Page 7 of Love Notes & Lifelines
“I don’t appreciate going into things blind,” he snaps. Forget personal and professional boundaries, it might be time for HR to step in and see if he needs the stick up his ass surgically removed.
“Do you think I do?” My teeth make a crunching noise and I’m sure the vein in my neck is bulging with irritation. Whatever my sister’s playing at is testing the limits of what little patience I have left.
Caleb is in his mid-forties. He lost his wife a few years ago but never even mentioned to anyone that she was sick until he had to take time off for her funeral. He has no other family or friends that I’m aware of, and he’s also started forgetting who owns this company too often.
I’ve cut him a lot of slack because of what he’s gone through, but Elijah has mentioned multiple times that he has concerns, so maybe it’s time to rein him in.
“Beck.” Elijah’s tone is cautious. I won’t like what he’s about to say—that’s the cadence he uses to drop bombs I haven’t thought of yet. Now I’m thankful the foyer between mine and Caleb’s offices is semi-private—though I don’t particularly relish the idea of airing my dirty laundry in front of Stella or Caleb either.
But Elijah is a completely different story. He knows everything about me, right down to why I left home and never returned.
“Just spit it out, Elijah.” My patience is a tightrope about to snap.
Stella reaches a hand toward me and almost immediately snatches it back. Was she going to touch me? For what? Comfort? My skin sizzles under her scrutiny. Her first reaction to my upset was to comfort me. Why would she do that?
I swallow hard and find it difficult to blink because once I do, I’ll have to turn my back on her. Instead, we stand in this weird limbo—studying each other.
“Cally has attempted to reach you over thirty times in the last month,” Elijah says gently. I drop my chin and stare at the floor. “And each time she sounded, I don’t know, more distressed? Weaker, maybe. Perhaps she’s sick and wants to talk to you.”
A sucker punch of emotion I’m not prepared for steals the air from my lungs, and I stagger back a step. Stella’s entire body leans toward me, then I lose focus and blink feverishly.
It’s not the first time Elijah has mentioned something similar, but it’s the first time he’s said it when she wasn’t on hold. Something about that makes this hit harder. Growing up, my older sister was my best friend. I don’t think we even kept secrets from each other, which was why her choosing the Delacroix family absolutely gutted me. Marrying Davis I could have dealt with, but taking over Delacroix Holdings, my biggest competitor, the family that took everything from us, was a betrayal I’ll never be able to see past.
“Delacroix Holdings is the future, Beck. I know you want to believe you’re the best at everything, but not this time. You can’t compete with an established company like this. You’re just not cut out for it. The business of luxury is cutthroat, and you don’t have what it takes.”
That was the last time I spoke to my sister. I swallow hard, trying to clear my throat and mind. Calista is only forty-three, but Davis is six years younger than her and a lifetime lessmature. She probably has a cold, and Davis is off on another death-defying stunt.
It’s nothing serious.
Swallowing, the tension gets lodged in my throat. What if she is sick? Does that negate their betrayal?
Out of the corner of my eye, I observe Stella standing quietly—her face is full of sympathy. It’s embarrassing that my attention locks onto her when my foundation is untethered—I don’tneedanyone. I don’t rely on anyone. And yet, here I am, wishing I knew what she’s thinking and pissed off that I don’t.
Elijah crosses the room to stand in front of me, but my attention is drawn to the emotions I find in Stella’s gaze.
Abruptly, she turns to her right, breaking our connection, then floats around the space like a ghost only I can see. Stella hands Elijah a folder while he checks something on his phone, fills Caleb’s to-go mug with coffee and hands it to him, then returns to sit at her desk.
How are they not paying attention to her? Or at the very least saying fucking thank you.
Dog whines until Stella pushes her chair back enough for the mutt to jump into her lap. She pats Dog’s ears, even though the Bernadoodle dwarfs her in the chair, then Dog nuzzles into Stella’s warmth as though she’s done it a million times. Even my dog takes comfort from this woman.
I hadn’t meant to keep the beast. Some asshole dropped her off in my parking garage and all the no-kill shelters were full. One week turned into another and she just became mine. Elijah is pissed I named her Dog, but I won’t change it.
“Stella?” Caleb’s gruff voice drags my attention off the bewildering assistant. “When you’re done with that pile, there’s another on my desk.” He nods toward a stack of folders that must be close to two feet high. “And it’sone hourfor lunch. Not an hour and ten minutes.”
“Caleb.” I’m surprised by how calm my words are because my stomach is a volcano ready to erupt. “I don’t run an army barracks, for Christ’s sake. Ten minutes will not collapse us.”
His expression is colder than a witch’s tit in a brass bra. Stella, surprisingly, holds her head high, exposing the delicate column of her neck. She’s nervous around Caleb, but she’s not afraid of him. It’s interesting, and probably fucking stupid.
“Let’s go,” Caleb orders, and I follow more obediently than Dog because there’s a foreboding sensation hanging over me, something telling me my world is about to crumble—again.
“What do you mean?”I ask for the third time. My gaze is glued to Harold Sterling as he bounces a baby on his aging knee. I’ve known this man since I was the little girl’s age. He’s been my family’s attorney for even longer, but I don’t ever remember him using the Raleigh office—my dad always saw him in Sailport Bay.
“I’m sorry, Becker. Calista communicated that she attempted contact multiple times before she passed. She left this letter for you, and she named you guardian of Emmy and Ruby.”
My heart is beating so fast I’m lightheaded. I’ve never had a panic attack before but I’m pretty sure I’m about to pass out. “How?” My throat is scratchy, and my voice is a detached version of my own.
“She had glioblastoma, son, brain cancer. She fought a valiant battle, but?—”
