Page 71 of Due Diligence

The silence that passed between us was punctuated by yet athirdphone call from my mother.

“I’ll just deal with it,” I decided, knowing she wouldn’t stop until I answered. I grabbed my phone from my bag and stood. “I’ll just be a second. I’m sorry—”

“Don’t ever apologize for family,” he responded, nodding at me.

I hurried out of the conference room and pushed open the front door of the office so I was on the street outside of Libra. When I answered the call, I didn’t say hello. I just held the phone to my ear and waited for my mother to say, “Cassandra, are you there?”

“Why are you calling me? I’m at work.”

“Did you initiate a direct transfer of funds to your father’s bank account?”

I paused, one hand tucked into the pocket of my blazer. The sound of city traffic cut through the silence on the call, and for that I was eternally grateful. “So?” I finally said.

“For the last time, we donotwant your money.”

“Then why did he send me an invoice?” I already felt the anger rising in my chest. “Look, I’m nearly halfway through my debt to you both, so if you would just start cashing the checks and be done with it, we could make this a clean—”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m being ridiculous?” I questioned, clapping my hand against my collarbone as I spoke. “Do you have any idea how insane it is for you to say I’m being ridiculous?”

“Cassandra, that tone—”

“You two cut me off during my first year oflaw school, all because you didn’t like the guy I was dating.That’s ridiculous, mother.”

“He was—”

“No, this isn’t about Trevor,” I insisted as I started pacing. “Trevor hasn’t mattered for years. What matters is you and dad turned on me the minute I didn’t fit into the perfect little story you wrote for my life. Do you realize how scary that is—that your love was so conditional?”

I stopped in my tracks, aware that passersby kept craning their necks to look at me. I shook my head. “I’m not having this conversation again. If he doesn’t want my money in his account, he can donate it to a charity. I don’t want it back.”

I didn’t wait for her to respond. I simply ended the call and shoved my phone into the pocket of my jeans before I shut my eyes and rested my forehead against my palm. I could feel tears forming, stinging my eyes as I pressed my eyelids down in a futile attempt to keep from crying.

Suddenly, a hand wrapped around my shoulder. When I looked up, I found Marcus standing in front of me. Before I could speak, he pulled me into an embrace—right there on the sidewalk outside of his office.

“I’m—”

“I don’t need an explanation,” he responded, speaking into my hair.

I inhaled into his shirt, grateful for the feeling of his warm body pressed against me. My cheek rested against his pectoral and I felt the tension release from my shoulders as he rubbed his hand along my back.

“Let’s take a walk,” he recommended after a beat. And before I could protest, he added, “Everything else can wait.”

He turned me around and guided me to begin walking down the street.

We were silent while I sniffled. When I moved to wipe my nose with the back of my hand, Marcus caught my wrist. Startled, I looked over at him. Without a word, he reached into the pocket of his slacks and took out a brown paper napkin he had folded neatly down the middle. I took it from him, eyeing him curiously as I unfolded it and dabbed at my face.

“It was an extra napkin from my lunch,” he offered in explanation. “I thought you might need it.”

“You were watching me through the window?” As soon as I asked him that, I regretted it. It ended up sounding accusatory, which I really didn’t intend.

Marcus didn’t care though. “I watch you a lot,” he answered honestly. “You were obviously upset.”

I balled up the napkin and slid it into the pocket of my blazer before I crossed my arms. I took a deep breath and released it, grateful for the fresh air. After a few seconds, Marcus nudged me gently with his elbow. “Are you feeling better?”

“I am. Thanks.”

We reached the end of the block and stopped at the intersection, where the Do Not Walk sign was up. As we stood at the crosswalk, Marcus turned to face me and I saw there was a spot of mascara on his heather gray polo shirt, clearly from when I was tearing up against his chest.

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