Page 58 of Heart Strings & Hotlines
“Their network, I believe.” So, he’s not a complete scumbag then, just ninety-nine percent scumbag. “Based on what I’ve learned, she doesn’t have a relationship with her father anymore and would rather fold her company than let him have it. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to go in with a lowball offer. This isn’t common knowledge yet.”
“No. And hear me when I say this, Roger. No.”
His face tightens, but I don’t care enough to decode it. “If it’s not common knowledge, then how do you know?”
“I have a friends-with-benefits situation happening with a girl at the courthouse. She lets things slip occasionally.”
Who the hell would sleep with this smarmy excuse for a man?
Why are you working with him?My narrator chooses a fucking annoying time to point that out.
“Per our contract, this information stays between us,” I growl. “If I hear that you even breathe a word of it to anyone else, I will crush you. Do you understand?”
“Yeah. But?—”
“No buts, Roger. Our business together has officially concluded, so I need you to be very clear in understanding this—everything pertaining to Charlotte Sinclair’s company falls under the umbrella of my NDA. If word gets out about this, or anything else we’ve discussed in the past, you’ll be lucky to get a job at a 7-Eleven in the middle of Nebraska. Am I clear?”
“What? Are you firing me?”
I’ve never had a tolerance for whiny voices, and now is no exception. “You were contracted to do a job that is no longer required.”
“I—I know you went after her, you know. I know you’re still trying to work this deal. If you partner with Miss Sinclair, I still get a cut. You can’t ice me out on this, Thane. It’s unethical, and I’ll take it straight to Miss Sinclair if that’s what’s happening.”
My volcano erupts faster than I’m prepared for, causing my vision to blur into a hazy cloud of red rage. The thought of him anywhere near Charlotte, my Charlotte, causes my ears to ring and my clothes to become too tight. My skin feels as though it’s shrinking around my bones, and the light overhead begins assaulting my senses.
“Miss Sinclair,” I seethe, “is not now, and will never be selling her company.” I’ll make damn sure of it. “Our business is concluded. My attorney will send you a copy of the signed NDA to refresh your memory.”
I slam the laptop closed and, as gently as possible, set Hercules on the floor.
I don’t know what’s happening to me, so I pace and hit the wall each time I near it. The light flickers, and I slam my palm against the switch to turn it off. It helps, momentarily.
Pacing. Cursing. Hitting. Repeat. Then repeat again and again as my narrator shouts.One, two, three, and four. Two, two, three, and four.
Hercules sits in the corner, but I’m not sure if she’s making that whining sound or if it’s coming from somewhere deep inside me.
“Thane, breathe deeply. You’re holding your breath, and that makes it worse.”
I spin on Rafe, who holds out his arms to what? Placate me? Soothe me? There’s no fucking soothing this. The only thing I can do is wait for it to pass.
My narrator tells me to talk to Lottie and to send my lawyer a note about Roger. It tells me to breathe, and walk, and find a solution for her lawsuit. It tells me that Kara needs to be enrolled in school, and needs to go shopping, and apparently needs to have a sex talk. That Rafe is only trying to help, and the Scuttlebutts are pissed off that I haven’t signed up with the trash lady yet, all while counting in the background. It just never stops. Never.
“Thane, do you remember what this is?”
“Self-soothing,” I spit out on autopilot.
“That’s right. Some people go to the gym, some people take a shower?—”
“Yeah, I know. And some people spin in place and bang their heads. Others pace and tap and fucking hit walls. I know.”
“That’s right.”
“Maybe I can’t do this for either of them. Maybe I’m not what Kara needs. I don’t want her to…to be like me.” I’ve never feared anything, but I know with certainty that is my greatest fear, and it’s all-consuming. What if I’m not what Charlotte needs either? Can I ask her, or anyone, for that matter, to deal with someone like me? Someone so…damaged?
“He’s an idiot. Damaged. He can’t go to school. I won’t allow anyone to know that I have a fucking moron for a son.” Daddy’s words don’t make sense to me. I’m already doing multiplication. An idiot wouldn’t even be able to read.
“Jonah, please.” Mommy shaved her head last week. It’s weird, but she’s still pretty. “You know that’s not true.”
“Tara, I love you, but there’s something wrong with that child.” He stares at me like mommy did when she stepped in dog poop at the park. “I’ll not have him spinning in place and hitting himself because he doesn’t know how to use goddamn words. He’s not going to school, and that’s final.”
