Chapter Twenty-six #2
Only when Sandy pops her head into the reading room to tell me she’s locking up, do I realise I’ve gone all day without a break.
My stomach gurgles emptily, and I register just how light-headed I’ve become.
I wave her off and pack up, grabbing my laptop and the contracts I’ve printed out so far.
Yellow highlighter and green notes are scrawled in the margins, decorating each page.
Marty only asked for one contract, but I very much doubt any of Trevainne’s contracts have even a smidgeon of manoeuvrability between them, not when the lawyer in charge wrote the bloody training manual on it.
Literally.
Had I known Marty was the Martin Gallagher-Pearson, I’d have asked him to sign my copy of ‘On the Dotted Line,’ the predominant educational manual on contract law. Or the VCC’s library copy at any rate. Come to think of it. I should probably return them.
I slip through Dax’s office to the boardroom, and then up to the apartment. I make it through the front door and up three steps before Cas pops his head out of the security office and calls my name.
“Yeah?”
“You’re back late,” he chides.
“Got sidetracked with paperwork,” I explain, holding my bundle out to prove it.
“There’s no chef tonight…so…are you okay prepping something or do you want me to order delivery?”
Does he mean for both of us? “Uh…are we eating together?”
“Oh! No, I mean, sure, if you want company, but I was thinking of you. Saves you the effort of cooking. Dax left a budget to make sure you have everything you need.”
“Oh, I won’t need that.”
“Sure, but if you order something tasty, I can grab a dish on the sneaky.” Cas grins and I laugh.
“Fine. What are you craving?”
“Your choice.”
“Actually…” God, this is embarrassing. “I don’t…I mean, I never really got to eat takeout much. If it’s not a cheap burger and fries, I wouldn’t know where, or what’s good to order. So, if you want to choose something, I’ll give it a try too. Just choose a dish you think will be tasty.”
Cas’s eyes widen in understanding and then his features neutralise into a polite smile to cover the obvious pity he’s trying not to aim my way. “Right. Gotcha. I’ll pick out my favourites and fix you with a taster selection. Will you ask Ben to call down and tell me what he wants?”
“Ben?”
Cas grins. “Yeah, he’s not fooling anyone…or at least not me.” Cas tips his face to the ceiling “He’s been up there waiting for you for about half-an-hour.”
“Oh, right, I’d better see what he wants.”
“Food will be about forty minutes.” Cas looks down at his phone and flicks the screen, scrolling through the options on an app.
“Thanks, and Cas?” He glances back up. “Is it okay to get deliveries sent here…like books and things?”
“Of course, but for safety, put my name on the order, or better yet, just text me a list of what you want. We don’t want anyone getting confirmation that you are here.”
“That makes sense, I guess.” Though if there really are rumours going around about Aiden and me, almost all of UACT knows exactly where I am, and therefore so will our mole.
“I’ll need them as soon as possible. I’ll get the list to you tonight.
I’ll also need to ask someone to return my VCC library books.
” As I say it out loud, I realise I don’t particularly want to part with them.
Cas chuckles. “You worry about the weirdest things.”
It isn’t weird to me. No one understands how these books saved me.
It sounds dramatic, but college was a struggle.
With everything else always taking priority, studying was a battle.
Battles fought after midnight, under duvets and covered lamps so I didn’t disturb whichever of the kids had crawled into my bed that night, but the copies I had were so beaten, so defaced that it felt pointless.
Huge swaths of my education were smeared with black pen.
Stick men, slurs, or just bloody redacted for the sake of it—like the previous owner was scoring out whatever they’d just read so no one else could share in the knowledge.
It got so bad that I started sneaking into bookstores just to read the sections I was missing.
That was until my new copies arrived. Brand new.
Pages never even flicked through. ‘You’re lucky, Miss Feelan, copies just for you.
A whole set. You were top of the waiting list.’ I knew it was bullshit, but I also knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.
A gift horse who signed his name on every single library card.
So, no, it’s not weird to want to keep them. They mean the world to me, but it is my turn to hand them in and give the world to someone else.
“Those books were the only way I could study. I don’t want to prevent someone else from having the same resources.” My excuse feels paltry on my tongue, but there’s no way I can explain. Nor do I want to.
