Page 8 of Reverse

“Natalie?” Alex, our sports columnist prompts, staring up at me from his desk. Empty coffee cup in hand, I gape back at him, confused as to how I ended up lurking above him. “Can I help you with something?”

“J-just wanted to see if you wanted some coffee?” I mumble in shit excuse, lifting my mug as though he’s never seen one.

“It’s after two,” he says curtly, just as confused by the gesture as I am. “I don’t drink coffee after two.”

“Okay.” I bob my head, eyes again on the office now feet away, just as Dad hangs up the phone and starts to make his way toward us. Guilt and panic mix, prompting me to flee before he can reach me with his probing eyes. By the time flight kicks in, he’s already striding toward me, seemingly as confused as Alex.

“What’s up?” Dad asks as he joins me at Alex’s desk.

“Kid was just asking me if I wanted some coffee.”

“You can fetch your own, asshole,” Dad snarks, giving me a wink.

“Well, as everyone knows,” Alex fires back, “I don’t drink coffee aftertwo.”

“No one knows, Alex,” Dad taunts dryly, “nor cares.”

“I want no special treatment,” I remind him. “I have no issue getting coffee.”

“Well, you don’t have to play gopher or clean toilets. You’ve paid those dues already. This is a family-owned business, so there should be advantages to being aButler,even if you write underHearst.”

I nod, not in agreement, but because I’m staring at him with an altered perception while trying to forget what I just read, the gnawing in my gut constant.

He loved Stella. Hereallyloved her. It was so evident.

An image of my smiling mother, riding next to me on Daisy, her favorite Haflinger, flashes through my mind as new pain sears through my chest.

“Well?” Dad chuckles.

“Well, what?” I ask.

“Your coffee,” he nods toward my forgotten cup.

“Right. Want some?”

“No thanks, baby, I’m good.”

“Oh!” I say loudly, startling him. “Mom wants you to pick up Chinese on the way home.”

“’K,” he nods before frowning. “You aren’t coming over?”

“Tomorrow,” I back away slowly, my eyes plastered to his. “I’m going to go get coffee.” I toss a thumb over my shoulder, turn, and practically sprint to the breakroom to fill my cup. Mid-brew, I begin panicking about the fact I might have left a window open on my desktop. Discarding my cup in the sink, I haul ass back toward my office to see Dad’s still standing at Alex’s desk, making small talk. It’s when he sees me empty-handed that he follows me into my office.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Okay,” he sounds behind me in his distinct dad tone, “time to tell me what’s going on.”

Relief washes over me briefly as he takes a seat opposite my desk before I round it to see I did close it all out.

“Nothing, I’m just thinking. I got a line on something, but I don’t know if the source is credible.”

He dips his chin in understanding. “So then, what are the rules?”

“According to my expensive education, or my dad?”

“Dad,” he smirks. “Better choice.”

“Don’t run it unless it’sconcrete.”

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