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King Marketing took a hit. Both its reputation and its bottom line. It’s no secret that the first thing Stan did when he somehow wrestled control from Chase was fire me. There were enough people working near the elevator on the office floor that morning to ensure everyone in the business had some interesting opinions on what happened.
Even more so when Denise was reinstated seconds later, spreading her own rumors about what happened, and what she said happened with me years ago. The connection between Campbell Dougherty and Campbell King has been made.
I could tell it killed Thomas to just stand by and watch his father act like a pompous windbag. To not side with his brother or clue him in to what was really going on. But Thomas has to fake loyalty to Stan if he wants his plan to work.
A plan I hope Chase will be a part of if their conversation goes well.
I tried calling and texting, but Chase wouldn’t pick up. The look of betrayal in his eyes when he realized I knew about the affair and hadn’t told him… I see it every time I close my eyes. Needless to say, I haven’t been sleeping well.
Though I know his family is just… wow, and me looking like I’d kept something from him must have hurt, at the same time I am so mad that he wouldn’t listen. That he would just cut me off like that. Leave me.
Nope. I shake my head, blinking back the tears. I will not do this. Especially here in my domain.
I should just take a few days off and go to my parents’ house in the country, but for some reason, I haven’t.
Back at my desk, I sort through new projects, the ones that hadn’t been canceled after the Moore’s fiasco and pick the plumpest ones for Chris and Ben. It’s the least I can do.
I tried to get Alice to come to Texas with me, but when she explained why she couldn’t, I stopped arguing. Instead, I made Thomas promise she’d have a job, at her current pay, anywhere out of Denise’s path until he could sort his family mess out. I’m mad I didn’t have the time to help Alice more before I left. And even madder that she probably feels nervous at work while all this is being settled.
As if on cue, my phone alerts me to a text message.
Alice sent me a selfie, which makes me smile. After a second glance, I realize it isn’t a selfie, but a picture of the mirror behind Alice, the one reflecting Denise and one of her minions rolling their eyes behind Denise’s back.
It’s hilarious.
We text back and forth a bit, her wanting to know if I’m coming back to New York any time soon, me making sure she’s taken care of—professionally and personally. In answer to the former, she sends a picture of Thomas, looking aloof and bored in front of one of her displays, attached to an eye-roll emoji.
I resend it to Thomas with a reminder to lighten up.
Another picture pops up, and my heart stops. It’s an older photo. One of Chase and me, the day of the storage room tryst. Alice must have taken it before Chase pulled me aside. We hadn’t even said “I love you” yet, but the look in each other’s eyes says it for us.
I save this one to my phone in a moment of weakness.
Alice is a bit of a romantic, I think. To cure her, and me too for that matter, of any hope of Chase and me reconciling, I text her that I’m going out with Leslie on Friday in search of cowboy comfort.
After a few minutes, when I think Alice is too disappointed in me to respond, she sends me a meme of Elvis from his cowboy movie Charro! with the words, “I’m just a hunk, a hunk of burning love” at the bottom.
She’s photoshopped Chase’s face on it.
Alice is surprisingly devious.
I save this picture too.
29
CHASE
I never would’ve taken my brother for the warm and fuzzy type.
His place has huge windows, showcasing a rare tree-lined street near Central Park. Surprisingly close to my own place.
And it’s an actual house, not a condo or an apartment. It makes my place look sterile and bachelor-pad-esque. He even has family photos. And not just the obligatory professional family photo I kept in Stan’s office when I took over. Thomas has candid shots. Shots I don’t remember posing for, or even being aware of someone nearby with a camera.
There are off-kilter shots from when we were kids, like Liz and me running through the yard when she was around three. A younger version of Mom arranging flowers in the kitchen, the light behind her creating a halo around her. Me, lining up to take a penalty kick my senior year on the varsity soccer team. Dad hunched over his desk, papers fisted in his hands. And a stunning black and white of Liz as a teenager, curled up on the sofa, drawing in her sketch pad, a look of concentration on her face. As the subjects get older, the pictures become clearer, more vibrant, and the composition pretty fucking brilliant.
I stare at them while I wait for Thomas to return with whatever it is he wanted to show me.
It suddenly hits me what’s missing. “You’re not in any of these,” I say when he enters the room, briefcase in hand. “You… took these?”
