Give Me Butterflies (Oaks Sisters #1)

Chapter 37

Millie

The final drop of hot glue cools against my fingertip, and I release the small string. The chrysalis sways as I let go, but

the hot glue and string keep it in place. Twenty-three new Blue Morpho chrysalises adorn the rack that will hang in our containment

room until the butterflies emerge in about six days. I set the rack in the frame where it belongs and walk back to our room

of offices.

Today is the day. The other applicant should be here any minute, and I’m not quite sure how to prepare myself for it. Micah

is at a library outreach program all day, so it’s just me, waiting for fate to bring my competition down the hall.

Maybe it’ll be a kind old woman who has been obsessed with insects her whole life and can teach me how to crochet a sweater.

Or maybe someone my age, who’s just so incredibly wonderful that I can’t help rooting for them to get the job. A new best

friend might be popping around the corner at any moment.

I drop into my desk chair and open my email. As I scan a message from Reva, footsteps thud down the hallway. The deep sound

is rather menacing, but I’m sure it’s just a trick of the acoustics. I sit up straighter and will my smile not to break as

my new friend approaches.

But when the visitor rounds the corner and enters the doorway, the temperature in the room drops to freezing. A fist squeezes through my ribs and constricts my lungs until my vision darkens from a lack of oxygen.

I blink a few times, trying to clear the mirage before me.

Splash of blond hair.

Sharp, smooth jaw.

Beady eyes.

This is not real life.

No possible way that Kyle Marks is the other applicant.

But that’s Kyle’s arrogantly lifted eyebrow and smarmy grin.

And that’s Kyle’s cavalier voice grating over my nerves when he says, “Cat got your tongue?”

He saunters to the empty desk and drops into the seat, kicking his heels up on the surface and crossing his arms over his

chest. “Is this my new desk?”

My hands shake in my lap, and I hide them in the flowy sections of my skirt.

“Maybe you wouldn’t be so shocked right now if you’d answered my messages,” he sneers.

Take a breath, Millie. I have to keep breathing. The alternative is not good.

I force a small intake of air past my lips, but it does nothing to make my limbs move or my mouth form words.

Kyle’s feet drop to the floor, and he spins in his chair like he’s a child on a playground without a care in the world. Meanwhile,

I’m over here suffocating as an anxiety attack clouds the edges of my vision.

“Do you remember how to speak? If not, it’s going to be a little complicated being your boss this week.”

Another breath, Millie.

I lower my eyes to my desk and find the green Post-it note that still has Finn’s handwriting on it from the coffee he left me weeks ago. It has lost its stickiness, but I’ve taped it beside my office phone. I trace his letters with my eyes, trying to calm myself through the visual focus.

But my spotty vision does me a disservice. I can’t see that Kyle has approached my desk until it’s too late. His fingers rake

through the tips of my hair, and I cower away from him.

He laughs cruelly. “Damn. If you had that haircut when we were together, I might still be around.”

The words hit me like a blow, and my muscles spasm as I shrink back from him. My heart rate can’t be in a normal range right

now. The strength of its beat is rattling my skull.

Kyle huffs a dark chuckle, apparently amused by my reaction to him, then glances at his watch. “I have a meeting with my new

boss. I just wanted to say hi before I dazzled her.”

My desk rattles as he knocks his knuckles on the hard surface before strolling out the door.

Darkness creeps into the edges of my vision, and I crumple to the ground and lean against the wall as the room closes in around

me.

***

Seventeen tiles span one direction of this room, and twenty-nine the other. That’s 493 tiles that I have counted six times.

I think that means my vision is doing better. The room doesn’t feel so dark and small anymore, and my lungs have almost reached

the point of expanding to their full potential again. I can feel my fingers and toes, and the sound of the air conditioner

whirring through the room is louder than my heartbeat in my ears.

So many emotions have exploded through my system in the last hour. Rage. Shock. Denial. Humiliation. Confusion.

How did I not see this coming? As far as I know, Kyle has a job as an entomologist with an environmental biology company. Working in a museum isn’t the kind of job he ever mentioned being interested in. Actually, he knew this was my dream job. I’ve been talking about it since we met in college.

He isn’t meant for a job like this. I am.

But even Finn said he was a good applicant. Betrayal burns hot through my veins as I remember his words.

You each have different skills and abilities to bring to the position, but both of you are very passionate and would make

great department directors.

A sharp pain stings my throat as I try to understand. Now that I know it was Kyle he was talking about, the words feel like

treachery.

How could he like someone who hurt me so badly? Who treated me like trash and apparently still finds it entertaining to do

so. How could Finn not see through the orchestrated version of Kyle that he must’ve presented in that interview?

Well, I spent years falling for his manipulations.

The air squeezes out of my lungs in a harsh, forced breath.

I need a plan before he gets back to this office. I can’t spend the rest of the day hiding in the corner.

Pressing my palms and fingers into the cool tile floor, I try to think through what to do.

There are a few tasks that would keep me out of the office, but I have no idea what Kyle’s day will look like, since he doesn’t

actually work here. Where will he be and what will he be doing all day? And most importantly, how can I avoid him?

