Chapter 30. Micah
MICAH
The crammed subway lurches forward, taking me and a group of enthusiastic weekenders with it.
Bantering with one another, Cameron, Cooper, and Carter appear Hamptons-ready in their flowy shirts and sandals.
Sweat drips down the inside of my dress shirt as I watch them exit ahead of me, taking their frat-boy frivolity to the street.
Every year, I avoid Kershaw McKenzie’s Fourth of July party, the last bang before we hit our summer lull thanks to reduced work schedules and client vacations.
However.
After Meredith announced Brynn had called out, I found myself lost at my desk for a good hour, unable to write or work.
I took off, then putzed around the house, uninterested in reading or listening to music, my energy level zapped.
I couldn’t bring myself to do anything outside of getting myself off in the shower to calm my incessant thoughts of her—Shadow People be damned.
Her mad dash after the Quotagian presentation has agency staffers placing bets on what sort of trouble she’s in and whether we’ll see our fearless intern again. I refuse to entertain such speculation. I continue my way to the party, hoping against hope that she’ll show.
I fly up the steps ahead of my entourage, leaving the foulness of the subway behind. My phone lights up.
“Did you get it?” My father’s voice brims with pride. He likes to gloat when he does something extra and unexpected.
“Sure did. One question. Why?”
“After you called, I wanted to get you something.”
“I’d rather see you,” I mumble.
“Whatcha say?” I envision him cupping his ear.
“Nothing. Where am I going to put that thing? Wish it had wheels . . .”
“You’ll figure it out, Harmonica. Oops, gotta go—I’m on now.”
Yep. Call me when you can’t talk. Feels like holding on to a slippery fish—one that can’t wait to get back into the water. I don’t even know the city or country he’s calling from.
I slide my cell back in my pocket, absently rubbing the hollow ache in my chest. Maybe I’m the fish. The sound of my dad’s voice reels me in, then he cuts the line and throws me back.
The Shadow People join me on either side.
Sucker. The henchman snickers.
The Woman in Black reads my face. Kid, you need to toughen up.
Dr. Val says, We teach people how to treat us. And that I should put an end to my father’s antics. But what if he stops calling?
I distract myself by trying to remember the last ten books I read as I ride the elevator up to Dear Irving, a bi-level rooftop bar and lounge overlooking the Hudson in Midtown.
You’d never know we tanked last quarter’s billable hours by the way Kershaw McKenzie throws a party, all decked out in patriotic balloons and streamers and complete with a DJ and a notably large buffet.
The celebration’s humming by the time Brynn appears beside the James Bond–themed, mirror-tiled bar with its hexagonal leather stools and sputnik chandeliers with reflective gold balls above.
She stuns in a hippie-chic dress that’s snug around her hips.
My heart skips at the sight of her.
I’m not her only admirer. One of the servers to my right needs to wipe the drool from his chin.
She bites her lip and hugs her dress around her. Her eyes wander the room—looking for Meredith, I presume.
I want her to find me. The curious looks she’s seeing only know a detective contacted her yesterday—thanks to Donovan, of course—and that she called out today. She may not be in the market for new friends, but I’m not ready to call her a felon yet.
Her eyes bounce over to the buffet, set near a vertical wood screen with portholes. Her body comes to life; she beelines for it.
I chuckle inside, not listening to whatever it is Lucius is saying to me.
All I see. Is her.
I’m about to excuse myself—in a sudden mood for sustenance myself—when the posse descends. Donovan, Josie, Priya, and Meredith corner me to shoot some whiskey. Their in-my-face proximity and wild eyes confirm their pregaming.
“Right on time, Mic. A toast to another winning campaign. I sense an ADDY this year.” Donovan grins like we’re friends.
I nod, my jaw tight. The buzz around our team’s latest campaigns has everyone pumped—thanks to our new intern. Brynn pushed us all out of our creative slump. I should be over the moon.
And yet.
I accept the shot pressed to my chest, disregarding the chemicals swimming in my body, and throw it back. I roll the empty glass in my hand, biting back the burn. I rescan the crowd to find her.
Donovan pops up by her side, all doe-eyed. How’d he even get over there so fast?
I can’t read his lips.
She crosses her arms, frowning.
He tilts his head, grinning. He nudges her like he’s trying to garner a smile. He thinks he can charm his way into—what? Having her?
More brown liquid arrives in my hand. I slam it back, my gaze glued on the two of them.
Josie goes over and wraps Brynn in her arms like she’s a long lost family member.
Her victim cringes.
I’m with you, girl; drunken work folk who gossip behind my back don’t make my hang list either. Then again, after all these shots, I’m unsure which list I’m on.
Brynn bestows a polite smile on Josie and waves away the next tray of shooters.
Lucius proceeds to grab one for her and tries to hand it to her.
She shakes her head.
The geometric accents in the room rotate a little. I blink in rapid succession. The music’s infectious, igniting the liquor coursing through my body.
Dr. Val’s #1 Rule: Never drink when crazy and/or on meds.
Brynn steps away from the group without looking back and refills her plate.
Colleagues from other teams approach her with animated faces and pats on the back. Tonight, she’s our young star. Everyone wants a piece.
I stride around the crowd, avoiding engagement.
A few chatty coworkers step in my way.
