Page 24 of Best Man Speaking

Julian sighs. “No, Marcus. Better.”

If only it were true. The fact that I’m considering any sort of deal with Hallie’s dad, with good intentions or not, proves otherwise.

Chapter Seven

Hallie

Midmorning three days in, and I seem to have done nothing other than make a mess of Marcus’s once-pristine guest space. For all his taunting in the driveway when I’d moved in, he’s kept his distance, most likely being able to feel the emotional turmoil radiating out of his pool house and wanting to stay far from it.

So far, I’ve spent my time going through work emails and making notes for feedback on designs, regardless of the fact that I’m technically on leave. Working in UX design is a dream with the remote work it allows for. But it makes disconnecting from work difficult, especially on days like these, where I’m looking for distractions. There’s also been a fair amount of “pro-masturbation”—masturbation as a form of procrastination, a classic time waster.

In the moments I managed actual self-control, I sat on the floor, sifting through my belongings and slowly coming to terms with just how much of it I wasn’t going to be able to keep. Any doubts I may have harbored over whether or not my parents hadregrets about procreating were put further to rest with every box I opened.

They hadn’t kept a single thing.

Mind full and earphones in, it takes me longer than I care to admit to realize I’m not alone.

A young guy and girl in paint-splattered work pants and black sweatshirts with “Scott Construction” embroidered across the front stand over me. Neither of them looks older than eighteen, one with neon green shoelaces and platinum-blond hair and the other straightlaced with a crew cut.

“Hi, are you Miss Cairns?” asks the young person with the platinum pigtails and a friendly smile.

“That’d be me.” The prickly sensation of pins and needles travels down my leg as I stand. “Can I help you two with anything?”

I can only assume they’re here to pick something up for Marcus.

“I’m Jason, and this is Layla,” says the young guy, all seriousness in his demeanor, so at odds with his colleague. “And, actually, we’re here to help you.”

“You are?” My eyebrows lift.

I hadn’t even been able to bring myself to call Erica to ask for help. I knew it’d be impossible for her to go through my childhood belongings without asking questions about each and every item she touched. Memories that would only drag me back into a place I no longer want to be.

“Yeah, didn’t Mr. Scott tell you?” Layla asks so earnestly in regard to her boss. At my obvious lack of knowledge, she adds, “He said we were to help you with anything you need. And we don’t mind, really.”

The gentle offer hits me straight in the chest. I’m barely treading water as it is, exhausted from feeling feelings andresisting the urge to cry after having to put one too many of my gran’s old things into piles to be given or thrown away.

“Mr. Scott and I aren’t so good with communication skills. Would you give me a second?” I ask, voice tight.

I move to where my phone rests on a stack of boxes, then quickly scroll for the group text and Marcus’s number. Except I can’t seem to pressCall. Instead, I source the office number for Scott Construction.

The phone rings twice before a pleasant-sounding female voice answers, “Good morning, Scott Construction, how can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m a tenant staying in Marcus Scott’s pool house rental,” I say, hoping to sound sweet and genuinely concerned as I move out of earshot of the teenagers waiting patiently for me. “I was hoping he’d be able to speak with me regarding two people who have just trespassed onto his property.”

“Oh, of course! I’ll transfer you now.”

I can’t help but hope she doesn’t get in trouble for not checking for further details before putting the call through.

Marcus answers on the first ring, and I don’t have it in me to grace him with a greeting. “Why was I nearly just scared to death by two teenagers?” The words leave me in what I can only describe as a growl.

He sighs, and I can picture him sitting behind a desk, instantly annoyed at the sound of my voice. The image is soothing. “I thought an extra pair of hands or two might help. It looked like you had a lot to do today.”

His response is reasonable—kind, even—and yet my brain won’t let it go. His being nice just pisses me off more. “Did you send them to annoy me?”

“No, Hallie, I didn’t send my two best apprentices to annoy you. What the hell would I do that for? I’m not a fan of wasting time or money.”

“I don’t know, Marcus, whywouldyou send me two apprentices?”

Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I can see how it was a generous thing to do, how it’s something the Marcus I used to know would do, but I can’t trust it.

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