Chapter Twelve
SHANNON
Eleven months ago
I used to think whiskey taught me everything I needed to know about hangovers.
Whiskey was nothing when compared to a long weekend with Will Halsted.
Those glorious days in New Mexico came crashing down when I woke up Monday morning. A crunchy layer of snow covered the roads, the sky was gray, and my bed was void of delicious men in need of insults.
A dull ache throbbed at the base of my skull, and I frowned at my empty text message inbox. There were a fuck ton of messages when I landed last night—mostly Lauren and Andy sharing the holiday highlights, Patrick blasting me with questions about the status meeting agenda for this morning, and Will requesting confirmation that I was safe and snug at home. He sent a picture, too, one he snapped of us on the tail end of our hike. It was at a steep, rocky part of the path, far from the marked trail, with the snowcapped mountains framed in the distance. Will’s lips were pressed to my temple, and he was smiling. I looked sweaty and blotchy, and the angle gave me an extra chin, but I kind of loved that image.
When he delivered me to the airport, he swept me off the curb and kissed me harder than was polite for such a public setting. Then he explained he’d be leading training missions all week. He’d be off the grid, and the absence of his texts and calls made the hangover much worse.
I avoided the office, distracting myself with buying and selling properties, and walking through our current job sites under the guise of listing preparation. It was a good diversion. It gave me time to think, and though the distance from Will was hard, it was healthy.
I couldn’t keep doing the rollercoaster routine: the eager-anxious build-up before seeing him, the incredible lightness associated with great sex and good company, the sharp plummet when it ended, and then getting in line to do it all over again. It was too much—drama, travel, emotion, all of it—and over the course of this week, I refined a persuasive argument to end things altogether.
But I wasn’t going to.
If I was brutally honest with myself, I couldn’t do it.
I wanted these weekends, and even if there were costs and challenges associated with them, they weren’t substantial enough to get me off the rollercoaster.
*
My instant messenger pinged while I was rewriting an injunction on Thursday morning.
Patrick: Got a second
Shannon: Yep
Shannon: You’re welcome to walk down the stairs and have this conversation in person. People still do that.
Patrick: Can’t. I’m on a conference call with the Castavechias and their interior decorator, who might be one of the horsemen of the apocalypse.
Shannon: Please tell me Andy’s doing the talking
Patrick: Yes.
Patrick: What have you heard about Thanksgiving?
I glanced at the clean crockery on the corner of my desk. Matt dropped the dishes off earlier, and thanked me for the butternut squash pies. Apparently, Lauren ate half of one for breakfast on Thanksgiving morning, and the others were demolished before the holiday bowl games ended.
Shannon: That my pies were best in show
Patrick: Not going to argue that
Patrick: But there’s more to the story. Sam brought Tiel
Shannon: That’s still happening?
Patrick: Oh yeah.
Shannon: I got some texts from Lauren and Andy. They said it got a little tense.
Patrick: That’s a good assessment. I wouldn’t say it went badly, but I wouldn’t call it good either. There were some uncomfortable moments. She might just be socially awkward, in which case, they’re a good pair.
Shannon: Uncomfortable how?
Patrick: My gut says she’s a nice girl but she was really prickly.
Patrick: She said some unusual things to Lauren and Andy.
Shannon: How drunk were you?
Patrick: Only a little. I can’t remember exactly what she said, and all in, she was pretty quiet, but when they left, we all looked at each other and we were like, wow. That was really fucking strange
Shannon: Maybe you could tell me what made it so strange…details never hurt anyone.
Patrick: She kind of bit Nick’s head off. And she yelled at Lauren.
Shannon: About what?!?
Patrick: Lauren invited her to lunch.
Shannon: And she yelled at Lauren about that?
Patrick: You should talk to Sam. Find out where his head’s at. See about getting him an appointment with that counselor.
