Page 13 of The Dis-Graced
“I’m sorry, Grace, but it has to be this way. Your every interaction with the project will be monitored. We’ll start on it immediately, and hopefully, it won’t take long to wrap up. I will give you a cellphone you can use, but if you are to have access to my apartment, I cannot allow you to keep your current one.”
She closes her mouth and opens it to speak again, but no words come out.
“Are you confused? I thought journalists were good at putting the pieces together. Maybe I’m hiring the wrong person for the job.”
Her brow furrows, and after several more attempts at speaking, she finally says, “But, why?”
“Why the arrangement? The mistrust?”
“No, I get it. I really do. But why are you even hiring me if you have to go through all this?”
“Truthfully, at first, it was for Luke. He’s a good guy, and I hated seeing him distraught. Now, I don’t know. I guess I feel bad.”
“You feel bad?”
“Luke was always a brother to me, from the moment I met him. You, well, I never treated you like a sister, though maybe I should have.”
“So…in exchange for me giving up my freedom for some months, I get the scoop and your endorsement?”
“Something like that,” I say gently. “You’ll be given a laptop to use, a cell phone, I’ve even taken the liberty of purchasing you a new wardrobe.”
“I have clothes, thank you very much.”
“I know, think of it as a perk. Would you like to see the project?”
“Yes.“
“ALA—”
The door to my office opens, and Devon comes rushing in.
Jesus Christ, why the hell is he here?
As soon as he spots us, he barrels towards me, arms open for an embrace. Devon has always been the warmest, most jovial of my parents’ four sons.
He’s also been the most troubled.
“Brother—it’s so good to see you!” he enthuses.
I stand to return the embrace with a grimace. “Likewise, but I’m afraid I’m presently engaged, and I must request that you come back at a later time. Edna, my secretary, can help you with that.”
It may seem harsh that I’m being so cold and distant toward my brother, but I’ve been burned by Devon one too many times. He’s the youngest of us, and for a time, he was my favorite, but he made a much better child than he does an adult.
“Why you gotta be like that, man. We’re family,” he says with a hearty pat on my shoulder.
Then, his eyes move to Grace, and a queer look crosses his face.
“You’re entertaining a lady-friend?”
“I’m having a business meeting.”
“Are we selling tech to the Amish now?”
Grace brings a hand up to stifle her laughter.
“No, and for Christ’s sake, you must never speak like that with a client present. You are a member of the Dallanger family, whether you want to be or not.”
The hurt look on Devon’s face makes me regret my harsh words. He’s always been sensitive, feeling slighted at the smallest offense. I’ve long suspected that it was that trait that led him to the bottle, and later, to a needle.
