Chapter 12. Micah
MICAH
My game’s off this morning. My head spins, thick with fog. I was awake all night, and cried at the pink morning sky.
Sleep deprivation wreaks havoc on someone like me.
Val’s doctor friend said these new meds would slow the Shadow People from parading around in my life.
She thinks she knows what’s best for me.
But I pretend for her too. She’d be crushed if she knew.
Val’s been the one constant in my life these past four years. She’s also a nut job.
I stand taller passing through the agency’s glass doors. Each step measured, concealing the knives digging into my skin.
Eunice halts her phone conversation and throws me a look.
I return it with one that shuts her down.
I count my steps to the long table by the far wall, where I lay my bag on my desk chair and slip out my notebook. I release a long breath, ignoring the shadowy figure leaning against the conference room doorway, and step into the room.
“Morning.”
The team glances up from their phones for a nanosecond.
Scott often skips our client updates, knowing I can run them. Makes them less formal. This one should be quick. I settle in the seat next to Brynn, facing the door. Best to see if more Shadow People decide to join us.
No one gives me a second look. I exhale and open my notebook.
“My cousin—you know, the one who’s a content producer for that new meditation app . . .” Priya’s eyes gleam as she entertains the room with another family story. The girl has more relatives than a polygamist.
“The hot mess?” Josie’s eyes pop wide as she grins.
Priya smiles. “The very same. She says they get a phenomenal number of clicks advertising with AA and rehab websites, and even breastfeeding moms groups. Meditation enhances milk production, apparently.”
“Bingers and lactators.” Donovan throws her a wild grin. “Sounds like a party.”
“Dentist offices too.” She giggles.
He nods. “Cue the micro-drillers.”
My eyes bounce around the table. These two will go at it all day if I let them.
Brynn gives me the side-eye.
Shit.
Without drawing attention, I scan myself. Limbs relaxed. Nothing twitching. What’s her deal? Go save somebody else. “You have a thought?”
“Several.” She turns away.
Guess she caught me laughing at her clumsiness yesterday. Seems she’s not afraid of me. Too bad. More fun when they are. And hey, I’m giving this girl a chance to shadow our creative team and maybe learn something. You think she’d attempt a modicum of civility.
Priya stops talking and her cheesy grin expands, as if she knows our new intern is getting under my skin. Priya may play the ingenue, but she’s intuitive as hell. This time, though, she’s mistaken.
“Growing a beard, Micah?” She taps her index finger on her lips, supporting her elbow.
“Going for the thug look today.” I turn the wattage up on my smile to quell her nosiness and ignore Josie’s glower over my choice of words. She’s our ambassador for political correctness, or whatever they call it.
Brynn’s brows knit together.
“Thought I’d start wearing skirts too.” I return her askance look.
Her head whips back, sizing me up like I’m the homophobic subway guy from yesterday.
Eunice hovers near the door, her stooped stance not helping her job security. “Max would like to see you after.”
I nod, ignoring the same look she gave me when I walked in. “Let’s begin.” I clear my throat. “Meredith, update us on Bradley Products and Quotagian, if you will.”
Val’s texts light up my phone.
Talk to your dad yet?
You’re being a wuss
Ignoring me won’t make it go away
WTF?
I hate when she does this. In Val’s world, everything happens in the now. She loathes procrastination.
I silence my phone and wait for Aunt Max to end her call behind Granddad’s mahogany desk, accented with solid brass hardware, gilded scrolls, and a growling lion’s head at the center of its base.
My aunt, the ever-dutiful minion, never bothered to redecorate.
A far cry from the Max I knew growing up, the wild ’90s skater girl with intelligent eyes and a shrewd face like my grandmother, who once dressed in ripped jeans and layered shirts and crushed hard on Courtney Love.
That girl would have taken an axe to this thing a long time ago.
When we lived at Granddad’s penthouse, she’d come home after a night out in Brooklyn with her girlfriend Jenna and make pancakes for the two of us.
I think she felt sorry for me. One parent dead, the other MIA.
Like her father, though, she skirts around my psychosis, pretending it doesn’t exist. Kershaws don’t do unpleasantness.
I let it slide when it comes to her. Granddad can be a handful, and this agency she carries on her back is far heavier than his Victorian desk.
“You wanted to see me?”
“Close the door, have a seat.” She motions to the caramel leather settee and rotates her chair toward me, tucking short, dirty-blond strands behind her ears.
I prop up my head on my hand, resting my elbow. “I have another meeting.”
She taps a few keys on her computer, not looking at me.
“What’s up?” I rub my forehead; this day has already been a shit-show.
“Tell me the last time you visited Granddad.”
“I can’t remember—why?”
“You should check in. He gets antsy when he doesn’t get updates.”
“He can ask you the exact same questions.”
“Humor him, please. Also, Scott said your team’s been under billing these last few months.”
I shrug. “They haven’t had much work. Reduction in client budgets and lack of new business. I’ve never been a fan of billable hours. I think it discredits our work.”
“Right now, it’s how this agency gets paid,” she says with a sigh. “Got to keep the doors open . . . for Granddad.”
“I’ll look into it. What else?”
“The beard?”
“Thought I’d try it.”
Her hazel eyes study me, her zipped lips fading to white.
She’s probably recalling my self-imposed hiatus from taking showers when we lived together.
The Shadow People like to get up in my face in close quarters.
They start shouting and my claustrophobia ramps up.
A feverish heat rips through my body. My chest locks, I can’t breathe.
I’ve learned to leave the shower door open and can handle a quick one now.
Moving metal boxes like elevators, not so much.
My headache lowers into my eyes. I apply pressure to my temples. “What else?”
Her bottom lip disappears.
I sigh. “Which Kershaw, your dad or mine?”
“I wish those two would start talking to one another and not using me for a mediator.”
“Something to do with me?” I already know she’ll shake her head to protect me.
“Scott’s looking to eliminate a few heads, Micah.” She rises. “Tighten up your team.”
“Something else is going on too. Spill.”
She pauses, closing her mouth before settling into a frown. “It can wait.”