Page 57 of Point of Contention
“I didn’t call in any favors, but I did let an old friend know that you would be a beneficial part of his team.”
“Ha! Iknewit.”
“It’s the truth.”
Shaking my head, I huffed. “You can’t do that, Cabot. You can’t get involved in my life.”
He sighed again. “I won’t apologize for wanting the best for you.”
I knew he wouldn’t. So why did I call him? “I have to go,” I finally said, then ended the call before he could argue, before he could use that sexy commanding tone or flirt until my defenses fell.
“Stupid, stupid girl,” I whispered as I tucked my phone into my pocket and hurried to catch the subway back to Park Slope. The farther I walked from Hilltop Publishing, the more it sank in that I’d just blown a potential future job offer at a reputable publishing house.
I
Was
On
A
Freaking
Roll.
Chapter Twenty-One
Rylan
Sunday morning, I awoke with a start, sitting straight up as my brain tried to make sense of the sound filling the house. I blinked rapidly to bring my vision into focus, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Pale light trickled in through the curtains. It was daytime, but felt crazy early. The noise stopped and I wondered if I imagined it, but then it started up again.
Crying.
I pushed out of bed as my brain continued to make sense of the sound. Greer was sobbing somewhere on the first floor, and softly, my mother’s voice came to me, whispered words and hushed murmurs.
Greernevercried. My heart pounded wildly as my brain scrambled to keep up.
I hurried out the door and glanced into Greer’s empty bedroom, then headed down the stairs, taking them two at a time.
I don’t think I’d heard her cry since her parents died—
Oh God.
My stomach dropped into the floorboards.
I stopped abruptly at the base of the stairs, bringing my hand to my mouth as I took in the scene before me.
My heart throbbed painfully in my chest, a new ache growing to replace the old one I’d carried for the past few weeks. This was a different kind of ache. A different kind of loss.
I squeezed my eyes shut and wished it away.
If I went back upstairs, could I pretend this wasn’t happening?
Dressed in her favorite penguin-covered pajama shorts and a matching black camisole, Greer sat on the floor at her grandfather’s feet, her head on his lap as she sobbed.
My mom crouched behind her, murmuring as she ran her hands over Greer’s curls, then down her back and up again. Tears streaked my mom’s cheeks.
The professor remained motionless, stretched out in his favorite chair, his hands wrapped around a book, with his head tilted back and his eyes closed.
