Chapter 11 Willow
Willow
“C’mon, one glass won’t kill ya.”
Glancing longingly at the bottle of wine Cammie’s holding, I shake my head. Tomorrow, Bryant and I are going to SCI Somerset to meet with Mr. Hunter, and I’m nervous enough without adding alcohol to the mix.
“Really, I’m good.”
She pours herself a glass with a huff. “Party pooper.”
I chuckle at her. “Let me get through tomorrow, and then we can drink all you want.”
“Promises, promises.”
We move from the kitchen to the living room and sit on the couch. When I told my best friend that I was finally going to meet Craig Hunter, she jumped in her car and drove straight here, saying she ‘needed the tea’ or she ‘wouldn’t sleep a wink’.
“Anyway,” I say, dragging the word out. “What tea do you want?”
“Let’s see.” She pauses while tapping her chin, pretending to think. “Uh, I want it all.”
“Hmmm, well, Bryant and I are meeting at the office at noon, and then we’ll make the hour drive to the—”
“Okay, so maybe I don’t want all of it,” she mutters, and I laugh. “So, do you know what you’re gonna wear?”
“Clothes,” I reply sarcastically.
“No shit, Sherlock. But what clothes?”
“I dunno,” I admit. “Haven’t really given it much thought.”
The lie rolls off my tongue too easily. I’ve given my attire for tomorrow way too much thought. I’d have to be dead not to have noticed how good-looking Mr. Hunter is, and the thought of wearing something nice to meet him causes my insides to flutter.
Crazy.
Cammie hurries to her feet, grabs my hand, and practically drags me down the hall to my bedroom. “You’re gonna meet a man you’ve been obsessed with for the last decade, and you haven’t given it much thought? You realize how insane that is, right?”
“I mean, I’ll be working, so I figured I’d wear what I normally wear to the office.”
“But you’re not going to the office, now are you?”
“Cam, I’m going to a prison. It’s not like I can wear a mini skirt and spiked heels.”
“Of course, not.” After setting her half-empty glass of wine on my dresser, she moves to my walk-in closet. “Doesn’t mean you can’t look hot as fuck.”
“And if Bryant thinks I’m dressing up for him?”
Why I’m even entertaining her notions of looking good for a man I don’t even know is beyond me, yet here we are.
“Didn’t you say he’s married?” she asks, shuffling through every article of clothing hanging in the closet.
“Right, because that matters to most men.”
“Oooh, what about this?” she asks, holding up a black mini dress.
“Did you miss the part where I’ll be in a prison?”
Cammie tosses the dress onto the bed. “Fine, not that one.” A few seconds later, she pulls a white cami with a lacy neckline and royal blue form-fitting blazer from the hangers to throw at me. “Go try these on with a pair of your dark wash jeans.”
I yank my hoodie over my head, along with the t-shirt I’ve got on underneath and put on the cami and jacket. Then I slip my leggings off to change into jeans. I cross the room to the full-length mirror on the wall to look at my reflection.
Damn.
Cammie whistles as she comes to stand behind me, dropping a pair of royal blue flats at my feet. “And these.”
Once I’m fully dressed in the ensemble she chose, I grin. “Yeah, this could work.”
“Are you kidding me?” she counters. “It’s perfect. Professional, yet hot enough to start a riot.”
“In other words, I should change,” I tease. “Because a riot is the last thing I want while I’m there.”
Before she can respond, my cell rings, and I rush to the living room to answer it. When ‘Dad’ flashes across the screen, I groan.
“Hi, Dad.”
I put the call on speaker and return to the bedroom.
“Hi, Willow,” he says, and Cammie rolls her eyes when she hears his voice. “How are you doing? It’s been a few weeks since we’ve met for dinner.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. I’ve just been so busy at the center,” I explain. “I’m good though. Really good.”
“Good, good,” he says, then clears his throat. “I’m actually calling about the center.”
“Oh?”
“It’s been brought to my attention that you’re going to meet with Craig Hunter tomorrow.”
Setting my cell on my mattress, I start to change back into my comfy clothes. “It has?”
“Yes. I want you to cancel that meeting.”
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
“No, I’m not going to cancel the meeting.”
“You will do as you’re told, Willow Grace.”
“First of all, I’m twenty-four years old, Dad. You don’t get to dictate what I can and can’t do. Second, I’m not canceling because it’s my job.”
“I’d hardly call time spent at PWCC a job,” he counters harshly.
“Whoa, Mr. Crane, that’s uncalled for,” Cammie says.
Dad sighs. “Hello, Cammie.”
“Hi,” she replies with false cheer.
“Uncalled for or not, it’s the truth. The work the PWCC does is a disgrace to the justice system. I’d really prefer not to be embarrassed by my daughter pretending to work there.”
“And on that note,” I begin. “I’m hanging up.”
I disconnect the call, flop onto the bed, bury my head in a pillow, and scream as loud as I can muster. Cammie lies next to me and wraps an arm around my back.
“I’m sorry he’s such a dick.”
I roll over so we’re both on our backs, staring at the ceiling. “I knew he wasn’t happy about me volunteering there, but this? This is too much.” Shaking my head, I sigh. “I don’t get it, Cam. Why is he so upset about this? And the Hunter case? It wasn’t even his case, so what does he care?”
“I don’t know, babe. Does it matter, though?” she asks. I mean, it’s not like you’re gonna listen to him, so ignore him and do you.”
My cell pings with a notification, and I lift it to read the text.
Dad: That was rude, Willow Grace.
Me: So was what you said.
Dad: I just don’t see why this is so important to you.
Me: And that’s the problem. I’ve tried to tell you, but you don’t listen.
Dad: The clients of PWCC are beneath you.
Rather than continue to argue with him, I turn my phone off.
“You go, girl,” Cammie encourages, sitting up. “How ‘bout that glass of wine?”
I laugh lightly. “Yes, please.”