Chapter 21
The morning at Whitestone Consulting Group is absolute chaos.
They're only a few days out from Christmas Eve, and some people are squeezing out the last of their hours before heading off on vacation, others wandering the hallways with folders in hand, pretending to work.
And then there's Diane Carter, who would give anything to be somewhere—anywhere—else in the world right now.
She feels a level of indignation she's never experienced, not even back when she managed a team of salespeople who thought that because she was a woman, she'd crumble if some idiot raised his voice at her.
It's been two hours since she walked out of the meeting where she had to sit across from Frances Hartwell, Samuel Barnes, two members of the consulting firm's board, and two representatives from Alltreck.
What happened in that room was the equivalent of showing up in a clown suit and juggling colored balls in front of a pack of idiots who had no idea what an efficient client acquisition proposal with long-term returns even looked like.
During her presentation, they fired at least a dozen questions at her—questions she answered with fire burning behind her eyes—and then she handed the floor to Frances, who stumbled through four poorly broken-down points, showed a graph she's certain was pulled from an analysis done with absolutely no rigor, then flashed a smile and sat down without anyone questioning a single thing.
The door to her office swings open, and she's ready to go to prison for killing whoever's interrupting her mid-breakdown.
"How did it go?" Clara Fitzgerald walks in, hips swaying, and drops into the chair across from Diane. "I couldn't come sooner—I was stuck in a meeting with Asher Rodriguez."
"You didn't need to come now either," Diane snaps, shifting her gaze back to her laptop screen.
Clara checks her phone and smiles when a photo from her wife comes through. Matching pajamas they've decided to wear the day after Christmas while they sink into the couch surrounded by popcorn and watch action movies. She locks the screen and looks up.
"I have an hour before my next meeting and I'd really love to eat before then," she says, and leaves it at that, eyes fixed on her friend.
Diane types something on her computer for a full minute before sighing and answering.
"It was a circus. I can't say much more than that." She rolls her neck trying to shake off the tension, but it doesn't budge. "I have no idea when they'll make a decision, and I don't know which proposal they'll go with."
"Did Frances do a good job?"
"That woman is an embarrassment," Diane mutters, the vein in her neck about to burst. "Jesus, Clara, they called my judgment into question in front of someone who doesn't even know what a cost-reduction strategy is."
Clara says nothing, not wanting to feed Diane's anger, but she thought from the start that this was nothing more than some kind of witch hunt, and no matter how many times she turned it over in her head, she couldn't find a single thing to disprove it.
She doesn't know what the board is after with all this, but it's clearly a slap in the face to her colleague's career, and knowing Diane, it's hitting her a lot harder than that bad mood lets on.
"You know you're good at what you do. I have no doubt they'll go with your proposal."
Diane makes a strange sound and gets to her feet, rolling her shoulders, which have been locked up since she woke up that morning.
She moves to the window, tucks her hands into her pockets, and stands there for a moment, absorbed, watching a woman on the street below with her phone pressed to her ear, clearly in the middle of a heated argument.
"At this point, this is the least of—"
She stops because her phone starts ringing and she has no choice but to go answer it. An unknown number on the screen makes her jaw clench, and she lets out a curse she doesn't bother to swallow. Clearly, she should not have gotten out of bed this morning.
"Doesn't she ever get tired? God." Diane tries to turn off her phone without slamming it through the table.
She lets it drop onto the desk with a dull thud, closes her eyes, and presses two fingers to the bridge of her nose.
"Your sister?" Clara asks, though she already knows the answer.
"I don't know what she thinks she's going to accomplish. I made it very clear I wanted nothing to do with her." She drops into her chair and leans her head back against it. "I've asked her to leave me alone. Is that really so hard to understand?"
Clara can't help but travel back—to the early days, when they'd only been close for a few months.
Diane had been guarded about her personal life, never talking about her family or where she came from.
The little she let slip was always bare bones, but Clara was curious.
She wanted to know more about the woman she was falling for, and it didn't take long to put the pieces together.
