Chapter 2 #2
“I know Albany.” I reviewed the spreadsheet and jotted down a note on a pad of paper. “I’m done with this conversation.”
Erica folded her arms. “Sure about that?”
“Very,” I confirmed. “I don’t have time to worry about the future when my present situation is fucked up. Shifting my focus back to my shit. I have deadlines to meet and a job to keep. If that means I have to let Granny send me on a date with a random woman, whatever.”
Hendrix stood. “Yeah, nah. I’m not agreeing to that.” He gave me a dap. “See you at the gym later.”
“You heard what she said,” Erica pressed.
“I did.” I pulled up the report my assistant had sent earlier. “And I meant what I said. Talking about this all day isn’t going to change Granny’s mind. Or mine.”
Erica grumbled a curse. “Men have it so much easier.”
Hen scoffed. “How you figure? I’ve watched my mother emasculate my father for thirty years, talking to him like he’s a piece of shit daily, putting her hands on him, blatantly cheating on him every chance she gets. And he takes it because he’s accustomed to the Batchelor lifestyle.”
The Batchelor name made us seem larger than life to the community.
The only thing that made our family different than any other, though, was money and status.
Dysfunction was universal. Growing up, we’d witnessed the ongoing conflict between my father and his siblings.
Family functions typically devolved into chaos.
Several members suffered from various types of addiction, from drugs and alcohol to sex to gambling.
The first time I’d ever seen a fistfight in my life wasn’t on the playground, but at a birthday party.
Hendrix’s mother attacked a distant cousin who’d dared to call her on her bullshit.
It was also the first time I’d seen Aunt Nina get arrested.
Erica’s gaze softened. “I guess I don’t know what to say to that.”
“It wouldn’t change anything if you did.
” Hen shrugged. “That’s life. None of us are married—or want to be married—for a reason.
Because, aside from your mother, all of our parents are weak-ass, fucked-up individuals.
Granny called it herself today. And I may be an asshole on a good day, but I’m in no hurry to bring another person into this dysfunctional family.
Let alone an innocent child.” He glanced at me.
“I’ll catch you later, bruh.” He kissed Erica’s cheek and left.
Seconds later, Erica grabbed her stuff. “Fine. I’ll figure it out. I always do.” She hugged me. “See you later, big head.”
“Later, baby sis.” I grabbed her hand, squeezing it gently. “It’s going to be okay.”
Nodding, she whispered, “Hope so.” She walked out of the office and closed the door behind her.
Hendrix had a point. Money and status made everything sparkle.
The truth always dulled the shine, though.
From the outside looking in, we had everything.
But inside … our house of cards was on the verge of collapsing under the weight of secrets and lies.
And I absolutely planned to expose the cracks.
That was the only way to preserve the legacy my grandparents built.
Albany
Establish boundaries.
Stay focused.
Ask questions.
Practice self-care.
Say no.
I repeated my “Keep it cool” list in my mind several times.
Therapy had been integral to my survival—especially in my line of work, definitely with my ex, and absolutely when I was around my family.
After many sessions, angry tears, crushing despair, I’d finally gotten to a point where I felt confident walking into any room.
I’d transitioned from uncertain, unhappy, unfulfilled Albany back to capable, strong, badass Albany.
Yet …
My current situation? Sitting across from Joyce Batchelor, the woman who’d known me before I knew myself, the woman who’d been at every important event in my life. And even though I knew I could trust “Granny,” I couldn’t bring myself to spout off the sixth and most important item on my list.
Accept the challenge.
Why? Because I simply didn’t want to.
“I assume you’re thinking about my proposal.
” Joyce stared at me. Actually, she stared through me, dared me to decline the offer with her all-knowing eyes.
It was the older woman’s gift and the reason she was still on top of her game.
It was also the reason Batchelor Corporation continued to grow and expand when so many corporations had floundered.
Clearing my throat, I opened my mouth to speak.
But nothing came out. Instead, I nodded.
Because the desire to work, to be able support myself again was strong.
But my need to protect my peace was strong, too.
A few minutes ago, I’d been elated, so grateful for the opportunity to work for Joyce as her personal private investigator.
And I’d wanted to accept—until I received my first assignment.
“It’s a great opportunity for you to grow your business,” Joyce said.
I sucked in a deep breath and counted to ten before I met Joyce’s waiting gaze again. “Thank you for thinking of me, but no.”
Joyce shifted in her chair, but never broke eye contact. “Can I ask why?”
