Darcy hadn’t expected to be dismissed almost immediately after their arrival, so she went back on her heels as Teagan stalked off, Rose following him. She’d wanted to congratulate him for telling his coworkers about his alcoholism. He’d need support after Darcy was gone, even if he didn’t seem particularly close to Rose or Modeline.
That last thought gave her some concern. Someone would have to be here for him, since Darcy’s podcast talked about recovery in terms of months and years. Maybe Sloane would do it. Maybe he’d get an actual sponsor. Maybe he’d get a girlfriend.
Wouldn’t that just take the cake? Darcy would do all the hard work drying him out, then some snotty New York lady could move in when Teagan’s biggest remaining issue was holding onto his mother’s bedroom furniture. That seemed very unfair.
Darcy frowned at the door where Teagan and Rose had exited. She wasn’t sure what her objection was, exactly, but she abruptly felt like she ought to go sit in to keep an eye on the man.
“Maybe I should,” she began, taking one step toward the door.
Modeline shook her head. “Let them have it out,” she advised. “If I hear screaming, I’ll let you know to rescue him.”
Darcy let Modeline lead her back into the warren of cubicles in the office’s interior, where she pointed out the break room, the executive suites, and her assistant’s desk before excusing herself and shutting the door to her own office.
It was eight thirty in the morning, and everyone was at their desks, wearing headsets and polo shirts. The office air smelled like plastic carpet and burnt coffee. There was a low background hum of overhead lights, clacking keyboards, and computer notifications.
Darcy felt a wave of dislocation wash through her stomach. She’d never been in a place like this in her entire life, and it was hard to immediately summon what she was supposed to be doing here, surrounded by office workers. Was everyone else looking at her or was that her imagination?
Wrinkling her nose, Darcy rustled in her backpack for her headphones. Her hands steadied as she pulled up her podcasts on her phone and plugged in for the next couple of hours. She supposed she’d check whether there was any booze in the break room fridge, then ask about her office.
She’d always said she wanted to be in charge. And if nobody had told her what to do, that had to mean she was.
•••••
Someone had come in to empty the trash since he’d last been in his office, but motes of dust spun in the air and caught in the morning light breaking through the venetian blinds. Teagan flipped on the overhead lights and shut the door behind Rose as she followed him inside.
This had been his mother’s office. The angular white furniture and bright blue Persian carpet were too feminine for his tastes, but it hadn’t seemed appropriate to spend the foundation’s money on redecorating in light of the dire state of its finances when he took over, and then he had just learned to live with it.
He gestured for Rose to take a seat in one of the clear acrylic chairs in front of his desk, but she walked to the bank of windows instead. There was a gilt bar cart with an untouched crystal decanter full of God knew what, also inherited from his mother. Rose got a wry look on her face as she gazed down at the tray of Baccarat glasses.
Teagan grimaced at this latest act of defiance and slumped into the armchair behind the desk. It was a good thing that he’d learned that the tightness in his chest and the painful quickness of his heartbeat were caused by nothing more than his anxious mind; otherwise, he would still have been worried.
“I should fire you,” he said. Cutting him off from communications was one thing, but getting between him and Nora was another.
Rose did all but roll her eyes, making him grit his jaw.
Even if Nora hadn’t told him to hire her, she’d been thebest-qualified person for her job—better-qualified than Teagan when he started, honestly. He thought he’d always treated her with respect. They’d never gotten close, but that hadn’t bothered him until now.
“You’ve never fired anyone in your entire life,” Rose said, sounding crisply unperturbed by his threat. “You couldn’t even fire that network admin who lied about knowing DNS configuration. Modeline had to do it.”
“I think I’m working myself up to it,” Teagan said darkly.
Rose turned and assessed him again, looking him over.
“You look a little better,” she said. “But you didn’t need to come back just to make Nora happy. Modeline and I have things well in hand.”
“Do you think I’m stupid?” he snapped, “Nora told me she was going to hand you my job.”
“On an interim basis only,” Rose said. “I don’t want your job. I make more money than you.”
His self-preservation instinct was barely functioning, but he managed not to point out that Rose could presumably ask for a raise if she got promoted.
“Well, it’s not happening regardless,” Teagan said. “Which means you can call off whatever you’re doing with Nora too. We aren’t selling the art. Don’t waste any time on it.”
Rose picked up one of the crystal tumblers and peered into it. She rubbed it against her sleeve and wrinkled her nose at the dust.
“What’s going on with you, Teagan?” she asked in a tone of bland curiosity, completely ignoring his last instruction. Her deadpan and thick Boston accent made her observations even more cutting. “You called me from an ambulance and said you were having a heart attack. When I tracked down your sister for an update on you being maybe dead, she saidyou’d had some kind of nervous breakdown. Is that what this is?”
“As it turns out, I am an alcoholic,” Teagan said through gritted teeth. How many times was he going to have to do this?
