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“I haven’t talked to him,” I say, giving up. It’s Barry’s problem now. Hell, it was his problem in the first place. He’s a grown man; he doesn’t need me protecting him, no matter how much money he borrowed this time. “He’s left messages for me.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did he need that much money for this time?” he asks, crossing his arms, and something in the action clicks, communicating more than I suspect he meant to. Dad doesn’t just want his money back this time. He’s actually worried about Barry.
Which is concerning, but again, my brother is a grown man.
“I don’t know. What does he usually borrow money for?” In my experience, it was always stupid shit—cars and baubles for his girlfriend of the week, trips to Vegas, or spending money in Tahiti.
“Hell if I know. I’ve about had it with that boy,” he says, winding up for a tirade I’ve heard so many times the last few years, I could recite it from memory. “He makes a good living when he bothers to show up for work. Pisses it away like nothing I’ve ever seen.”
“I don’t know where he’s at, sorry. If I talk to him, I’ll tell him you’re looking for him.”
“No, for Christ’s sake, boy, don’t do that,” he says. “You just give me a call next time he calls you.” He leans over, placing his hands on my desk to make sure he has my full attention. “And Nicolas. When he calls, you’d best answer that phone.”
“Yes, sir.”
He smacks the desk with an open palm. “All right. I’ve got to run.” He walks over, twisting the knob on the door before turning back. “Tell you what, Nicky, if you don’t make a move on that sweet young thing, someone else is going to. She is—” He growls, then laughs like he finds this uproariously funny. When the door swings open, I see Natalie and Finn. Her eyes are wide, his are furious. There’s no way they didn’t hear what he said. Probably everything he said.
“I’ll call you soon, Dad. Say hi to Mom for me.”
He waves, already ignoring me, stopping only to smile at Natalie on his way out the door.
“It was wonderful to meet you,” he says, offering his hand. Again. “What was your name, young lady?”
“Ms. Casteel and I have to get back to work,” I say, coming up to urge him to keep moving forward. Finn’s a step ahead of me, already opening the main door to the hall. “Bye, Dad.” With another laugh and a careless wave, he’s gone.
I don’t want to see the look on their faces, so I keep my back turned as I close the door behind him.
“Sorry about that,” I say, shame creeping up in a flush. I swallow hard and brace myself, turning around. I don’t get to be chickenshit about this. “Both of you. I’m sorry. Especially you, Natalie. You shouldn’t have to put up with that.”
She walks over, smiling gently. She stretches out a hand, as though she’s going to reach for my arm, or maybe my shoulder. Whatever the intention, my body tenses, bracing for impact. She stops, hand in midair, before letting it drop back to her side.
We’ve never touched, except the day I shook her hand when we first met. I’ve made sure it didn’t happen twice. There’s already too much at stake.
Her smile dims. “It’s not your fault,” she says. “I appreciate you intervening.”
“You don’t have to thank me for that.”
She clearly wants to protest but keeps it to herself. I turn to Finn.
“Thank you,” I say, “for not telling him why you’re really here.”
His lips quirk in that half-smile I’ve seen so much the last few days. “I can keep a secret.”
He’s not subtle at all. And damn, if that doesn’t make my own lips twitch. “Evidently so.”
Natalie smiles at us both. The tension fades, the negative energy bleeding away, replaced with a new awareness, one I’m not accustomed to feeling in a room with more than just one other person. One that feels a lot more like anticipation. A new silence stretches between us for a long moment until the phone rings.
Natalie startles, blinks, then walks over to answer it. “Pendergrass Law,” she says.
“I have to get to work,” I say.
Finn nods at me, checking the lock on the door before resuming his post near the bookshelf. If yesterday was any indication, he’ll spend most of the day there, on his feet, rather than camped out on our client sofa. Her at her desk, him at his bookshelf. Both firmly out of my line of sight.
Works for me.
