Page 66 of Free to Run
“Yes, it is,” I counter. “Every. Single. Time.” I count to five. “I’ve ceased to be your sister, and I’ve become the enemy. I’ve tried to figure out why. I’ve tried to explain. I’ve tried to make you understand, and you don’t want to hear me. You want to hate me.” I shake my head, missing her face, which goes wild with despair. “So be it. I can’t be anyone else but me. Love me, hate me, that’s for you to decide.” I pause. “Now, if there’s nothing pressing on the docket today, I have a number of things to catch up on and projects I need to start that I’ve been putting off.” Sitting behind my desk, I move my briefcase to the floor and remove my laptop.
Cassidy is still standing there, stunned.
“Is there something else?” I ask politely.
“I…I guess not. I’ll see you later.” She smiles weakly.
“I’ll likely be working straight through the day, but buzz me if you need me for signatures,” I say.
She hesitates at my door. “Actually, I was hoping we could all grab lunch. We haven’t done that in a while.”
I’m already shaking my head no before she stops talking. “As I had to take a few unexpected days off, I need to catch up. Another time, maybe.” Maybe when I feel like a member of this family again.
“Oh, okay. I’ll leave you to it.” She pauses another time.
I sigh, and Cassidy flinches.
“Was there something else, Cassidy?”
“I don’t say this often enough, because I assume you just know it. I’m so impressed by what you do here. By who you are as a person,” she says softly.
I snort. I can’t help it. “Yeah, I can tell.”
Her expression is laced with pain. “I mean it, Ali.”
“Right now, I’m sure you do.” My voice is, gratefully, still void of the bitterness desperate to seep through. “Though I wonder how much of this VIP treatment I’m receiving from you this morning is due to my actual work performance versus what you saw in the parking lot. Or is it the job offer I received from Watson, Rubenstein, and Dalton?”
What little color was left in Cassidy’s face leeches away. “You’re thinking about leaving?”
Well, crap. I guess Jared hadn’t spread that info to the family. “Actively, no. But with the way things have been going here lately, it’s nice to know I have alternatives. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” I stand up and make my way to my door.
She takes a step back, her blue-green eyes glassy. “I’m sorry, Alison. For so much.” And before I can reach the handle, she quickly nabs it and pulls it closed behind her.
I can hear her muffled sobs as she makes her way to her office.
Rubbing my hand along my forehead, I feel a tension headache starting to build. I root around in my desk for medicine, pop a few tablets with some coffee, and boot up my laptop, ready to get to work.
* * *
There’sa knock on my door hours later.
“Come in,” I call out. I’m fighting with the questions Phil has asked about the intake process. So much of what he’s asking could be done before the couple walks through our door if they’re willing to sign certain privacy waivers. I’m tapping a pen against my desk, trying to figure out the solution, when Keene slides through the door and closes it behind him. He’s holding a bag that permeates my office with a delicious aroma, reminding me that I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast this morning.
“I thought you might be hungry since you didn’t come downstairs.” I listen for any censure in his voice but hear nothing.
Relaxing, I lean back in my chair. “What time is it?”
“Close to two. You’ve got to be starving by now.” There’s the gentle rebuke.
I roll my eyes right before my stomach growls. My cheeks flame and I can’t help but laugh at myself as I reach for the bag he’s holding out toward me. “What did you bring me?’
“Cassidy subjected your siblings to Subway because she was craving their chicken teriyaki.” Keene’s words are laced with humor. “Phil was horrified. He proceeded to lift his shirt and explain he didn’t get his abs by eating Subway like their spokesman did. Cass countered that he didn’t get them by working out either, as the only workout he did on a regular basis was sucking Jason’s cock.”
I burst out laughing at the terrified expression on Keene’s face.
“I’m traumatized. I don’t know whether I need eye bleach or noise-canceling headphones if we work here much longer.” Keene’s serious tone and stoic face is full of crap. His eyes are dancing.
Still amused, I reach over for the covered bowl and find chicken and dumpling soup with homemade biscuits from Frances—amazing Southern food. I dive in.