Shannon: I thought we weren’t kicking hornets’ nests anymore…
Patrick: Talk to him. He’s not going to talk to me and I’m getting nothing out of Riley.
Patrick: Let him bitch about something. That always opens the floodgates.
Shannon: Awesome. I’m popping some headache medicine before I go in
Patrick: Wait. You never told me about New Mexico.
Shannon: It was good. Really good.
Patrick: Did you try any fry bread?
Shannon: No…
Patrick: Back to neutral?
Shannon: All the way.
*
“Knock, knock.” I leaned against Sam’s door while he pored over the blueprints on his desk. “Have a minute to spare?”
He nodded, and rolled up the plans. “Sure.”
I waved a take-out menu. “I was going to place a lunch order. Did you want anything?”
“I’m good,” he said, pointing to a covered glass bowl that appeared to contain kale and apples. He hadn’t said much, but his tone was decidedly cool. He wasn’t interested in this chat. “What’s up?”
“Just a few things.” I studied my palm while thinking through the list of things I wanted to cover before getting to the ‘Hey, your girlfriend is kind of a bitch. What’s that all about?’ discussion. “Your dry cleaning was dropped off this morning, and it’s in the back seat of your car. I checked in with your endocrinologist’s office, and your appointment is next Monday afternoon. They’ll have you do some blood work too, so I blocked that time on your calendar. I sorted out your expenses from last month, and assigned costs to clients as best as I could determine. I’ll need you to look it over, but that will be quick. And I had Tom arrange your travel to that conference in January, the one in Arizona.” I traced the circumference of my bracelets before glancing up. “I was really bummed that I didn’t get to meet Tiel. Everyone said she was…intriguing.”
His expression shifted from disinterested to sharply defensive in an instant, and I swallowed hard. I hated fighting with Sam. He interpreted everything as a personal attack, and while I was often hit with the ‘holds a grudge forever’ stick, he was the one who really struggled to let things go.
“Tiel is intriguing,” he said, his eyebrow arched. “I’ve never met anyone with so many accomplishments, and I have to practically beat them out of her. It’s refreshing to meet people who don’t view themselves as gifts to this planet.”
“And some people are attorneys, Sam.” I held up my hands, resigned to the fact I was playing the part of the enemy today. Might as well embrace it.
“So it wasn’t rose petals and rainbows,” he continued. “I seem to remember you going all corporate commando the first time Matt brought Lauren here.”
“That was because Riley was being a juvenile delinquent.” I shifted in my seat, girding myself against the blowback that was bound to come next. “Look. I’ve heard several times that dinner was tense, and your guest was a hard pill to swallow. I’d just like to hear about it from you. Are you trying to prove a point, or going through some kind of angry girl phase?”
I picked at the hem of my skirt while anger—fast-breathing, wide-eyed, jaw-twitching anger—rippled through Sam.
“Has it occurred to you that we are a bit intense, and not everyone handles this tribe the same way?” he asked.
“No, not really.” The last thing he wanted was me invading more of his space, so I did exactly that and scooted closer, folding my arms on his desk. “It has occurred to me that you might be having some difficulties coping with stress. We’ve been talking about Angus’s estate and the work at Wellesley a lot, and I know those are triggers for you. I don’t think adding a toxic relationship with this girl is going to help you, and maybe it’s time to get an appointment with Dr. Robertsen.”
“Shannon, I’m going to say this once.”
His breath whooshed out as he stood, his palms flat on his desk, and I couldn’t decide whether his fury stemmed from talk of Tiel or his generally irritable disposition these days. I was no stranger to macho chest-thumping, but this seemed more complicated than standing up for his lady.
Sam closed his eyes, his chest heaving, and pointed to the door. “Get the fuck out of my office.”
Riley stood in the doorway, his fingers raking through his thick hair. “What did you do?” he mouthed.
“Nothing good,” I whispered.
“And thank you kindly for that,” Riley said under his breath, his gaze on Sam. “Now I get to spend the afternoon with the Hulk.”