Diane had cut herself off from manipulative parents, but what hurt Clara more to learn was that Riley, her younger sister, had grown into an exact copy of their mother.
Back then, no one came looking for Diane.
She simply ceased to exist as a Carter—until a few years ago, when Riley started calling.
At first Diane was somewhere between confused and caught off guard; she didn't know quite what to make of it.
The youngest of the family, now a grown woman, said she only wanted to reconnect—and Diane walked straight into a trap she never wanted to talk about. Until now.
"But do you know what she wants?" Clara tilts her head, watching her. "Because she's been looking for you for years."
Diane shifts in her seat, trying to act like none of this is burning a hole through her, but that pain carved itself into the center of her soul a long time ago, and no matter how hard she's fought to close it, she hasn't even managed to heal it.
"Riley's marriage fell apart a while back—right around the same time she showed up in my life, funny enough.
" She spits it out with anger, with a bitterness she can almost taste.
"She has two kids, and in the community they live in, getting remarried is...
a problem. I suppose my parents couldn't keep living the way they were once that arrangement fell through.
And Chase is a lost cause who's done nothing but disappoint them. "
Clara narrows her eyes, letting her mind work on its own, turning Diane's words over. She feels a small buzz behind her sternum because it clicks all at once.
"They wanted you to come back home so you could be their provider?" Clara's eyes go wide.
"After telling me the devil was going to drag me to hell when I told her I was with women.
" Diane takes a slow breath before going on.
"I did everything I could to get her to back off, and it worked for a few weeks—but then she came back to tell me I couldn't keep living like this, that changing wasn't hard, and that they were willing to forgive me. "
She lets out a laugh—hysterical, the kind that stings to hear. Clara stares at her like she's lost her mind, while also wondering how the hell she's still standing after everything she's been through since she was just a kid.
Diane exhales through her nose and presses her lips together, and just like that the wall goes back up when she realizes she's said too much.
"Anyway. Seems like lately I've decided to start digging up the past."
"What do you mean?"
Diane feels the heat rise under her skin, because even though her body is here in the Whitestone office across from her friend, her mind has gone home—to the weekend that still has her in a state she doesn't know how to name.
She worked in a calm that felt almost suspicious.
She gave herself over to a body that took her to the highest place for hours.
But above all, she talked. She did something she'd sworn she never would—dragged the pain all the way from Idaho, put voice to stories she thought she'd buried for good.
The most surprising part is that since that weekend, she feels lighter, and she finds herself asking: why Cassidy Collins?
Why is that girl the only one who, without pushing, managed to make Diane let it all go?
"It doesn't matter, it's—"
Tatiana steps into the office after announcing herself with two quick knocks. She looks at her boss with an expression that says brace yourself.
"Diane." She gestures back over her shoulder. "Samuel Barnes needs to speak with you."
Clara stands and smooths her blue striped blouse. She raises an eyebrow before turning and heading for the door.
"Tell him to come in," Diane says through her teeth, settling back into her chair.
The man walked in with his usual pleasant expression—the one Diane can't stand—and, without being invited, took the seat Clara just vacated.
"I don't want to take up too much of your time," he says, skipping any greeting and lacing his hands together on top of Diane's desk. "I don't know how you do it, but Trevor Davies was impressed with your proposal."
He smiles, shakes his head, and sighs. Diane just watches him.
"He needs time to review it with his team at Alltreck, of course, but, Diane—you've proven that your methods are as effective as ever, and even as methodologies have evolved, yours hold up just as well as the newer ones.
" He spreads his hands for emphasis. "I wanted to give you the news right away, and to let you know that Frances Hartwell has completed her work here. "
Diane's left eye twitches hard enough to blur her vision. If she was indignant a few hours ago, she's fully furious now.
"And that's it?" she asks, voice flat as ice, leaning forward. "After everything you put me through, that's the answer you come in here with?"
Samuel keeps his dark eyes fixed on her but doesn't open his mouth.