Tension hung in the air for the rest of the day. Clients peppered us with questions. Staff members murmured to each other with quick glances and lowered voices as Easton walked past.
By the time his shift ended at four o'clock, I was exhausted and furious in equal measure.
Before he left, Easton appeared in my office doorway, changed back into street clothes.
"Palisade, I really am…"
"I don't want to hear it right now, Easton. Just… go. We'll talk tomorrow."
He looked like he wanted to argue, but nodded instead. "Okay. Tomorrow."
After he left, I dropped my head into my hands. This was exactly what I'd been afraid of. Easton Henley brought chaos wherever he went, and now that chaos was seeping into my carefully controlled world.
Into Casey's world.
Easton
I sat in my car in the clinic parking lot for a solid ten minutes, watching the remaining reporters across the street, hands gripping the steering wheel hard enough to hurt.
I'd specifically told my agent no press. No photo ops.No feel-good redemption story bullshit. And he'd tipped them off anyway because it would begood for my image.
I didn't give a damn about my image. I cared about not making Palisade's life harder.
When she'd found me in the kennel, her eyes were like daggers, lips compressed into a thin line. Like she'd expected better from me, and I'd let her down.
I couldn't leave it like this.
I called my agent and chewed him out for a solid five minutes, making it crystal clear that if he pulled something like this again, he'd be looking for a new client. Then I sat there in the silence, trying to figure out what to do.
Dr. Reyes's voice echoed in my head from our last session:When you screw up, you apologize. Immediately. Sincerely. And then you do better.
I pulled up Holly's contact and sent a text:What's Palisade's address?
Her response came quickly:Why?
Need to apologize in person. Today was my fault.
A pause, then:Not your fault, but ok. She won't like you showing up unannounced, tho.
I know. Sending it anyway?
The address came through a moment later, followed by:Good luck. You'll need it.
Twenty minutes later, I pulled up to a two-story house with a wraparound porch. Completely different from my sterile downtown condo. Flower boxes in the windows, a basketball hoop in the driveway, a small herb garden by the front steps. Homey.
I grabbed the takeout I'd picked up on the way and headed to the door before I could second-guess myself.
I knocked, heard footsteps, and braced myself for Palisade's anger.
The door opened.
But it wasn't Palisade standing there.
It was a little girl, maybe six years old, with long brown hair in a ponytail and the bluest eyes I'd ever seen.
Exactly like mine.
She stared up at me, her mouth falling open.
