Page 49 of Knocked Up by my Best Friend's Brothers

“We don’t have to end it. Christa doesn’t want to,” Cassius says.

“For now. She’s still spooked and on edge. I have a feeling she’s going to try to run again. We can’t hold her against her will.”

“Whatever she brought back with her from LA, it’s big and dark enough to generate a reaction,” he says. “We should do a little digging on our own. Independently.”

“Nathan has the right connections,” I suggest.

Cassius nods slowly. “He’s already on it. The sooner we figure out what happened with Perry-Sage that scared her this badly, the better.”

“She’s trying to protect us,” I chuckle lightly. “It’s endearing, really.”

We’re in agreement there. Our approach may differ slightly outside the bedroom, so to speak, but my brothers and I are working toward the same goal: keeping Christa in our lives. For the rest of our lives.

“I think she needs us now more than ever.”

Cassius is about to agree when Alexandra interrupts us, walking in with a perky smile and a green folder in one hand. “Good morning, gentlemen. Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all,” I say, giving her a polite smile.

“I was hoping I could have a word with you about the equipment order,” she says, and Cassius gets up from his chair on the far side of my desk.

“River can handle that. I need to leave for a couple of hours.”

“Not a problem,” she quips and waits for him to leave.

As soon as the door closes behind my brother, the air in the room shifts, becomes charged with a subtle but unsettling kind of pressure. Alexandra hasn’t toned down any of her thinly veiled passes at me, but I can’t accuse her of creating a hostile work environment. There’s enough finesse in her approach that makes anything untoward she does difficult to prove.

Even so, I’m uneasy when she’s around.

“What’s wrong with the equipment?” I ask.

Alexandra takes my brother’s seat and hands me the folder. She lets our hands touch intentionally.

“You smell nice today,” she comments. “Musk and orange blossom, is it?”

“Tangerine, actually,” I reply with a flat smile. “You said you wanted to talk about equipment.”

“I do, yes,” she says. “I’m not sure we want to go with this particular line of windmills. They’re one generation too old, and I don’t think they’re worth the money. With your approval, I’d rather look in the northwestern market to see if we can find a vendor who will meet our demand with newer equipment.”

“That would cost more to transport. The mileage alone, the logistics of carrying each of the palettes and the cores… it’s a bit of a hassle, don’t you think?” I ask, looking over the figures listedin the green folder.

“I guess. But it’ll pay off in the long term. Newer equipment will last at least five more years before it breaks down. Especially if we invest in weekly maintenance protocols.”

“Fair enough. Do you have a vendor in mind?”

“I know of a few in the specific regions highlighted at the end of my report. I just thought I’d run it by you first, before I make an official suggestion.”

“Official suggestion?” I ask, slightly confused.

Alexandra gives me a soft smile. “At the next departmental meeting. When is the next one, by the way? It’s been a while since I’ve been with all three Hawthorne men in the same room.”

There’s a double entendre there, and I know it’s intentional. It’s also a tad frivolous, considering none of the Hawthorne men are interested in Alexandra beyond the professional scope—and even there, she’s more of a means to justify an end for us.

“We could lock an hour down somewhere toward the end of the week,” I cordially reply. “I’ll confirm with the guys by the end of the day.”

“Good. Thank you. I’ve got a good feeling about this, you know?”

I give her a curious look. “You do?”

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