“I do,” Dizzie countered. “Portia does.”
He sighed. Portia did blame Dizzie, and Killian wasn’t sure anything could change her mind. Except maybe time. “You were trying to survive. Do other companies… I mean, is the contract common practice?”
“I don’t know. Probably.” She laughed softly. “I’ve only ever been worried about mine.”
He scooted back until he leaned against the wall. His legs extended nearly to the edge. He ran both hands through his hair and squeezed the heels of his hands against his head. How had the system become so messed up?
“Will you tell me about it?” he finally said. “Growing up in the Tremaine headquarters?”
Dizzie tensed, her shoulders tight. Then she sighed and her muscles relaxed. She slid backward until she rested against the wall next to him. He noticed for the first time that her toenails were painted the same red as her nails.
“It was growing up. It was the only thing I knew,” she said, her attention on the shabby bedspread. “We ran wild through the tunnels beneath the headquarters. Had lessons in the crammed classrooms. All of us kids, we were friends. Family.”
She paused and he held his breath.
“It wasn’t really until we were older—thirteen, fourteen—that they give you an aptitude test and then tell you what you’re going to be when you grow up, what you’re going to do for the corporation.”
“You don’t get a choice?” Killian asked. He could have made a million choices, but he’d never made one.
“Not really,” she said. Dizzie leaned toward him and bumped her shoulder against his. “Your turn.”
“Turn for what?” He didn’t think about his childhood often. Not since the accident. It made him miss his parents.
She looked up at him. “Tell me about your childhood.”
What could he say about his childhood? “It was a lot like yours?—”
Dizzie’s snort cut him off.
Eyes wide, he looked at her. Her cheeks were flushed and her hands covered her mouth.
“Sorry. I’m sorry.” Her words were muffled, but her eyes danced. “Did you just say that my childhood,” she paused and pierced him with her gaze, “my childhood in the corporate orphanage was the same as yours in the glittering Seattle high society?”
“Okay, when you say it like that, I sound like an asshole,” he said with a rueful smile. “It’s true, though.” He held up a hand to forestall any other interruptions.
“You were raised by strangers. I was, too. A series of nannies and other caretakers. You ran wild with your friends. Tommy and I were terrors when we were together.” Killian smiled fondly as memory after memory flickered through his mind. He sighed. “We might have grown up differently, but the Tremaine Corporation controlled both our lives. Just in different ways.”
“Fucking Tremaine.” The venom in her voice wasn’t unexpected.
He regretted bringing it up. But he couldn’t deny that the company linked their lives together.
Dizzie dropped her head against the wall with a thunk. “If Portia’s your best friend, can’t you get her to back off?”
Killian shook his head. “No. Because of Tommy. Anybody else and I might have been able to. But Tommy… She loved him. There’s no way she’ll stop.”
“You loved him too.”
It wasn’t a question.
He closed his eyes, breathed through the spear of pain his friend’s name brought. “He was my best friend. Did you have a best friend growing up?”
“I do. Did.” She shrugged. “It’s complicated.”
“Then you know what it’s like. Spending all your time together. Tommy was a huge part of my life. Now there’s a gaping hole where he used to be.”
Dizzie flinched.
“I wasn’t blaming you. It’s why Portia won’t give up. Tommy was my best friend and I can barely breathe through the grief sometimes. Imagine how Portia, his wife—his widow—feels. He was her best friend and her husband.”
