Page 20 of Mostly Loathing You

Fortunately for my record, that is appearing to be true, and what once threatened to be a months-long trial appears likely to be settled before ever seeing a courtroom.

While I was pushed into pursuing law, my intentions were entirely altruistic. I don’t know if I had a skewed view of what Baker & Park does or thought I’d eventually find a way off the track that was set for me as a child, but the closer I get to the day of taking over my dad’s position, the more I want to just get in a car and drive.

“Sounds great, Dad,” I sigh, rubbing my brow. “I’m starving, though, so I’m going to head back to my office then go grab some lunch.”

He nods in my direction before disappearing down the hallway.

My stomach growls as I make my way back into my and Jackson’s shared space.

“Andre’s?” I ask as I drop my meeting notes on my desk.

Jackson appears to consider my suggestion before nodding in response, grabbing his suit jacket off the back of his desk chair.

Hannah appears in the doorway—I swear she has a sixth sense for when I’m in a shit mood.

“Lunch?” Her peppy tone has me resisting the urge to retort.

“Yeah, we’re grabbing Andre’s,” Jackson responds.

“Can I come? I’m starving!”

“Nope.” I button my suit jacket closed, not even bothering to look up at her.

“Why not?” A slight whine warps her voice.

“Because you weren’t invited,” I say, looking up at her, “and I personally would like to enjoy my small window of Hannah-less time. You’re always around, and it’s getting fucking irritating.”

“You’re not exactly preferred company either, Park.” Her peppy tone from before is nowhere to be found. “In fact, I’m not even sure why Jackson is friends with you. It made sense when we were kids, but why would someonechooseto be around you?”

“Guys,” Jackson chimes in. “This isn’t some family function. This is work—act like it. We get it, you hate each other. In any other situation, I would let you duke it out, but I’m starving and kinda don’t care to deal with it today.”

What crawled up his ass?

My gaze travels back to Hannah, and a wounded expression meets mine. Oh,come on. As quickly as it’s there, it’s gone again, but it’s a manipulation tactic I’m well acquainted with, and it won’t work. I’m not going to give her the attention she clearly wants, nor do I care to indulge her theatrics.

“Besides, Hannah, it’ll give you a chance to do a single one of the tasks that I asked you to do this morning.” My attention shifts back to Jackson. “Let’s go.”

We make it down to the street entrance of the Newmont building before Jackson says anything.

“You didn’t have to be a dick, you know. She’s been having a hard enough time adjusting to Atlanta. You doing shit like that doesn’t exactly help.”

“She’s a big girl, she’s fine.”

“It doesn’t mean you have to make it harder for sport.”

For some reason that stings a bit, but I try not to read into it too much.

I look down at my phone, altering my Andre’s order on their app, hoping that they catch the change before we get there.

The crisp air today is unseasonably chilly for October in Atlanta, but as someone who prefers cooler weather, I welcome the reprieve from the constant ninety-degree days we’ve had for the past week and a half. For once, I don’t feel the urge to strip off my suit jacket the second I step outside.

The moment we enter the familiar restaurant, I’m hit with the scent of roast chicken, one of Andre’s signature dishes that you had better believe I ordered for my lunch.

“Pickup for Thatcher-Miles, please,” Jackson tells the bartender. He is met with a nod as the man disappears behind the exposed separation between the bar and the pass into the kitchen. He reappears with a brown paper box, handing it to Jackson and accepting his card.

I do the same, except I am handed two boxes, my total being close to double Jackson’s. He pins me with a confused look before thanking the bartender.

“What? I’m hungry. I didn’t eat breakfast.”

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