Page 3 of One Little Favor
“Mom,” I say, hoping I can convince her that I’m happy for them at this opportunity, “this is going to be so good for you guys. Dad needs this trip.Youneed it. Go let someone else do all the work for a week while you and Dad soak up the sunshine and enjoy the Caribbean. Really, I will be one hundred percent fine.”
“If you’re sure ...”
“I’m positive,” I say, my voice as bright as I can make it while my happiness for my parents wars with the knowledge that Christmas just got canceled. “You guys enjoy the cruise and we can celebrate Christmas together once you’re back.” Taryn’s almost black eyes bore into me as though she’s trying to figure out what the hell she just walked into. “Really, I’ll be fine this week without you.”
“If you’re sure ...” Mom says again, her voice equal parts hopeful and uncertain. I can picture her pacing the linoleum floor in the kitchen as she traces her hand along the edge of the Corian countertops. She never stops moving when she’s on the phone.
“I am, Mom. I’ve got to get back to work, but I’ll call you tonight.” We say our goodbyes, and when I hang up the phone, I look at Taryn with wide eyes, willing myself not to let the tears fall. I’m spending Christmas alone?
Taryn opens her mouth to say something, but then Tom’s voice interrupts. We both spin to look at him where he stands in his office doorway—his light hair shiny under the overhead lights and his dark eyes unreadable—as he says, “Oh good. So you don’t need your vacation time next week, after all?”
Good?Tom can be a grumpy ass, but he isn’t usually cruel.
“Why is that good?” I spit out between clenched teeth.
“I need your help with something,” he says, and then he turns toward Taryn. “Did you need something from Avery?”
She shakes her head no and slinks back around the corner where I hear her footsteps rapidly moving away from us.
“Can I see you in my office?” he asks, then turns and walks into his space without waiting for my reply.
CHAPTER2
TOM
Jeremey
Stopping in NYC Sunday-Monday, on our way to Chicago. Since you’re being a dick and not going home for Christmas, Anne and I are coming to you. We’ll do dinner Sunday night. Then we want to see your new corner office on Monday.
I look at the text for the third time and my reaction is the same:fuuuuck.
If I wanted to see my big brother, Jeremey—or any other member of my family—I’d have planned to go home to Chicago for Christmas. And he’s right, I am being a dick about it. I’m beyond tired of my family. Of their antics and their fake front that hides dirty secrets. Of never measuring up, never being good enough. Of hearing about the family business and how much better off I’d be if I’d just join in like everyone else.
So I’m not going home for Christmas, and they’re acting like I’ve sold the family secrets to a tabloid. I mean, I could have, and I’d have been able to retire at thirty.
I left that shit behind for a reason. And now Jeremy’s forcing himself on me with his haughty, aristocratic British wife, Anne.
Just tell him you’re busy, or out of town.Or dead. Send them a fake obituary in response.
Hell, I’d do just about anything tonotsee them. Except that if I don’t respond, Jeremy will just track me down, showing up at my home or office unexpectedly. And I can’t leave town because I have a critical deposition first thing Monday morning.
I glance around my barren office again. It looks like they gave me the corner office yesterday, instead of two years ago. My diplomas—undergrad at Columbia, and law school at Harvard—hang on the wall, but otherwise my office is a sad white box with nothing but my desk and a credenza with a stupid number of glasses and varieties of scotch on it.
I can’t have Jeremy and Anne come here. Instead of taking my desolate office for what it is—the place I get a shit-ton of work done, despite what it looks like—they will judge it, and me. They will determine that I’m actually not that successful (false), or not that serious about my work (false), or their cardinal sin: not that concerned about what other people think (true).
And dinner. Having my wisdom teeth extracted without painkillers would hurt less.
Jeremey
And I want to meet this girlfriend you told Mom about. I need to see her before I believe she actually exists. Bring her to dinner.
Double fuuuuuuck!
Jeremey
Stop fucking ignoring me.
I look around my office again.
