Chapter 22 #2
“Enough!” His words seep into my skin and make me feel slimy. I can’t take it. “It wasn’t me, I strongly suspect it’s Bobby. Your daughter’s boyfriend.”
He straightens at my tone, then slowly leans forward, elbows on the desk, as I confess my concerns.
“What do you need me to do? What do you possibly think I can or will do about this?” He shakes his head, dipping it down to rest in his hand.
The disappointment warms me for a millisecond.
“Krista is available, and Bethany is … Bethany.” My warmth turns to ice and bile in my guy.
“Do you really blame him, son? Be realistic and grow up. Men like us don’t just settle for one, especially when those are the two options.
” I shouldn’t be surprised or disappointed, but I still am as he finishes burying any good he had left as a human being—his job as a father to Bethany.
When I proceeded to tell him that bringing Krista to dinner made me uncomfortable, considering what I know, I was mocked and kicked out of the office. He never told anyone what I suspected, and he threatened me if I even tried to do the same.
I told Bethany, and later, I told her that our father knew my suspicions. She didn’t look surprised to hear about his reaction, and that made me feel worse.
I want to punch young, dumb, teenage Trevor for not seeing it, and I’m grateful she’s giving me another chance to be a better brother.
Rounding the final corner to my office, I pause when a sickly sweet smell hits my senses. What the fuck? Then, the closed door to my office is my clue. When I left for the meeting, I left it open. Didn’t take her long.
I school my expression when I find my assistant sitting on my desk, arms crossed with her foot neatly tucked under her other leg. “Krista.” I greet her, eyeing my path past her to my desk. “You already finished with the M and N folders?”
There is no way. A smile touches the edges of her features when she slowly looks me over, making my skin crawl.
“Trev, I—”
“It’s Trevor.” I choose to skirt the wall to avoid the desk as best I can. Once I’m at my seat, I pull it out until it hits the back wall and settle in. “I don’t remember telling you to meet me in here and to”—I pointedly look at where she’s sitting—“sit on my desk.”
She clears her throat with a delicate, controlled cough. “Um, n-no. You said—”
“To leave me a note or a message if there was anything else you wanted to tell me.” I spy the folder Asher had was moved, and I am confident there will be evidence it was rifled through.
She slides slowly off the desk, turning it into a production, so I turn on my computer and ignore her existence.
“I miss lunches with you, Trev-or.” The second part of my name is tagged onto the end when I finally look up, and she meets my unamused gaze. Paige has told me my gaze can freeze a person if I try.
Krista drops her head, breaking from my glare, and walks to the door.
When her hand touches the handle, I clear my throat.
“Leave that open, please. I’ve always preferred the door open.
Have those folders done today.” She drops her hand, and the normally confident pose she’s gained over the months shrinks even further back into the version she was at the beginning of this giant fucking mess.
“I just—why don’t we eat together anymore? ”
For this answer, I swivel my seat, and steeple my fingers on top of my desk, and look at her face.
“Since you implied to my wife and my family that it was more than it ever was between us.” My voice cuts through the room, and she flinches.
I only have to imagine the way my wife looked on the Ridge to avoid feeling an ounce of guilt.
I lean forward slightly and tilt my head.
“You and I both know that the shared lunches between us were nothing like your implications. You made a pointed and strange effort to seed doubt in the minds of the people I love. The only thing I can wonder is why. Why would you do such a thing? It’s a strange choice to make.
” I tap my desk three times, then gesture to the door. “Anyway, lots to do. Get to it.”
As if she heard nothing I said, she steps closer to me. “Maybe we can eat—”
“Krista, I am extremely busy”—not a lie—“and I’m late for a lunch date with my son.” Lie, I’d be early if I left now. “If you could return to doing your job, that would be great. You can keep me posted about your progress via notes on my door if I’m out. Goodbye.”
She blinks at me before turning to walk out the door. Shit. “Krista?”
“Yes?” The hope in her voice rings sharp and false.
“I need you to stay out of my office unless I am here.” Her face falls. “I will not find you in here unsupervised again.”
She gives a small dip of her head before walking out the door to who-knows-where.
I’ve given her the most menial tasks to try to keep her busy and out of my way.
I grab what I need for lunch with my boy and follow her out the door, shutting it firmly behind me.
The camera I installed for reasons blinks in the corner, and all of my important documents remain behind lock and key.
Due to my huge increase, which is a direct result of my exit from the bank and closing out all kinds of accounts and their commissions.
This time next month, that increase my father is salivating over will be at a zero.
My time at the bank has been easier lately, because my father is blinded by numbers.
I’m a shell of myself, and I am well aware that I am actively on my way out.
All of the despair, stress, agony that I would feel over every misstep or stupid error now slides off me like water on a duck.
Only a few people have that power over me these days, and none of them work in that stupid, fucking, building. Except Ms. Tyson.
Lunch with Jacob and Bethany was exactly what I wanted it to be. My son was grouchy, but between Bethany and me, we were able to keep him relatively positive.
When I park the car, he’s off like a rocket and racing to the door, while Bethany and I move more slowly behind him.
“Do you sleep? You look like crap.”
“Jesus, Beth. Give it to me straight.”
“You look like someone sucked the soul out of you and sent you to prison.”
“Okay, actually, I changed my mind. Don’t tell it to me straight. Give it to me, cushioned in softness.”
“You don’t need softness.” Bethany’s eyes gleam, and her cheeks reveal a dimple flashing in her wide-as-fuck smile. “You get lost in it.”
I think about my wife and how I would like to get lost in her softness. Then Bethany makes a sound of distress. My attention zeroes back in on her. “What? What’s wrong?”
“You’re thinking about Paige, and I don’t know if I’m cut out to be the person who gets along with both sides of a relationship. Especially when I’m related to one of them.” Her face screws up until she scrunches her nose. She looks legitimately disturbed.
“Sorry, sorry.” The alarm on my phone goes off for the second time, making her smile finally drop.
“Back to work?”
“Back to work.”
“Your family misses you, Trevor. Make your way back to them.” Bethany reaches out a hesitant hand, and when I don’t move, she raises it to my shoulder, squeezing once before dropping it. I bite my lip at her awkward gesture, and a surge of affection fills me.
“Can I hug you, Bethany?”
“Yes! Yeah, sure. If you need to, that is.” I wrap my arms firmly around her. She’s stiff at first, but slowly, she relaxes into my hug. I decide to wait until she backs away before I drop my arms.
We grew up in a loveless home, but I’ve had Paige and Jacob for a decade. She’s lived with those frigid people for years. I like the idea of helping her recognize real, healthy familial love.
“You’re going to be late,” my sister mumbles into my shoulder before she backs away, patting my arm a few times when she gains her distance. “That was nice. Thank you.”
“Anytime.” I mean it. She’s good—truly good. How her goodness survived our home, I’ll never know. I had always assumed it hadn’t. Lesson learned.
I back away from the porch, revealing my son sticking his face in the window and waving with big, exaggerated arm wiggles. I wave back, just as goofy and exaggerated, to both of them, get into my car, and breathe through the searing pain of saying goodbye again.