Page 4 of Due South

I try super hard not to roll my eyes. Yes, please do make me feel bad about being your only child who moved away from home, the only one who hasn’t given you grandchildren. And all I have to show for it is being a secretary. I try to remind myself that she loves me, but after so many years of her saying the same thing a hundred different ways, all I can hear is that I’m not like the rest of the family, and that she wishes I were.

*

Evans

“No, really, it’sfine. You know I’m Jewish, right?”

India’s features draw together in a thoughtful pucker. “I didn’t. I guess Hanukkah is almost over anyhow.”

I have no freaking idea. We might be Jewish, but we’re pretty far from observant. I didn’t even have a bar mitzvah. “Uh, sure. But my family doesn’t celebrate much.”

Aside from an excuse to make latkes and play with a dreidel when we were kids, Hanukkah passed much like any other week. Other religious holidays fared even less well. One perk of being so profoundly secular is that my mother won’t be any more annoyed than usual when I call to tell her I won’t be around much for the next week or so.

India’s piercing eyes narrow at me. “I still feel bad. Are you going to pass up the chance for an India Burke apology?”

Occasionally, India can be funny. “No, ma’am. They only come along once in a blue moon.”

She rolls her eyes, but it seems affectionate, not entirely exasperated. It makes me feel good. India trusts me enough to verge on silly, and I might be the only one in the office who makes her feel that way. The others might think she’s not buddy-buddy with them because she’s too driven and bitchy, but there’s something else going on there. She’s like a Tootsie Roll pop, my boss. Crunchy and hard on the outside, squishy on the inside.

Since I witnessed her squishiness a few years ago in the form of a panic attack in an airport bathroom, she’s let her guard down with me some and I won’t betray that confidence, what little of it there is.

“It’s strictly the A-Team on this because I don’t want it getting fucked up yet again, so it’s me, you, and Lucy. I know it would lighten the load to involve more people but—”

“No, I understand. It won’t be less work if you have to fix it again after someone else is done. I appreciate your confidence.”

“Don’t appreciate it, just earn it. Now I’ve got some people to fire.”

I suck air between my teeth because that’s harsh, but on the other hand, my sympathy is limited by the realization that people are losing holidays over this. Like Lucy. I can’t deny my heart had double-beat when India said it would be the three of us. I like Lucy a lot, and it’s a treat to get to spend so much time with her. Or even near her.

It’s too bad Lucy’s going to miss Christmas with her family, though. She always goes home and seems to look forward to it. From what I know, it seems like she grew up in a painting of the Midwest: small town, big family, cows.

So, yeah, I can totally see how India’s rationalizing giving Ellington and Travers the boot. While it wouldn’t be the choice I’d make, it’s India’s ship to steer and I have to admit she’s done a bang-up job since Jack’s untimely departure. She’s pulled this firm out of the fire, and I’m not going to argue with how she’s doing it.

After she turns on her heel and stalks out of my office, I pull up the shared drive and start poring over the files for this project. We are going to become intimately acquainted over the next week.

Chapter Two

‡

December 18th

Lucy

Idrop myhead into my hands. I’m never going to be able to figure this out. Spreadsheets and I are not friends. It’s times like this I wish my boss thought I was as dumb as everyone else does. When I look up again, the numbers are swimming in a sea of tears. Dammit.

“Uh, Lucy?”

My gaze snaps to the source of the voice. Evans. What the hell is he doing here? I’d thought I was alone.

“Yeah?” I don’t mean for my voice to sound so curt, but if I say any more, I’ll probably cry.

The corner of his mouth rises. Not quite a smile. Maybe like if concern was trying to put on a happy face. Evans looks as rumpled as I feel. His tie is not only loose, but crooked and his shirtsleeves are rolled up, one higher than the other. And his hair—well, he always looks a bit disheveled. He’s one of the few people here who doesn’t intimidate me. And he’s clearly never quite learned how to use an iron.

“I was going to go across the street and get some coffee. Do you want anything?”

My nose wrinkles reflexively. “No, thanks. And why are you getting coffee from there? It’s gross. You’d be better off using the coffeemaker here.”

“I don’t, uh…I don’t actually know how to use a coffeemaker.”

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