Cas seems to get it though. “Well, now I feel like shit.” There’s a twinkle in his eye that tells me he’s joking—sort of, then he shakes his head in mock defeat. “Damn, now I’ll have to order you dessert to make up for it. I’m craving cheesecake. Are you good with that?”
I snort. “I’m great with that. Just no strawberries.”
“Allergy?”
“Bad experience.” Memories of being five and seeing my pinkie twisted out at an angle that was all wrong, flood me along with the taste of strawberry on my tongue. That was the last time I ever stole from Eric Feelan. Acid burns in my throat at the thought.
“How can anyone have a bad experience with a strawberry?” Cas laughs, then he must see my face because he quickly changes his mind.
“Wait, do you know what? I don’t want to know.
Let’s not risk ruining it for the rest of us.
” His tone is still light and full of amusement, but I can see he’s figured it out by the gentle way he looks at me. God. I hate pity.
“Good thinking. Thanks, Cas.” I dart upstairs and into the open-plan lounge.
Ben is sprawled across the sofa; his eyes find mine the second I crest the top step. “You took your time.”
“Yeah, it’s been a good day. Cas is ordering food. He wants you to tell him what you want.”
Ben’s eyes widen. “You want me to join you for dinner?”
It wasn’t exactly what I’d meant, but it’s not a bad idea either. Spending the evening here alone no longer appeals. We might as well make an event of it. “Sure. If you’ve not got plans.”
“None.” Ben pulls out his phone and rattles his thumbs across the screen, likely listing dishes. “So, you had a good day, huh?”
“Productive. Marty set me a practical task that consumed my afternoon.”
Ben chuckles. “Ah, contracts season at HU.”
“How did you—?”
“They’re Marty’s expertise. We’ve all signed one of his contracts at some point.” He lays his phone beside him, turning his attention to me once more.
That seems excessive but interesting. “Even you? I didn’t know you were formally affiliated with UACT or Trevainne.”
“Yeah, I work directly for Dax as an assistant. Or at least that’s what I’ll put on my resume.” I love the wicked way he avoids saying ‘I’m a spy’ while still saying, ‘I’m a spy.’ “I got the NDAs and employment contracts to start with.”
“I have those here.” I nod at the printouts.
“You’re working on paper?”
“Printouts to annotate, yeah. Why?”
“You can access the files digitally, you know?”
“What?”
He picks up his phone and waves it at me. “The Trevainne contracts are on file.”
“That may be so, but I’m not an employee. It would be a breach of client confidentiality to allow me access to their system.”
“Perhaps…” He takes a second to think about it. “Yeah, okay, but you could also compare the standard template to a fully furnished contract. Have a look at the changes. It might highlight a few things?”
It’s a good idea. “I’ll ask Marty if there are any defunct examples I could look over.”
“Or I could send you mine?”
“I don’t know. It feels wrong to work from an active contract.”
“It’s not breaking confidentiality if I give it to you myself. What if I wanted another lawyer to look at it to see if there’s any way to get out of it?”
“Is that what you want?”
“No, I’m just saying you’d be analysing it in a professional capacity. Keep it anonymous in your report or whatever. It’s not breaking the NDA to show you the NDA, right? It’s just a suggestion.”
Yeah, a good suggestion. Marty wants me to look for flaws, but I’m working with templates. Like Ben said, there were likely to be gaps left wide open for the contract to be tailored to the individual. How could I assess if I didn’t have a list of clauses?
“Okay. Thank you.”
“I’ll send you the files.” Ben stares at me for a moment or two longer than is comfortable, then nods to himself and wakes his screen. This time my phone beeps with an email notification. “There.”
“Oh. That was…” Fast? Eager? Unexpectedly on hand? In the end, I don’t voice my thoughts. “Uh, thanks. You’re sure?”
“Of course. I trust you, Honeybee, and this will give you a heads up…”
But I don’t get to know why I’d need a heads up because I slip into work mode reading the minutia of his contract and wondering what it is Ben actually does at the Trevainne compound.
As expected, it seems air-tight. It’s only when Ben shifts, his eyes flicking up to glance at the stairs, do I notice Cas watching us, arms are laden with brown paper bags.
He stares at Ben and me for a second and then grins. “Food’s here.”