Before he can make it back in here, I lift myself from the floor and bring up the library outreach event email. Then I shut

down my computer, grab my purse, and flee the office to join Micah for the afternoon.

***

I’m not proud of the fact that I called in sick to work this morning.

I’m also not proud that I lied to my best friend about being sick and then watched Gilmore Girls all day without her.

And I’m not proud that I’ve completely ignored every one of Finn’s worried calls and texts.

But I have no idea what to say to him. I’ve processed enough over the last twenty-four hours to logically understand that

Finn is not the bad guy here. I can’t blame him for something that isn’t actually his fault.

It’s Kyle’s fault.

I had to tell Micah yesterday afternoon when I found him at the library since he also has to deal with the work situation,

but I swore him to secrecy.

So today has been wasted in bed as I wallow in self-pity. I’m now surrounded by an empty bowl of salsa, a half-finished bag

of tortilla chips, an iced coffee that I didn’t drink before the ice melted, and a considerable dusting of powdered sugar

from the almond croissants I had delivered. And in the back of my mind, I’m telling myself to buck up and get it together.

Maybe shower and eat some not-junk food. Go for a walk and get some sunshine on my face.

But I just can’t find the enthusiasm. I can’t find the will to go back to work tomorrow and face my worst nightmare.

My phone chimes with a text, and I lift it from my nightstand.

Finn: Just dropped off some soup at your front door. I didn’t knock in case you’re resting, but go get it when you wake up so a

raccoon doesn’t steal it. I hope you feel better soon.

A deep breath rushes out of me. He bought me soup because he thinks I’m sick, and I’m lying about it by omission. Guilt sours

my stomach.

Clutching my phone to my chest, I jump into motion. The bag of chips tumbles to the floor, but I ignore it, jogging through

the silent house. Maybe I can catch him before he leaves and tell him the truth right now. He doesn’t deserve to think I’m

sick. It’s not his fault.

When I open the door, a small cooler sits on the doormat, but I don’t see his car in the driveway. I take a few steps out

and see he’s not on the street anymore either. My shoulders droop, and I reluctantly grab the cooler and lug it into the kitchen.

My phone rings in my hand, startling me, and I place the cooler on the counter to look at it. An image of my mom and dad sticking

their tongues out greets me, and I swipe to answer the FaceTime before I can think better of it.

“Hey,” I greet them, holding the phone up so they can see my face. The tiny image of me in the corner reveals my hair sticking

in every direction and a lovely salsa stain on the collar of my pajama shirt. I drop my chin and try to rub it away, but the

evidence remains.

“Sweetie,” Mom coos. Her face fills most of the screen, with only about a third of my dad’s in view. “We heard you’re sick.

How are you feeling?”

I roll my eyes. Lena must’ve called them. “I’m okay.” As the guilt of my lie burns in my throat, I decide now seems like a

good time to start being honest with people before the news spreads any further. “It was more of a mental-health day, really.”

Mom sticks her bottom lip out. “Oh no. What’s going on?”

I abandon the cooler and walk to the couch, tucking myself into my favorite corner and pulling my weighted blanket over my

lap while I tell them about yesterday.

By the end of my explanation, my dad is pacing through the kitchen behind my mom, working himself into a tizzy. “We’re going down there, Mary. I don’t want that bastard around our daughter.” He stops with his hands on his hips, scowling into the phone. His dark, protective eyes remind me so much of Finn that my heart aches.

“I’m going to handle it,” I tell them. “I just needed today to recuperate. Tomorrow I’m going to show up to work with the

best attitude I can muster.” I nod, trying to pump myself up for that.

Mom’s arm must be tired, because she sets her phone on the table and sits in the chair in front of the screen, cutting off

the view of the top of her head in the process.

“Millie, listen to me,” she says, pointing toward the phone. “You’ve come a long way since you left Kyle, and we’re proud

of you every day . But that doesn’t mean you don’t need help sometimes. You have so many people who would be by your side in an instant if

you needed them. Don’t forget that.”

My chest tightens, and I bite the inside of my cheek to stop my lips from twisting with emotion.

Dad walks up behind Mom and sets his chin on her shoulder. “You’re better than he makes you feel. He’s a liar and a snake

and he will get what’s coming to him.”

Two tears drip from my eyes, and I try to wipe them away before they can see. They might get in the car to drive down here

if they know the raging emotions battling inside me right now.

Mom’s lips press into a firm line. “Honey, does Finn know about this?”

I shake my head silently, afraid that if I open my mouth, more tears will fall.

She sighs. “Yeah, he didn’t mention anything.”

My breath freezes and my body stills. “You talked to Finn?”

Dad nods. “We got off the phone with him about an hour ago.”

Regret bubbles through me. He’s so worried about me that he got me soup and called my parents to tell them I didn’t feel well?

My chin quivers. I’m the worst. I can’t believe I let him think that.

I look between my parents, trying to sort through how to fix this.

Dad’s brows stitch together, and he tilts his head. “Who did you think taught him how to make the soup?”

