy.

Chapter 9: Cass

When I strode into my apartment, I dropped my tote onto the worn-down hardwood floor with a thud that briefly made me wonder if I had accidentally broken my laptop. The concern passed quickly; I didn’t have the patience to give a shit about my laptop. I had one thing—and only one thing—on my mind. I wanted to regret whatever I did tonight. I wanted to make so many bad decisions that I would have to briefly consider flying to Vatican City to beg the Pope himself for forgiveness. I wanted to stab my dignity so hard I would be featured on an extra-long, extra special episode ofDateline.

Somehow, Bethany could sense this the moment she laid eyes on me. I kicked off my heels, not looking to see where they landed. All the while, she was watching me with a mix of confusion and what honestly looked like terror in her eyes.

“Get up,” I ordered her, “and get dressed. We’re going out.”

Bethany dropped her fork into the disposable bowl on her lap and cleared her throat as she finished chewing. She gestured atherself. “Cass. Beautiful, insane, Cass. Love of my life. Tell me what you see right now,” she responded, speaking slowly.

At this point, I was straddling between the living room and my bedroom, rifling through a stack of clean shirts on top of my dresser. “What?”

“Literally describe what I’m doing.”

“Oh,” I said, frowning. I poked my head into the living room and surveyed her up and down. “Okay, you’re sitting on the couch and eating Sweetgreen while doing a pore strip on your nose and watching…” I squinted at the television. “Is thatDownton Abbey?”

“It’sThe Crown,” she corrected. “And you missed a few details—like the fact that I’m not wearing a bra, I’m on my second glass of wine, and I’ve already got cookie dough defrosting on the counter. So, let’s put all those pieces together and revisit your directive. Do you think there’s even a glimmer of a chance of me going out tonight?”

Undeterred, I tilted my head. “I can beverypersuasive.”

Her expression was dubious. She brought her wine glass up to her lips. “There’s no way in hell you’re going to be more persuasive than the third season ofThe Crown.”

“Bethany, come on,” I groaned as I wandered over to the couch and collapsed onto it next to her. As usual, it sagged under our combined weight. We definitely needed a new one—add that to the list of hundreds of new things we needed.

“Quit it.”

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