Pulling up the story Frank is actually paying me to write, I concentrate on finishing the last three paragraphs on WorldROCK without inhaling too deeply. Uncovered’s workroom reeks of old coffee and that bug spray Frank wears all the time, the scent permanently clinging to the old checkered couch. I don’t remember the smell bothering me so much before, but now, a week after I’ve walked away from Cullen, I miss the Rescue’s caustic antiseptic smell.
“Yoda is at WorldROCK?” Stopping too close to me, Frank leans over my shoulder to peer at the screen.
Shit. I’ve misspelled yoga three times. No, four. Plunking in the correction, I hunch my shoulders a bit, making sure my red drape-neck shell isn’t showing too much cleavage. If there’s one thing I seem to attract in my life, it’s males who have boundary issues. Or PTSD. Or a controlling nature. Or a bent for dishonesty. Yep. I sure can pick ’em.
Ignoring my attempt to pretend he’s not there, Frank walks around to lean a hip against my desk before folding his arms over his suit-clad chest. It still amazes me that he would purchase such an expensive suit—even if it is silver with weird lapels—and not have it tailored to fit him correctly. It looks too tight around his middle and yet gaps awkwardly at the shoulders. He simply doesn’t have the body for how this suit has been cut. He needs a more athletic build to pull it off. Broader shoulders and a narrower waist. A build like one of the Trident gods. A build like Cullen’s.
Damn it.
“You’re working hard, honey,” Frank says.
“I am.” I always work hard. But that’s something few people ever seem to notice.
“Over this past week, especially. You know I don’t pay by the hour, right?” The last is said with a touch of something that smells suspiciously of empathy. Apparently, I look pathetic enough to stir even Frank to pity. “Something going on at the Rescue?”
My jaw clenches, my hands furiously typing some bullshit note about the weather. Then I misspell yoga again and close my eyes, hoping Frank doesn’t fire me on the spot for incompetence. The way my week has gone so far, he just might. “I wouldn’t know. I quit last week.”
Frank stays silent for a moment, the lack of sardonic remarks making my skin crawl. Then he lowers his voice. “Did that bastard hurt you, Sky?”
“What?” My head jerks up, something inside me protective of Cullen even as the rest of me wouldn’t mind casting a stone or five. “Why would you think that?”
“Because the best indicator of future behavior is past behavior. And Hunt was violent even before he went into the military.” Frank shakes his head. “I’m telling you, the armed forces draw those sorts of overbearing personalities like bees to honey. The muscle-bound hotheads who live to work out and blow shit up. Can’t say that I understand them, but I’ve seen plenty of it.”
Frank pauses, watching my face too intently for comfort. “The most fucked-up thing I find about dealing with those types is that their mood swings come in bursts. One moment, everything is going fine, and the next, they explode like a grenade.” Frank scoffs in that annoyingly condescending way of his, but I find myself unable to really disagree.
It’s too close a description to the men I know. My father. Jaden. His friends. Cullen.
“Anyway…” Frank stands, straightening his ill-fitting suit. “I know you and Hunt were…close. If he went haywire, I didn’t want you thinking it had anything to do with you. Because it doesn’t.” His hand brushes my shoulder and stays there. “If you ever need a safe place to stay, or just someone to grab dinner with and talk, I’m here.”
Wait, what? I carefully remove Frank’s hand from my shoulder, but he doesn’t seem to notice my discomfort. In fact, his attention is already on where Denton Uncovered’s photographer is going over photos from WorldROCK’s opening night, the yoga instructor in her leotard posing prominently against the mountain range backdrop.
“Dyer!” Frank calls, sauntering the photographer’s way. “Need to talk to you. First, get rid of that time-stamp gibberish on the shots and second…” The men disappear into Frank’s office, their voices muted behind the frosted door while I stay where I am, still staring at the photo on Dyer’s screen. The one with the mountain range in the background.
Colorado is beautiful, and I do love climbing. Yet there’s no denying it’s a dangerous sport. Kind of like fucking your boss. Sometimes the excursions just don’t end well.
I tap the pen against my notes. Shit. If I’m getting pep talks from Frank, of all people, it’s time to go home. Well, to the apartment. I can’t think of the place in which Cullen had set me up like a goddamn mistress as “home.” I’ve been doing my damnedest to find another place to live, and maybe this weekend I finally will. I’ll miss the view, but it will be nice not to be reminded of Cullen with every swipe of my gaze.
I still can’t believe how long it took me to figure out what the Cullen situation was truly all about. I guess better late than never, though.
With high hopes for weekend apartment hunting firmly in my imagination, I set about packing my nonessentials the moment I get back to my place. Since I rarely cook, I begin with my meager amount of cookware, setting my two saucepans and single skillet into one of the handful of boxes I grabbed from beside a dumpster at a local housewares store. I’ve just discovered a way to make the lids fit—flipping them upside down—when my phone rings from the kitchen counter.
It’s such a lovely counter too. A rich tan granite with golden speckles throughout. But as lovely as it is, it’s not worth selling my soul to Cullen Hunt. Fuck him and the medical transport he rode in on.
“Hi, Mom,” Holding the phone between my shoulder and ear, I retrieve the pint of Ben and Jerry’s from the fridge. The one Jaden had brought is long gone, but I’ve been investing in chilled dairy all week.
“Lary darling,” she exclaims way too loudly. “Oh, wait one moment, let me take off this earring. The diamond solitaire is very pretty, but it’s just too thick not to hurt my ear with this phone.” There are some clunky noises. “There, that’s better. How are you?”
Does she care? It’s doubtful. I’m already regretting picking up. I have packing and apartment hunting to do. “What do you need, Mom?”
“Who says I need anything? Can’t a mother contact her daughter without a reason?” Not in my experience. But then she sighs. “I’m sorry, Lary. I wanted to let you know that Greg and I are home now. I’d love for you to visit. I miss you.”
Home. As in the Big Apple. As in the same city where I suffered all my worst memories. “I’m in the middle of an upheaval at the moment. This isn’t the best time.”
“What sort of upheaval?” she asks, and wow, she even sounds sincerely curious.
“Some employment challenges.” What else is new? “And I’m having to look for another place to live.” In other words, my life is once again in shambles.
“Oh, Lary, that’s perfect.” She sounds delighted. “What I mean is, it’s a perfect time for you to come home. Move in. I’d love to have you, and Greg has lots of connections. He’s already told me that he’d be happy to help you find a job that’s right up your alley.”