“I have to prioritize myself,” I explained. “Inserting myself in the middle of your family drama when I actively avoid my own wouldn’t be good for me.”
Leaning forward, Joyce rested her elbows on her desk. “How can I assure you?”
I shrugged. “You can’t.” I swallowed past a hard lump in my throat.
“I’ve been through a lot since I’ve been away.
I’ve crawled my way to a healthy place. As much as I want to help you, I can’t do it.
” The job was so desperately needed, but the cost would far outweigh the benefits.
“I know several local PIs that could assist. I can put you in touch.”
“I understand,” Joyce said finally. “I don’t want to put you in a position where you would question your spiritual, physical, and mental health. I consider you family. Your grandmother is my best friend, my only friend. And if you can’t do this, I’ll accept that.”
A sigh a relief escaped my lips. “Thank you for understanding.”
Joyce swiveled in her seat and peered out at the skyline. “I want Wesley to succeed. But I worry he’s too angry, too distracted with his own endgame—and his vices—to be effective. This latest thing, the TikTokker, is intent on ruining him.”
It had been years since I had seen Wesley, but time had done nothing to qualm the pang of hurt that had shot through me at the mere sight of him this morning. When Joyce had requested my services to find an anonymous blogger, Ms. Tea, it was the sort of thing I would’ve jumped at the chance to do.
Yesterday.
For someone else.
Someone who had nothing to do with Wesley Batchelor.
“I may have to fire him,” Joyce admitted softly.
My chest tightened. Damn it. Even after all these years, the notion that Wesley could suffer in any capacity still affected me, made me want to protect him. To help him. “I’m sorry.”
With her back to me, Joyce continued, “I would still like you to work for me. Like I mentioned earlier, I need someone I can trust on my team.”
Granny was never one to beat around the bush.
She’d always been forthcoming, direct. Even if the sting of her words left a scar.
I sensed she was holding back, though. It wasn’t uncommon for a business to need the services of a private investigator, especially one as large as Batchelor Corp.
Yet, her words made me think she knew that something was amiss at her company, that someone in her circle was untrustworthy.
“I’m not sure it’s a good idea.” My conflicting emotions only confirmed that I wasn’t ready, no matter how appealing the offer. “Not right now.”
Finally turning to me, the older woman smiled.
“I won’t push you, but I truly believe that you are perfectly equipped to handle the job.
” I opened my mouth to speak, but Joyce rushed on.
“And my grandson. Sometimes the past is just a vehicle to drive you into your future. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
I turned over Joyce’s words in my head. She’d given me something to consider.
It didn’t have to be a big deal. An investigation involving Wesley didn’t necessarily translate to being involved with Wesley.
Of course, I would have to talk to him. Maybe.
Even that was avoidable. And it was just one investigation, a small part of the job.
“Sweetie?” Joyce called, pulling me from my thoughts.
Nodding, I asked, “Can I think about it?”
I couldn’t get out of Joyce’s office fast enough.
As soon as we’d agreed to table the discussion for next week, I’d fled and made a beeline straight for the elevator.
Stepping inside, I jabbed my finger on the “L.” Once the door closed, I closed my eyes and leaned against the cool metal wall. What the hell am I thinking?
When the car stopped, I glanced up and noticed it’d stopped at the tenth floor. My stomach fell when the door opened, because of course Wesley would be standing right there. Shifting to one side, I waited for him to enter. He pressed the “L” button again and stood next to me.
Impatient, I jabbed at the button as if that would somehow transport the elevator down to the lobby in an instant. The damn door still didn’t close. I pushed it again. And again. Close, damn it! Finally, we were on our way down to the lobby. But the silence made the short ride feel like forever.
Wes scooted closer. Too close.
And he smells so good. “Don’t,” I warned, stepping forward, away from the heat emanating from his body.
“Why are you here?” he whispered, his voice low.
I gripped the strap of my purse and willed my body not to react to the feel of his breath against the nape of my neck. Because, apparently, he still made me wet and horny. “Can you move?”
“Are you going to answer the question?” he murmured.
I felt his nose brush against my shoulder, heard him taking in my scent.
The elevator stopped. Thank God. When the door opened, I blew out a slow, steady breath.
Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Now in control of my emotions and my body, I glanced at him over my shoulder and asked, “What do you think?” Then, I walked away from him as fast as I could without looking like a bitch in heat.
It wasn’t until I’d sunk into the driver’s seat of my car that I allowed myself to acknowledge the truth. There is no way I can do this.