Corporate Secrets

CHAPTER 7

COLE

I can't stop thinking about her.

I can't even concentrate on the work I'm supposed to be doing because she has filled up all the empty spaces in my mind, and now she's even pushing out all the important stuff.

I remember her from Friday night, in the pretty dress and her hair all done up. Now she's back to her mousy little self, but I can't go back to seeing her that way, not anymore. It's driving me nuts, and I don't know what to do about it.

I rub the side of my head, where I still feel a dull ache from the weekend. The pills sit on the side of my briefcase, but I shake my head. I've never been a huge fan of pharmaceuticals, and never really trusted them. I especially do not like drugs because I once had an addiction to painkillers.

It was why I was so reluctant to go to the hospital, even though I knew something was wrong. Why I finally found myself face down on my driveway on Friday night.

Thank heavens for Tim being there with me, because who the hell knows what could have happened if I'd been on my own?

My phone buzzed, and I pick it up without even checking to see who it is. "Cole?"

"Mom! Oh, it's nice to hear from you." Shoving away from my desk, I swivel my chair a little to the right, then to the left. It's pretty comfortable, if a little too plush.

"You never call," she says sadly. I know she doesn't mean to make me feel guilty, but it still has that effect. "How are things in Chicago?"

"A bit difficult and slow." And isn't that an exaggeration? Manning pissed off loads of people, and now I'm having to deal with building back the bridges he burned alongside all of the other work on my plate.

"Are you eating and resting well?"

I wish I was still a child. You could run to your parents with all your worries and have them fix it and make it just right. Being an adult is just so different. Not wanting to worry her, I say, "Yes, mom. I'm taking care of myself."

"That's good. That's very good." I can almost picture her, sitting in the dining room alone, surrounded by so many pictures of people and places, and yet it's all so empty.

I can see her, light blond hair that frames her face and makes her sort of look like an angel. The grey eyes that seem to stare deep down into your soul as if she knows your every secret. The hands that are never still, always busy. The scent of tangerine and fresh lemon that hangs around her.

I can imagine her, in a tidy, pretty dress that covers her from the base of her neck and falls to her ankles. She is seating with legs crossed at the knees, a pretty picture in a lovely room. And yet she is the only one there to bring the warmth.

Everything else is cold.

I clutch the arm of my chair, anger filling me up. This is why I don't speak so often to her. It brings back memories that I would rather forget. And while none of it is her fault - she was the victim after all, the one who was most hurt - it's hard to separate her from everything.

"You should call your sister, you know."

"What?" I shake my head, trying to lose the memories.

"Celine. She misses you. Her graduation is in only a few days, less than two weeks now."

"Mom, did Celine tell you to ask me to call her?" There is a smile on my face as I ask because I already know the answer even before she says it.

"Well... She didn't ask, not specifically. She only mentioned how you both haven't spoken in a while. You know how your sister can be, don't you?"