Page 44 of My Office Rival

I hope I’m blowing this out of proportion.Maybe Mr. And Mrs. Harris were totally aboveboard. I wanted this deal to succeed,neededthis deal to succeed.

And you have to go through Cynthia to win.Could I do that? Could I crush her against the counter and then crush her under my heel?That’s not you.But it was me. Wasn’t it? Hadn’t I been that uncaring guy enough times that maybe I’d become him? Cold outside and cold inside.She doesn’t see you that way.And yeah, I liked the way I looked in her eyes. What had she said? That I wasn’t scared of anything? I nearly choked on my coffee.If only.But damn, I preferred the way she saw me to the way I saw myself. And what I wouldn’t give for even ten percent of her loyalty to belong to me.

I sipped my coffee as the sky darkened, matching my black mood. Self-doubt and thoughts of shady dealings swirled in my mind.

My phone pinged. An unknown number.

On the screen were five little words:

You owe us, pretty boy.

I froze, phone dangling from my stiff fingers.It couldn’t be. I checked the area code. Tennessee.Fuck. Again. They had found me again. I changed numbers every few years. This wasn’t the first text I’d received, I assumed from Spencer, or maybe Jax. Jax, who was responsible for the ugly scar on my forearm. One that had started a lurid crimson and faded now into a white line. A beer bottle to the arm, just missing my artery. Luckily for me, since I’d woken up hours later after being knocked unconscious.

I shuddered.They can’t find you. I inhaled through my nose and out through my mouth. I had a new name, no social media, no friends in common. I checked my online presence and my personal information every few months to make sure they couldn’t find me. In the past, nothing had come from these messages. I’d change my number and try to forget. But they always unsettled me.

With shaking hands, I checked my brokerage account. The number of digits in the account soothed me.You’re fine.They can’t find you.

But just in case, I needed to be untouchable. Rich enough that Iwas protected. Independent, so the shame of my past could never sully me. I clenched my phone in my fist. I was never depending on someone else ever again.

27

CYNTHIA

“Hi Mama.” I lay on the bed with the video call pulled up on my computer.

“It’s so good to talk to you.” My mother answered every call like it had been months since we’d spoken. It was kind of sweet, even though I had been at their apartment for dinner just over a week ago. Her reddish gold hair was almost entirely gray now, which she hated, though my father claimed it made her look even more beautiful. He was a romantic one, my father.

His faint “hello” sounded from the other room. “Your father says hi.” My mom rolled her eyes. “His back is hurting him a lot today. I’m trying to get him to go for a walk, but he wants to stay home and watch the game.” My father was a die-hard Rangers fan, and I’d watched many a game with him in their comfortable living room.

“Can you at least get him to go down the street to Linda and Ron’s to watch? The walk will help.” Ron, my dad’s best friend, and Linda, his wife, lived just a few minutes’ walk away from my parents’ house.

“I know, sweetheart, but you know how he is.”

I shook my head. I did know. My father was as stubborn as they came. He had been a bus driver for the city for years, but he’d injured his back in an accident a few years back, so he only drove part time.Most days, the back pain wasn’t bad, but when it flared up, he was housebound. If only he would quit. I knew my mom felt the same, but they needed the money, especially now that my mom was fully retired.

My parents had met in New York at a jazz club. Both of them were immigrants, in true New York fashion. My mother was the child of dockworkers from Ireland, and my father, the son of refugees from Armenia. I loved them more than anything in the whole world. Their house was warm and inviting, filled with food smells, the sound of various New York sports games, and old photos on the walls. They still listened to jazz together and went out with their friends from the neighborhood. For people their age, they had a robust social life and healthy habits. I shouldn’t worry. And yet, I did. My brother lived in California and I was the more responsible one, the one who helped them remember their doctor’s appointments and drove them to Costco. The one they called when they needed something. Some days I longed to shed that responsibility, and then I felt guilty for wanting to be free of the mantle of the responsible child.

“Everything okay with you, mom?”

“Oh yes, I’ve been seeing Linda every day for a walk. And you know I volunteer with that park group.” My mom helped beautify parks in Queens by planting trees and flowers. Many of our parks were forgotten and forlorn.

She cleared her throat. “Sweetie, your father and I have been meaning to tell you something. Dr. Collins thinks your father’s disk is deteriorating. He’s likely going to need surgery. The recovery time will be months, and he won’t be able to work.”

“Shit,” I breathed out. “Sorry, Mom,” I added before she could scold me. “Surgery, physical therapy. That will be expensive.”

“I know,” she murmured. “We talked about it.”

“I’ll give you the money. I don’t need it.”

“No.” She sighed. “No, sweetheart. You need to save for your future, not worry about old people and their failing health.”

“Please, Mom. Let me help.” It was always like this. I offered to make all their problems go away in the only way I knew how, andthey almost always said no. They were too proud and independent to take my money. I kept squirreling it away regardless and paid for whatever I could. Her eyes filled with tears. “Your father and I need to see how much this will cost. If it’s surgery…we’ll figure it out.”

“Mom, I’ll be there for you. I’m going to get a big bonus this year. The money means nothing. Promise me you’ll keep me updated on the diagnosis,” I pleaded, even though the thought of what that money entailed made me ill. Another year, or two, at the firm. My stomach knotted.

She promised, and we chatted a bit more before hanging up. I fired off a text to my brother Devon to let him know the news and then lay back on my bed, feeling sick at heart. It was so hard watching my parents struggle, wishing I could solve their problems and knowing they wouldn’t let me. And now, I might finally get a chance to help. For them to even consider agreeing…it must be really bad. The worry in my mother’s eyes and the relief when I offered my help had said it all.

How could I even consider taking another job until they were settled? My stomach twisted. Another few years of late nights and no holidays? Could I do it? Everything in me rebelled.Think of your family.I owed it to them to stay the course and collect the bonuses. I couldnotlose this deal. I could not let Brett win.Does that mean crushing Jason too?Was I a fool if I didn’t want to crush him anymore?

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