Chills creep over my body, prickling the hairs on the back of my neck. I inhale a shaky breath as two more tears fall, but

I can’t move my hand to wipe them away this time.

Who did I think made the soup? The café around the corner, obviously.

“Well, shit.” Dad sighs, kneeling on their kitchen floor beside my mom’s chair. “Doesn’t look like she knew about that yet.”

Several quick, short breaths fill my chest, but my body doesn’t feel the oxygen.

The soup. The soup.

I spring into action, running the few steps to the kitchen. I set the phone down on the counter, giving my parents a great

view of the ceiling while they whisper to each other.

As soon as I lift the lid of the cooler, the herby aroma of Dad’s chicken-and-rice soup fills the air, and more tears fall

without permission. I pull the glass container out and unsnap the lid.

Chunks of chicken, rice, diced carrots, and celery chopped so finely it’s almost invisible. It looks exactly like my dad’s.

Sniffling, I pick up the phone and find my parents’ soft gazes. The small image of me reveals how red my eyes are. I actually

do look sick now.

“How did the soup get here, Dad?” My tone makes it sound like an accusation because I already know the answer in my gut. I

just need him to confirm it for me.

“I imagine Finn dropped it off,” he says with a shrug. “We spent an hour on the phone with him, walking him through all the steps. Does it seem like he got it right?”

“It seems like he got it perfect,” I whisper, trying to hold back the flood threatening to pour from my eyes.

“Well, take a bite,” Mom encourages.

The silverware drawer squeaks as I open it and grab a spoon. I scoop up a bite of soup, and the moment it hits my tongue,

the chicken and herbs meld together perfectly, soothing my soul.

“It’s exactly like yours, Dad.”

He nods approvingly. “Finn’s a good one. I like him.”

“I like him too,” I whisper.

“Then you better tell him what’s going on.” Mom’s voice is firm. “Because I like him too, and I want to see those girls again.”

My parents keep me company while I eat two bowls of soup, fussing over me through the phone screen, before they hang up, demanding

I talk to Finn.

I settle back into my spot on the couch to text him. Everything is still too raw to hear his voice and explain my thoughts

right now.

Millie: You went so far beyond what you had to with the soup. Thank you. You have no idea how much it means to me. Can I come by

your office tomorrow?

Finn: You’re welcome. And you can always come by. Are you feeling better?

Millie: A little bit. I’ll tell you more about it tomorrow.

Finn: I wish you were here. My bed is cold without you.

Millie: Same. Your blanket is warmer than mine.

Finn: That’s the only thing you like here?

Millie: Also the morning espresso.

Finn: Is that really it?

Millie: Oh! I forget about my mixer! I like that too.

Finn: You’re still a wicked little temptress.

Millie: Yeah, but you like it.

Finn: So much, stella mia. I’ll see you tomorrow.

Millie: Goodnight.

The front door bangs open as I send the last message, and Lena storms in, with Emil and Micah hot on her heels.

“Millicent Phoenix Oaks.” Lena stops in front of me with her hands on her hips. “Are. You. Sick?” she demands with a tight

jaw.

My eyes flick to Micah, and he winces. “Sorry, Mills.”

I purse my lips, and that’s all the confirmation Lena needs.

“Damn it,” she huffs. “You needed us and didn’t tell us.” She turns to jab a finger in Micah’s chest, and he flinches. “And

you should’ve told me the second you knew.” She narrows her eyes at Emil. “How long have you known?”

He lowers his eyes, and Lena growls in response.

“Completely ridiculous,” Lena shouts, throwing her hands in the air. “Are we even friends if we don’t have each other’s backs?”

The guilt is burning through my veins again, threatening to make me sick.

“Well, Millie only told me—” Micah starts.

“Don’t even,” Lena cuts him off. “You should’ve told us immediately. Our girl needed us.”

Micah scratches his cheek and nods in understanding.

I swallow the lump in my throat and tell Lena, “Don’t be mad at him. It’s my fault. I forced him to keep it a secret.”

“Well,” she says with a satisfied smirk. “Apparently, it only takes one margarita for him to spill it. He also admitted to

giving Finn my number so I could give him your dad’s.” She grins knowingly. “How was the soup?”

A sad smile lifts the corners of my lips. “It was delicious.”

“Good.” Lena drops to the couch next to me. “Now, tell us what happened yesterday.”

Micah and Emil join us on the couch, and I finally tell the truth about everything.

Lena blows out a long breath as I finish, shaking her head. “We need a plan.”

I shrug. “I have one. I just endure it. I refuse to quit my job, and I refuse to pull out of the running for the promotion.

He doesn’t get to watch me completely ruin my life because of him again.” All three of them nod. “I’m going to fight tooth

and nail to earn it.” I cross my arms over my chest, feeling better already just by saying all of that out loud.

Lena squeezes her arms around my shoulders, swaying me back and forth. “I’m so fucking proud of you. I had a whole pep talk

planned, but it sounds like you didn’t need it. You thought it up yourself.” She smacks a kiss on my cheek. “Now let’s bake

cookies and learn how to make voodoo dolls to hex him with.”