Page 60 of Perfect Assumption
“Oh? What’s that supposed to mean?” I challenge her.
“Just like him, I’m a lonely misfit. I had planned on leading a very different life, but this is the path I was put on. Maybe that road wasn’t meant to be, but how I learned that isn’t something I discuss.” Her fingers trail over the smooth surface of the wood of the conference room table. She suddenly frowns. “I’ll share this because I think you of all people will understand it. People traipse through life treating emotions like they’re disposable. And in this world of 24/7 news, of quick-hit attention spans, maybe people think emotions can be recycled. They’re not. Some emotions are meant to scar your soul so deeply you don’t know what it’s like to live without them. They may not be comforting, but they’re a part of you.” Her eyes lift to mine. “Much as I imagine your parents’ death has left that impact on you.”
“Yes.” It’s the only word I can manage.
“Even beyond the things he brought to our attention recently, Becks has been through things like that. Things that changed him irrevocably. He recognized a like-minded person in me because of what happened. He’s been the brother I never had—a rock, not a rock god. Other than Sula…”
“Who’s that?” I interrupt, craving every bit of knowledge about the beauty in front of me.
“Sula was my freshman-year roommate. We’ve remained…close doesn’t begin to explain it.”
“I have friends like that.” I’m thinking of the guys from prep school who held on despite my attempt to shove them away.
She nods. “Sula and Becks, they can truly appreciate how badly lies and assumptions did their best to destroy my life.” While I recover from the bluntness of her statement, she asks, “Now it’s your turn to answer a question.”
“All right.”
“Why did telling you that matter? Why was it so important for you to understand that after all this time?” Angie wonders.
Leveling a direct look at her, I answer, “Because I’ve been ridiculously jealous for two years: first of your ‘family’ that Carrie kept harping on about, then of Becks. I figured it was better to find out the truth from the source instead of relying upon gossip or innuendo if you’re involved with anyone.”
“Ward…” Angie’s obviously flustered.
“Yes?”
“I’m not involved with anyone, but I’m not certain I want to be. I honestly don’t know if I can be.”
Open. Honest. Direct. And so beautiful that looking at her makes my eyes hurt. Is it any wonder part of me has no problem saying, “That’s okay. Why don’t you let me know when you are? In the meanwhile, we should work on being friends first. I think that’s a good place to start. Don’t you?”
“You want to be friends with me? Me?” Her voice trills shrilly.
I shrug nonchalantly. “Why not? It’s a great way for us to get to know one another.”
Her jaw sags open. Leaning over, I reach for her soup spoon and plunge it into her rapidly cooling pho. “Better eat while the soup’s still hot.” I lift the spoon to her lips.
She grabs the utensil from my hand. As our fingers brush, a current of electricity races across my skin. I’d give up every dime to my name to feel her hands on my body just to see what kind of charge we’d generate together. If a touch could cause such a reaction, I can only imagine a full touch would be more explosive than an atomic experiment used during Manhattan Project.
Then Angie completely undoes me by wrapping her lips around the spoon, drinking the minuscule amount of broth I had on it before lifting her bowl and toasting me with it and drinking the contents rather like the Beast in a long-ago children’s cartoon movie I remember Carys being obsessed with. Even after she puts the bowl back down and I look at her in astonishment, she merely quirks a brow. “I don’t hide things like food habits from my friends. I think the best parts of pho are the bean sprouts and the broth. That’s why I said no noodles.”
Even as I roar with laughter, Angie asks, “So, tell me what’s made you decide to work with your sister?”
And I launch into a lengthy explanation about how Carys and I had always wanted to both be lawyers—like our father. “When we got older and she started clerking for a federal judge, I pretty much threw that plan out the window.”
“Did you feel like it was a loss of something else in your life? Back then,” she qualifies.
I pause. “Do you know you’re the first person to ask me that question?”
“Surely not.” When I don’t respond, Angie’s voice holds shock when she asks, “None of your friends did?”
“Back then, my friends were too concerned about drinking and scoring drugs. They were too worried about not being caught by their parents. We were a group of idiots at boarding school who thought we were too cool for any kinds of rules or regulations,” I admit wryly.
“And yet, you became a lawyer.”
“In the back of mind, I always knew what my future was. I never crossed over the line the way they did. Before, well, I’m sure I gave my family a few gray hairs,” I add on when I catch her raised brow. “Especially with the whole underage drinking bit.”
She doesn’t say anything, so I ask, “What? You weren’t a party girl?”
“There wasn’t a different kind of law you wanted to go into?” Angie abruptly changes the topic.