“Yes, the team did an amazing job; they blew the creative away. An ADDY contender, for sure.” I run these phrases on loop, my voice robotic.
Then I hit a roadblock.
“Aunt Max, you look great.” I kiss her cheek and catch the top notes of the perfume she keeps in her BMW.
Kudos to my aunt, dressed this evening like a fashion model in her sophisticated halter jumpsuit.
Quite the departure from the baggy jeans and Vans she used to sport.
She tucks her blond bob behind her ears, revealing the piercings she still has from those days—four in her left ear, three right. Minus her old nose ring, of course.
I smile. “Check out those guns; someone’s been hitting the gym.”
“Yoga, darling, Ashtanga. You should come sometime. Calms the mind.” Her lips tighten. “Since when do you drink?”
“Little team bonding.”
She touches my arm.
“Fine. Never better.”
She arches her brow, following my gaze to Brynn across the room. “Bet it gets lonely living in the old house by yourself.”
“I need to look out for my underage staff. Excuse me.”
Her hand circles my wrist. “We should do dinner sometime, Mic.”
“We will. Soon. Promise.”
I muster my sincerest face. She releases my arm, and I move past her. I love my aunt, I do. But I can tell she still feels responsible for what happened.
She was out of town the day I experienced a psychotic break at work.
That day, I arrived back at my desk and my coffee tasted funny.
In my messed up brain, I figured that the guy loitering nearby must have poisoned it.
I never liked him. And I couldn’t let it drop.
Neither could the voice in my ear egging me on .
. . Every last Kershaw will die. He’d go after my aunt next.
I had to ensure that didn’t happen. I got violent, started pummeling the guy.
Eunice got between us, her soft, repetitive words calming me, before I did any serious damage.
I threw up and got carted off to the hospital.
The guy ended up quitting.
Aunt Max blamed herself, which I never understood. Besides, how can she help me when . . .
Brynn. That dress.
This girl’s the first one to jump up when the fresh bagels arrive and the last one to arrive to a team meeting.
She doesn’t knee-jerk apologize for things like other girls tend to do.
She’s tough with a soft spot for strangers, a fighter for her friends .
. . and has been infiltrating my heart since the day I hired her.
The DJ kicks on an Ace of Base song.
Chatting coworkers break apart. Some step out on the balcony. My team gathers on the dance floor and begins an impromptu dance-off.
Josie motions for me to join them. “Come on, Micah, let loose for once,” she projects over the music.
I shake my head, knowing my limitations.
In the center of the lounge, other execs bend and flail their body parts to the music—some forgetting which box they check for “marital status.”
House of Pain’s “Jump Around” comes on and people start catching air. The wood flooring vibrates as more join.
The DJ’s lights begin to pulse.
I step back into a dark corner and face the other direction.
The interns take the middle of the floor.
Brynn hangs back.
Couches and round end tables get moved to the side.
Eunice and Aunt Max have already snuck out.
I should too, but I’m incapable of leaving her alone. I’ll order her an Uber later. See that she gets home. Nothing more.
Donovan pulls Brynn’s hand to dance to a Backstreet Boys song.
She rocks back on her heels.
My legs move forward before I can think. I touch her shoulder. “Scott wants to talk to you.”
“Now?” Her forehead creases.
Donovan spins back into the crowd, his next unsuspecting conquest within reach.
“Over here.” I tilt my head. “Sorry to keep you off the dance floor.” I hold back from laughing.
“Yeah, right.” She rolls her eyes in Donovan’s direction. “What does Scott want to talk about?”
“Nothing.” I grin.
“Huh?”
“I just . . . are you okay?”
“Yeah. Did you see all that food?” She gestures toward the buffet.
“Blows away our whole budget for Bradley Products.”
She giggles.
My chest skips. I lean in so she can hear me over the music . . . and to get closer to her.
Lucius approaches, clearly looking for a dance.
I motion for her to walk with me, and he backs off.
“Thanks for the save.” She smiles. “Again.”
“They won’t leave you alone until you dance at least once.
Let’s make this quick.” My hand floats near the small of her back, leading her away from the circle around Donovan, who’s rotating through the same three dance moves on repeat, to the far edge of the floor.
My heart pounds as I face her. What now? I raise my arms and sway my hips.
She mirrors me—or maybe she started it.
I make spotty eye contact with her. Throwing back my head, I chime in with the Backstreet Boys—sounding superb, for some reason.
Her head nears my chest. “Did you say something?”
My mind fails to compose some witty reply.
The music grows louder. The room spins. The DJ’s lights stream from different directions, bouncing off the walls.
My shirt sticks to my skin.
We sway closer. I bask in her spicy vanilla fragrance, the heat coming off her body, her lips.
Our heads pull away.
Her gaze fastens on mine.
For a moment I’m lost in her amber eyes, longing for that russet fire. Time stops until I sense people staring. “Let’s get some air.”
“Look who’s messing with the intern now,” Donovan bellows, sliding up next to us with Lucius close behind him.
Brynn jumps. “Shut up, Donovan.” She takes off, weaving through clusters of people toward the exit.
I scout out a route that will allow me to cut her off.
Out of nowhere, the Woman in Black grabs hold of my arm.
I swing her off of me. My feet stumble backward. I thrash about without a soul around me as Lucius and Donovan watch.