Page 20 of The Confidentiality Clause
Ariel Cambridge
They say you can’t help someone who doesn’t help themselves. I hope that’s not true, considering it’s my mission to do just that for Brock. My efforts thus far have produced minimal results. I’m certain he sleeps on his futon more than at home, and if he tries to go without his phone, he’s twitching after a minute. Not good.
Two nights ago, after leaving Brock in his office, I stared at the ceiling of my bedroom and decided I haven’t been thinking big enough. Maybe it was the sugar high talking, but all of my texts and office check-ins seemed insignificant. Which led me to today’s idea.
My stomach swoops in anticipation as I pull up to the door of Brock’s office. I park, then grab my phone and shoot him a text.
Ariel: Here!
His answer comes a minute later.
Brock: Be down soon.
What I’m about to do is all kinds of risky. It could result in Brock blowing up, or worse–having an anxiety attack or issue with his blood pressure. I can take him getting mad, but I don’t want to make his health worse.
Brock walks out of the front door. He slips on a pair of dark aviator sunglasses that match his black suit. His phone is to his ear, and I can tell by the set of his jaw that he’s dealing with a problem. I grimace. That does not bode well for my plans. He opens the passenger side door of my car and drops his laptop bag on the floor before sliding in, still on the phone.
“I don’t care if it’s going to cost you thousands to send the photographer there. The photos are atrocious, and his wife is crying in their honeymoon suite instead of enjoying Bali. If you want the article, then you’ll send a new photographer to take honeymoon photos instead. You should have hired someone better.” Brock’s voice is as cold as ice. His features soften when he glances at me and mouthssorry.
I give him a reassuring smile before putting the car in drive again and pulling off. Maybe it’s good he’s on the phone. It will keep him distracted for longer. I told him we were going to work from my house for a few hours today. A change of scenery. The second part is true, but the first…well, let’s hope he gets a few more calls.
“I’ll let them know you’re sending someone. Destroy the photos. If a single one is left in existence, your job will be erased like they should have been.”
He hangs up. I raise my eyebrows. Brock and I may spar with words, but I couldn’t imagine being on the receiving end of his actual anger.
“Sorry about that, I–” His phone starts buzzing in his hand. “It never ends.”
“Don’t worry about it. I told you we’d be working together.” I gesture to his phone. “Take as many calls as you’d like.”
“Thanks,” he says quickly before answering the call.
I drive for a little over an hour before he notices we’re still in the car.
“Where are we?” he asks after hanging up with a client.
“Halfway to our destination,” I say with a cheery smile.
He checks his watch. “We’ve been in the car for a while now. You said you live ten minutes away from me.”
“Mmm about that. We’re not going to my house.”
“What do you mean?”
I feel his eyes on me. Thankfully, I have to look at the road.
“I mean what I said.”
“Where are we going?” he asks, sounding exasperated.
“Asheville.”
“As in, two-and-a-half-hours-away Asheville?”
My smile widens. “The very one.”
“It’s almost five now. That’s too late for a day trip.” I can hear the confusion threading through his voice.
“That’s correct. We’re staying the weekend.”
