I do. With a deep sigh, I propel myself into my question: “What if they abused your sisters instead of doting on them?”
Ryan’s expression darkens. “Then there is no place on this Earth where they’d be safe.”
I let his words wash through me. Before I can reply, the waiter comes to take our order. When we’re alone again, Ryan looks at me inquisitively. “You don’t have to share if you don’t want to. But I’m going to guess you asked me this for a reason.”
I don’t know if I should spill my guts to Ryan. I know he wishes I would, but he’s not a therapist. He’s my boss. And I have to uphold somewhat of an illusion that I’m holding it together. Plus, I now know he won’t understand. He won’t have the answer to the question that has gnawed at me from the inside over the last decade: How do you reconcile love for the ones who gave you life when you also hate them more than anyone on this Earth?
“I just hope that you know I’m here for you,” Ryan continues. “You know I want nothing more than for you to succeed. But these things …” He gestures vaguely with his hands. “When left alone, they can completely unravel a person.”
“I know.”
“If you’re not going to talk to me about it, have you considered therapy?”
I groan inwardly. Rachel has been harping me about going to therapy for a while now. “Not you, too.” I sigh. I just don’t get how talking to a stranger about my problems is going to get me anywhere. And that’s if I could even bring myself to open up to said stranger.
“No, seriously,” Ryan insists. “Consider it. I think it would do you some good to talk to somebody, at least.”
I’ve got Rachel. Despite me being the big brother, I can’t deny she’s been a lifeline for me our entire adult life. Her husband Karan, too.
Thankfully, Ryan drops the topic, and we enjoy a nice, casual lunch together. Only when I’m eating the last bite of my falafel do I remember something important: I have a meeting this afternoon. Shit.
I lean over the table to spy Ryan’s Rolex and see I’m going to be late, even if I leave now.
Shit, shit, shit.
So much for doing my job.
“What’s wrong?” Ryan pipes up.
“I forgot about a meeting I have with Rob and a potential client.” I jerk up from my seat and gather my jacket. “I’m so sorry, Ryan.”
“Don’t. It’s my fault for distracting you. Go.” He waves me away with a hand and an encouraging smile.
I rush out the door, hoping I’m lucky with the metro schedules.
I’m not.
At lunchtime, there’s a metro every three to five minutes, but I still miss it by a few seconds, wasting precious time. And when I transfer from the Green line to the Orange line, the same thing happens.
By the time I rush onto Mont-Royal Street toward the café where we’re supposed to meet this new client, there’s a sheen of sweat on my brow. I do my best to slow my breathing so I can steady my heartbeat and arrive on the scene without being too frazzled. First impressions matter. I’m wearing one of my best suits—a dark charcoal that makes my tan skin pop—and my chestnut hair is neatly trimmed, not a hair out of place.
I try to recall all the information I can about this potential client. Rob was initially assigned to this inquiry, but he invited me to the meeting because he thinks I’d be a better fit to help them. Most of my experience is with businesses in the events industry, so it may have something to do with that.
Finally, I arrive at the café. As I step inside, the aroma of freshly ground coffee envelops me, calming my nerves. With the gentle glow of Edison bulb lighting and walls adorned with local art, the space feels both intimate and vibrant. Quiet conversations, the clinking of cups, and the occasional hiss and whistle from the espresso machine create a soundtrack that’s both lively and soothing.
I look around and spot Rob sitting at a table in one of the corners of the café. As usual, the bags under his eyes hang heavy. My eyes shift to the person seated in front of him, and my heart stops in my chest.
Sophie’s golden hair falls in silky waves across her collarbones. Even though she’s wearing a pale beigy rose turtleneck, it can’t hide the graceful curve of her long neck, against which shines a sophisticated pair of golden hooped earrings. Her lean legs are tucked away in brown flared pants, but I know all too well what the soft skin underneath looks like.
And those damned ocean-blue eyes are staring straight at me with fiery anger.
I’m sprung back to the last time our gazes crossed. I haven’t seen her since that horrible night. I can still remember the vitriolin those beautiful eyes when she ran past me in the hallway. She was never my biggest fan, but at that moment, I knew she hated me.
And I understand why she did. Moments later, I had walked into the same room she’d just run out of and seen Matthew for myself. By then she was long gone already. I didn’t get a chance to explain to her that I didn’t know.
If I’d known about Matt’s cheating, I would have told her immediately.
I push the intrusive thoughts aside and put on my professional face. Sophie does the same; her jaw slackens, but that fiery look in her eyes doesn’t leave.
