Page 33 of My Office Rival (Keep Your Enemy Closer #2)

CYNTHIA

F rom my spot on the couch, I watched Jason bang out the front door for a run like the hounds of hell were on his heels. I shook my head and went back to the novel I’d found on one of the living room shelves. He was an insane person. Running at seven p.m.? No, thank you.

After a few minutes, my phone lit up with a text from my brother.

Devon

Mom called. It’s surgery.

Oh no. I immediately FaceTimed him. He picked up, and the weathered wood behind him and bright light told me he was outside in his yard in California.

“Hey, sis.” He gave me a warm smile. Devon was sweetness and light compared to me. A little bit dopey but lovable. My parents frequently opened up to him more than they did to me, because he took everything in stride. And then he immediately told me about it, of course.

“So you talked to Mom?”

His smile dropped. “Yeah.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “ Dad needs surgery. They’re scheduling it now. And then a few months of bed rest and physical therapy.”

“Shit.”

“Exactly what I said. I could see Mom was worried. She’s trying to keep it together for me, but she’s stressed.”

“Typical. So that’s a few months out of work… I’m assuming their insurance will pay for the surgery?”

“It won’t.”

“How do you know?” My stomach dropped.

“Dad’s only been working part time for the city. You need twenty hours to get benefits.”

“Are you kidding me?” I jumped off the couch and started pacing. “I can’t believe they didn’t tell us this. They must have known. He’s been part time for years!”

Devon was nodding. “They’re so secretive. They never want us to worry, well, mostly you, but they have so much pride.”

“Yeah, well, their stupid pride can go kick rocks,” I muttered, and he laughed.

“They’re on Medicaid now anyway, so they have something. But Mom doesn’t think it will be covered. Apparently, because physical therapy would be effective in most cases, it’s considered elective.”

“That’s stupid.”

“I know. And Dad won’t do the PT, so here we are. It’s a ton of money for the surgery.”

I paced as I thought. “I have to give them the money, Dev. It’s the best solution.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Then what the hell am I supposed to do?” I exploded.

“Nothing! You’re not their parent, sis. They’re adults.

They can figure it out. I’m not saying don’t give them the money, I’m just saying you don’t have to.

” He sounded too reasonable, and I made a face at him.

“Besides, I know what it costs you to do this. And I don’t mean financially,” he added quietly.

It cost me a lot. I had done this before.

Between the mountain of student loans I had paid off and the emergencies over the years, this dance had become old hat.

Devon had needed rent money for months when he had lost his job and been kicked out of a horrible living situation.

$15k down the drain when I had been a fourth-year associate.

My mom had gotten into a car accident and been sued.

I’d helped her pay the judgment, so Dad’s wages wouldn’t be garnished.

Every time something like this happened, it was another year at the firm.

Another year I might not have if I got fired.

At my silence he added, “You need to live for you, Cynth, not them. What do you want? Just think about it.”

I sighed. “Love you, Dev.”

“Love you too.”

He hung up, and I flopped back on the couch.

I didn’t want to deal with this right now.

Between my lack of exit options, Gerald’s ultimatum, Brett trying to oust me, the stress of this deal…

panic made my stomach churn. It was all too much, and I didn’t see a way to succeed except to win and beg Gerald to make partner.

If I made partner, I would be a millionaire, I’d show stupid Brett up, and I’d never have to worry about my family’s finances again.

And I’d be miserable. You need to live for you .

Thanks for that, Dev . Only one of us could be an independent filmmaker with not a care in the world in this family, and it was not going to be me.

Besides, I didn’t have any concrete plans.

I must have sent fifty job applications over the last twelve months.

Human Rights Defense had been the only one to respond.

What did that leave me with? A vague idea to bank all my firm earnings and take a job doing public interest work?

When my family needed me? Maybe it was time to grow up and leave that pipe dream behind.

I ground my palms against my eyes. I needed a distraction.

Jason had his running, at least. Maybe I could try to make dinner?

It worked for him, so it couldn’t be impossible.

I typically survived on takeout and nights out with Margo or my parents, but I could handle at least a grilled cheese sandwich.

I opened the fridge in the kitchen, and wow.

Jason had really stocked this thing. There was enough food to feed an army.

Protein shakes, all sorts of cheeses, what looked like five pounds of kale, leftover chicken.

Ooh, leftovers . That I couldn’t mangle.

Maybe chicken salad? I did a quick Google search.

Okay, that didn’t look too difficult…hmm.

I needed to make a sauce. I started grabbing ingredients and putting them on the counter, happy to be busy, until I heard a scratching at the wall. I froze. It happened again.

“Oh no, you don’t, little beastie,” I muttered.

Like most New Yorkers, I had no tolerance for critters.

When cockroaches were as big as birds and could fly just as quickly, you developed a healthy aversion to anything that could creep into your home.

The scratching continued and I scrambled to search through the drawers until I found a rolling pin.

I stilled, trying to pinpoint where the sound was coming from.

There . Under the sink. I advanced, slowly, stealthily. I opened the cabinet and waited, searching the depths behind the garbage can and the cleaning supplies. I caught a flash of movement, and then a small shape scampered out. A mouse.

“Got you!” I cried and swung the rolling pin. Instead of hitting the little monster, I hit myself in the shin and fell to the ground.

“Damn it all to hell.” I rolled over and stared at the ceiling. Today could not get any worse.

Jason’s footsteps sounded faintly, and then louder as he neared, until he came into view above me.

Shirtless, of course. His skin was pebbled from the cool night air, and his running pants hung low on his hips.