Sam blew out a long breath and looked up at us. He did that a lot—counting, deep breathing, tuning into his heart rate—but it didn’t appear to be working today.
“Hey,” Riley said, slow and friendly, as if he was trying to coax a skittish puppy to his side. “We’re walking properties this afternoon, right?” He made a show of looking at his notebook, and back up at Sam. “Yeah, you wanted to check out the Turlan basement now that the power washing is finished. We also have five others to see.”
I waited while Sam tossed his things into his messenger bag and stormed out of his office, and then I glanced back to Riley. “That was productive,” I murmured.
“Don’t do this to me, Black Widow,” he sighed. “He’s going to be a hellcat all night and I don’t have time to babysit his ass. My fantasy football team is last in my league right now.”
“Do you think he’s all right?”
Riley tucked his notebook away, shrugging. “The only thing I know is that I know nothing.”
I nodded. “Same.”
*
Shannon: Any chance you’re around?
Will: At your service, ma’am
Shannon: When did you get back?
Will: Couple of hours ago
Shannon: Did everything go well? What’s the preferred outcome for these things?
Will: Decent training op. Everyone came back, and with all limbs.
Will: Fucking tired though.
Shannon: You should sleep. I’ll talk to you later
Will: You’ll talk to me now.
Will: What’s up?
Shannon: You know what I hate
Will: Chicken on a bone
Shannon: Well, yes, but other things too
Will: The use of the word cunt
Will: Which, I have to tell you, I don’t understand. I figured you’d be all over that one. Think of the inventive ways you could mix up your insults.
Will: I’d be excited about you calling me a rusty old cunt or something.
Shannon: You finished?
Will: Yes ma’am.
Will: Tell me all the things you hate
Shannon: I hate when people expect me to be the bitch. Like, they just assume my cold, dark heart beats for the sole purpose of being awful.
Shannon: And yes, sometimes, I have to strap on the balls and be the bitch because that’s what I do here but I hate when people can’t see that there’s a difference between me and my role.
Shannon: It’s really fucking messy because my family and my work are indistinguishable. Right now, Sam thinks I’m the most evil bitch in the world because I suggested he talk things through with his psychiatrist
Shannon: And because he’s too busy being a man to acknowledge that a lot of things are changing in his life right now and he needs some help processing it all
Shannon: Not because I think he’s mentally ill, deranged, or unfit for society. Because it helps to talk things out
Shannon: But no. to him, therapy is for pussies and he freaks when he thinks people are criticizing him, and I’m the worst
Shannon: He’s gone out of his way to avoid speaking to me for the past four days because of this.
Will: You want me to kill him?
Shannon: No but I appreciate the offer
Will: Anytime
Will: You’re not a bitch, peanut.
Shannon: I’m pretty sure you’ve been telling me otherwise for months
Will: I’m allowed to insult you. I make up for it in orgasms. Those other fuckers are not, and God help them if they upset you again.
Shannon: Why do you say that?
Will: What? That I’ll kick their pathetic asses?
Shannon: Yes
Will: Because I will
Shannon: But why?
Will: There are a lot of reasons.
Shannon: Give me some of them
Will: I care about you. I don’t like it when you’re upset and stressed. I’d like to teach your brothers something about not being dickheads
Will: Come to Mexico. Please.
Shannon: I just told you how fucked up my life is right now and you want to make it more fucked up by telling our families about this arrangement of ours?
Will: We don’t have to tell anyone anything.
Shannon: No, we probably do
Will: Then let me handle it while you drink tequila and chill the fuck out
Will: Think about it
*
Will: Still thinking?
Will: Shannon?
*
Will: I think you’re forgetting that I can see when you’ve read my messages…
*
Will: Just tell me when you intend to ignore me.
Shannon: I’m ignoring you.
Will: Fucking finally! thank you! Now think about Mexico while you ignore me.