Page 37 of Crawl
Cash’s brows perk up, noticingthatword, like I do.We.But Dean and I haven’t been a ‘we’ in a long time. Why is he trying to protect me from Cash?
In a way, Dean’s instincts are right. Cash is a manipulative, power-hunger asshole boss. But he’s not going to hurt me likethat.
Not before I hurt him first.
“Where’s your phone?” Cash asks, his attention focused solely on me. My cheeks flush.Damn it!I forgot to take my phone off silent. I grab it out of my purse and quickly check the two missed calls, both from Cash. Sweat beads on my body, a dank odor coming from my armpits. I’m always supposed to be available, or I can lose my bonus or even my job at the agency. LPA has a huge contract with the Winstone Company, and I can’t afford these errors.
And Cashstillhas that blackmail video that he can hold over me.
“It’s off of silent, now,” I mutter.
“I tried to warn you I was coming by. You wanted me to check on your maintenance order?”
I blink rapidly, trying to figure out what he’s referring to. Maintenance order? Cash licks his teeth, and I realize that he’s trying to give me a cover so that Dean doesn’t know why he’s really here: our arrangement. Maybe he’s even trying to get Dean to leave.
I tug the scarf around my neck; it’s too hot to wear clothes like this indoors, especially with Cash, but I have to wear it around Dean.
“Yeah. About that,” I say. “Thanks for coming by.”
“Maintenance order?” Dean asks.
“I told you about my fridge door, remember?”
Dean shakes his head, but before he can say a word, Cash interrupts: “When my time allows it, I make personal visits to ensure everything is satisfactory in my properties.”
“This is Remedy’s house,” Dean says. “You have no business being here.”
“Dean,” I snap. What the hell is he doing?
“It’s her rental, actually. One of mine,” Cash says.
Dean’s jaw drops and I lift my shoulders. “The agency has a deal with the Winstone Company. Cheaper rent for access to the workers.”
“And I like to make sure everything is to my standards,” Cash says. He checks his watch. “What do you do,Dean?”
Dean scratches his jaw, his posture rigid. “I teach at the community college.”
Cash nods like he expects this. “It’s the same situation with tenants. You understand the importance of creating bonds with your students, then. If you’re just another nameless, faceless person who pushes another faceless person’s ideology around—if you don’tlistento your students’ needs, and truly understand what’s important to their experience—then how will they trust you to teach them anything of value?”
They stare at each other, and though Dean bows his head to agree, I know he’s pissed. But Cash has the upper hand, and Cash isn’t talking about teaching community college or rental properties. He’s talking aboutme.Like he knows Dean will never truly understand me.
Does Cash know that Dean is my ex?
“Let me walk you out,” Cash says. He puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder, gripping him hard enough that his knuckles turn white. My stomach twists. There’s violence in the way they’re approaching each other, and for some stupid reason, I know if anyone wins, it’ll be Cash. And that scares me for Dean.
“Cash?” I ask right as they reach the door. Cash waits. “Be nice,” I say, pleading with my eyes. Cash nods and I sink inside of myself with nerves. Dean keeps his shoulders straight like he’s ready to fight Cash, but he couldn’t kill a fly, and I know Cash will do anything to destroy Dean. I bite my inner lip.
What’s going on?
Cash returns shortly without Dean. Dean’s truck rumbles outside, and I let out a sigh. I’m relieved. Dean is gone and Cash didn’t have time to do anything to him.
Cash enters my bedroom, settling himself on the wall opposite of me, crossing his arms. The stubble on his face is slightly longer than usual, like he forgot to trim his beard this morning. He’s been losing sleep. I want to hold him and thank him for being there for me.
And I want to slap him. Why is he here anyway? Even if this is his house, it’smyrental.
I throw up my hands in exasperation. “What are you doing here?”
Cash tilts his head toward my phone on the nightstand. “You didn’t answer my calls.”