His chest rose and fell with quick breaths as he stared down at me, his lips curving in a smile.

“Why are you never wearing a shirt?” I grumbled. His smile widened.

“Why are you on the floor?” He retorted.

“Thought I would check out the view from down here.” I realized how dirty that sounded, and I flushed. “I was trying to make dinner, and then I heard a critter and tried to kill it. And failed miserably.”

His eyes laughed at me. “A critter, eh? And you tried to brain it with a rolling pin?”

“Tried. And failed.” I made a face.

“You’re a bloodthirsty one. Up you go.” He reached out his hand, and I stared at it for a beat too long before accepting his help.

He smoothly pulled me up, and I let myself ogle him just the smallest amount.

Yum. He smelled like night air and sweat, and man.

Jason Elliott just after a run was not a sight I would forget anytime soon.

“So, what were you going to make?” He surveyed the kitchen like a general.

“Um, chicken salad? I found a recipe online, and it seemed doable.” I was stupidly nervous. I hated appearing weak in front of men, especially men in my profession. Better to be strong, untouchable.

“Do you want help?” He eyed me like he knew the answer would be no. Normally, it would be. I didn’t ask for help and I rarely accepted it when offered. But his eyes held no judgment.

“Would you mind? I’m honestly out of my depth. It would be nice to learn.” I gave him a tentative smile. He pulled out ingredients, directed me to cut celery, and started pulling the chicken apart.

We worked in silence for a while until he cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry about earlier. In the conference room. I was having a bad day.”

I startled. His head was down, but spots of red rode his cheekbones. “Well, you shouldn’t have taken it out on me.”

He finally looked up, and the apology in his eyes made me soften. “You’re right,” he said simply. “I shouldn’t have.”

“Apology accepted. That wasn’t even the worst thing that happened today.” I sighed. “I just got a call from my brother. My family is too much sometimes.”

“What are they like?” His voice was quiet.

“They’re quirky, but great. I mean, they’re a huge pain in the ass, but that makes them family, right?

” He didn’t respond, just hmmed noncommittally.

That’s right, he might not know what that’s like.

My chest ached. “I have a younger brother who lives in California. Devon. He’s amazing but a total goof.

I support him financially when he inevitably follows his latest dream.

He’s an independent filmmaker and incredibly good at it, but it pays peanuts.

My mom is the ultimate mom, except for the lack of cooking.

She always fusses over us when we come home.

And my dad is that guy from Queens. He loves the Mets, works for the city, and has serious opinions on street food. ”

“It sounds like you really love them.” I swore I heard longing in his voice, and I turned from my chopping.

He was whisking something, head down, shoulders tense.

“I do. They drive me crazy, but I love them.”

He didn’t look up at me. It looked almost like he steeled himself before he turned, his eyes dark.

“It’s not always roses, though.” Something in me was desperate to reach out to this man, to forge a connection.

“What do you mean?

“Well, my dad’s old injury is flaring up, and he might need surgery.

I have to help. My parents have sacrificed so much for me and my brother.

” I paused. Jason’s stare was heavy as he listened.

“My family is amazing, but sometimes, the weight of family obligation becomes too much to bear.” As the words came out, I realized how true they were. I shrugged and looked away from him.

“Is it terrible to admit that I’m a little bit jealous?”

I looked up at him, surprised. “You’re jealous?”

“Yeah.” His lips quirked. “It sounds silly, given what you just told me, but I have no idea what it’s like to live for someone else. I’ve always lived only for me. Ever since I, ah, left home. It must be nice. I mean, at times.”

Pain lanced me in the chest. “I feel selfish for complaining.”

“No, please, don’t. It’s nice hearing about them.

I just wish I knew what it was like.” He was so calm, so steady, still chopping away.

I wanted to scream in his family’s faces, wanted to shake him and tell him I’d be that person for him.

The words were on the tip of my tongue. What the hell? No, you won’t.

“Did you know your birth parents?” I asked quietly. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“I didn’t. Not really. I mean, I have flashes here and there, but they aren’t good.

” He looked lost for a moment and then shook his head.

“Most of what I know, I learned from my first foster family. I do remember being hungry, though. The neighbors had called the cops on my birth mother after twenty-four hours of listening to me scream for food.” He gave a tiny shrug.

“Probably why I’m so obsessed with it now. ”

My chest felt like it might crack in two at his admission.

I put my knife carefully on the counter and stepped toward him.

Before he could react, I looped my arms around his waist and pressed my cheek to his back.

He tensed, then relaxed under me. I felt the soft thump of his heart and the vibration of his breaths under my cheek, and I squeezed him tighter, trying to show him without words that I would be there for him, even if others hadn’t been.

I pulled away and gave him a little smile. His eyes were slightly wide, his soft mouth surprised.

He considered me for a minute, taking in my face, my messy hair, my stupid oversized sweatshirt. His lips quirked at the saying on it. “New York or nowhere?”

I blushed. “New York or nowhere. Even if my family weren’t there, I’d still live in New York. It’s the only place someone like me can be accepted.”

He arched a brow. “Hot and dangerous?”

I laughed. “No, loud and bossy. Too many shoes and too many opinions.” I shook my head. “I don’t think the country is doing it for me. All this exposure therapy isn’t working.”

He grinned. “Just wait until this weekend. I was thinking we could go to the festival. Maybe wrangle something?”

I snorted. “The only thing I’ll be wrangling is something deep fried, but let’s do it. Maybe some insight into this place will be good for me.”

“Maybe you’ll even start liking beer.” His voice was dry and teasing.

“Don’t get your hopes up.”