Meet Cute (Page 46)

chapter twenty-one

WE ALL FALL

Dax

The drive to work on Monday is miserable. Not because the traffic is worse than usual or the weather is shitty, but because I have an angry thirteen-year-old girl in the passenger seat who still isn’t talking to me. It’s driving me insane. I don’t know how people give each other the silent treatment. I would lose my ever-loving mind. In fact, if it goes on much longer, that may just happen.

“You can set yourself up over there and start on homework.” I motion to the chair on the other side of my office.

Emme says nothing as she dumps her stuff beside the chair and pulls out her laptop—I had to revise my electronics ban since all of her homework is online. But she’s not allowed to do it in her room. She has to work in the kitchen, which she hates. Along with me.

She quietly seethes while I check emails and go through my voicemails. Freeman pops his head in the door and glances at Emme set up in the corner. “Do we have a new intern I don’t know about?” He’s smiling, but there’s tension behind it.

“Hi, Mr. Freeman.” Emme’s voice is raspy from disuse.

“Emme’s not feeling one hundred percent, so she’ll be here for a couple of days.” I also refuse to let her stay home on her own, aware she’ll likely spend the entire day in front of the TV. It’s what I’d do without supervision.

He taps on the doorframe, a sign of his agitation. “Can I see you in my office?”

“Of course.” I push out of my chair. “I’ll be back.”

Emme nods, chewed-up nails already in her mouth as I follow my boss down the hall.

“Is this going to be a regular occurrence?” he asks once we’re in his office.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve run it by you before I brought Emme here. She won’t be a problem. She’ll stay in my office and if I have meetings, I can send her down the street to the café.”

“Is everything okay? I understand you’re going through some personal difficulties, but you’ve been distracted a lot lately.”

That the death of my parents and my guardianship of my sister is construed as personal difficulties is laughable. “There’s been a lot of change. I’ve had to shift my priorities now that Emme is my responsibility.”

He steeples his hands. “I’m sure it’s put increased demands on your time outside of work. I hope that her being here isn’t going to compromise that further.”

“She won’t be a distraction.” I’m annoyed that this is the angle he’s taking. At no point has he asked how I’m coping, how Emme’s coping. His sole concern seems to be whether I can accomplish everything he needs me to in the time I have allocated.

He smiles. “That’s good to hear. I know partner is on your radar and I’d hate for that to be compromised.”

I consider whether I want to have this conversation, and decide it’s better to get it out of the way. “Actually, I think we should talk about that. Now that I have these new responsibilities, I need to reevaluate my career plans, and that includes making partner. It’s still definitely something I’d like to work toward, but I need my focus to be on Emme and her well-being. I think Felix would be equally as viable a candidate for partner.”

He blinks a few times, the only sign I’ve shocked him. “You’re sure this is what you want?”

“Emme’s only going to need me for a few more years, and right now she needs me the most. She has to be my first priority.”

He’s silent for a few moments before he finally nods. “I understand. It’s commendable that you’re putting her needs ahead of your own.”

It’s about time, actually, but I don’t say that. And as I sit across from him, I keep thinking about Whitman and what they might be able to offer me. Feelings for Kailyn aside, it would be better for Emme and possibly better for me. “I should get back to work.”

My conversation with Freeman weighs heavy on my mind the rest of the morning. Emme comes with me to get lunch. We order to go and head back to the office instead of grabbing a table. The silence is choking me.

“Are you in trouble for having me at work?” Her voice is low and hoarse.

I glance at her, head bowed, fingers at her mouth. There are dark circles under her eyes. “No, I’m not in trouble.”

“Mr. Freeman seemed mad.”

“He always seems mad, especially in the morning.”

She sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“I wish you’d tell me what happened at the dance.”

“I already did. I swear on Mom and Dad, Dax, I didn’t steal the vodka. I don’t know how it got in my locker, but I didn’t put it there. We went to my locker twice, once to get stuff for Sasha and once to get Ainsley a hair tie, and that was it.”

Her oath shocks me into stillness. She’s serious. I can see it in her imploring gaze and the tremble of her chin.

“I’m sorry, kiddo.” I pull her into me, hugging her hard. “I should’ve trusted that you were telling me the truth.”

She clutches my jacket, face mashed into my chest. “You believe me?”

“I believe you.”

We stand in the middle of the street, people shooting curious looks our way as her shoulders shake and her tears soak through my jacket. When she finally lets go, her eyes are rimmed with red and her face is blotchy. “Does this mean I can have my phone back?”

I bark out a laugh. “Yeah, you can have your phone back.”

“Can I text Kailyn?” she asks meekly.

That it’s her first question makes my chest tighten a little. I wonder how hard it’s been for her to be without anyone these past few days. Another rookie parenting mistake on my part, taking everything away from a girl who’s already lost so much.

“Yes. You can text Kailyn.”

That spurs on another hug and a fresh round of tears, happy ones this time.

We take the elevator back to my office—where her phone is tucked away in my messenger bag. I feel lighter than I have the past few days, thanks to Emme’s buoyant mood, but the question remains, if Emme and her friends didn’t put the booze in her backpack, who did? And why?

The return of Emme’s phone puts a massive smile on her face. She spends the next two hours thumb typing, and while I want to ask if she’s talking to Kailyn, I manage to resist.

At two in the afternoon Trish, the custody lawyer, shows up and backhands my good mood in the face.

I glance at my calendar, checking to see if I somehow missed a scheduled appointment.

“Sorry to stop by unannounced, but I received some documentation this morning that I needed to share with you as soon as possible, and I was in the neighborhood.” She gives me a strained smile, her eyes darting to the couch where my sister is stretched out, with her laptop. “Hi, Emme.”

Emme lifts her hand in a wave. “Hi.”

“Is there somewhere we can go to discuss this privately?” Trish asks.

“Em, you want to run down to the café and grab a snack or something?” There’s a tightness in the pit of my stomach that I don’t like.

“Sure. I can do that.” Emme’s gaze shifts from Trish to me and back again as she closes her laptop and crosses the room, taking the twenty I hold out to her. “You want anything?”

“I’m good. Grab yourself whatever you want.”

As soon as the door closes behind her, Trish takes a seat opposite me. “I’m very sorry to drop in on you like this, but it looks like your aunt has been busy.” She pulls a file from her bag and sets it on the table between us. “There are some pictures of you that look less than flattering in here.”

“What kind of pictures?” Since college I’ve been incredibly careful about my public persona, aware that people are always watching and often taking photographs when I least expect it.

“You at a bar with some colleagues and a woman doing shots. There are time stamps that indicate it was after work hours.” Trish opens the folder and spreads out a series of images.

There are half a dozen pictures of the crazy fangirl who tried to get me to do a shot with her when I’d been at that bar with Felix, the night Kailyn had taken Emme to get a manicure before the dance. I’d had one beer and I didn’t touch the shot. “Those pictures have been taken out of context.”

Trish taps the desk, her smile patient. “I understand that you want to have a life—”

“I went out for one beer with my colleagues.”

“Which is reasonable. Unfortunately, with this most recent issue at the school and the underage drinking—”

“Emme wasn’t drinking.”

Trish gives me a sympathetic smile. “She was in possession of alcohol, though.”

I scrub a hand over my face. “I know possession is a problem, but I’m still working on getting to the bottom of that. Emme says it wasn’t hers, so I’m hoping there’s a way to prove that.”

“It’s commendable that you want to have faith in what Emme tells you—”

I cut her off. “If she said it wasn’t hers, I believe her.”

“Well, then you need undeniable proof.” She clears her throat. “The pictures aren’t the only thing your aunt has up her sleeve, though.”