The Love Coupon (Stubborn Hearts 2)

You want to run off and be a do-gooder but you let your own family hang out to dry.

You act like we embarrass you. You’re not better than us.

All right, enough. She typed a response. We don’t like each other. We don’t have to. But we’re sisters and we need to respect each other.

Elsie must’ve been poised over her phone. I respect what you can buy my girls.

Oh hell. Would be better to leave this alone. But not in the least satisfying. She typed, Mercenary bitch. It must sting to have to ask for my charity.

That might end it. She stepped inside the apartment and then went back for the banana skin and the coffee cup. Shouldn’t have answered the phone when it went off.

“It’s not charity. It’s family, fucking slut.”

“Fuck you, Elsie. You’re due a wake-up call. What are you doing with your life? Living off Mom. Do you think I’m going to support you forever?”

“You feel guilty because you got out. You think I don’t know how to use that against you.”

Shouldn’t have answered the phone but enough, enough of allowing herself to be manipulated. “You forgot the only reason I got out was because I was ruthless. Don’t call me again.”

She disconnected, clenching the phone so hard it might’ve cracked. But enough. If she never spoke to Elsie again it would be too soon.

She was going to be late. But heck, what were they going to do, fire her? She made a second cup of coffee in Tom’s Keurig. The reason she’d run off with Drew was no mystery. He’d been a friend, a replacement parent, unselfish and supporting. Those years between them meant nothing in the face of the security he’d provided. The phone kept binging and vibrating. She picked it up, knowing it could be the office, but was most likely a screed of new messages from Elsie, a lecture on her failings she didn’t need to read.

Drew would be on his way to the college he taught at. He’d have time to talk. She speed-dialed him and the call went to voice mail.

“This is Drew Howell. I’m in the classroom teaching America’s next great novelist the value of the Oxford comma. Leave a message and as soon as I’m able, I’ll return it.”

Ah well, it broke their three-calls-a-year arrangement anyway. But if she didn’t leave a message, he might worry.

“Hello, teach. Your all-time favorite student checking in. Thought of you this morning and called on a whim. I’ll call again on your birthday and we can have our regular catch-up. I have news—no, I’m not in love and I’m not pregnant, you’ll have to wait. Hope the suspense doesn’t kill you. Be well. I still love you.”

Hmm, that felt better. It also crystalized the problem she was having at work. Time to be ruthless.

Flick had no desire to burn her bridges with Cassidy Strauss, but after having gone from trying to tempt her, to trying to guilt her into staying, to squeezing every last drop of energy and attention from her, they’d slid right on into “let’s ignore you’re outta here in six weeks.”

Ruthless started at ten because she didn’t hustle to get in. At 10:15 she stood outside Charles Strauss’s office and didn’t take “come back later” for an answer. She didn’t take him towering over her in an attempt to get her to back away either. She had no spoons left to give for people who wanted to push her around today.

“I wanted to remind you that I’m out of here in six weeks.”

He sighed. “I know that, Flick. Didn’t your team take you to dinner to celebrate? I heard it was a good night.”

“Yeah, thank you. I will miss my team terribly. What I won’t miss is the Grayson account, the Farmer’s Union or the Blenhelm business park plan. But you might, because those projects won’t be near finished in six weeks and I can’t image it’s going to go down well with those clients when their projects grind to a halt.”

Charles sat on the edge of his desk, legs outstretched in a “see how unconcerned I am” posture. Another tall-man power move. The opposite of what the other tall man in her life did. Tom never used his body to deliberately intimidate. “I’ll get you someone to hand over to.”

“You’ve been saying that for two months.”

“Flick, a good handover will only take you a week.”

He was looking at her chest when he said that. “A good handover isn’t about leaving those client issues in my hands when my head has already left the building. I’m not working another eighty-hour week for the rest of my notice period. That’s just me telling you how it is because my head might’ve left the business but my heart hasn’t, and I want the Grayson, Farmers U and Blenhelm people to have the best of Cassidy Strauss, not the unfocused last dregs of me.”

“You’re never unfocused.”

Maybe if she flashed him she’d shock him into changing his mind. All it would take was three buttons. “You’re taking advantage of me.” She put her hand to the collar of her shirt. Wouldn’t be the most outrageous thing she’d done.

“I’m doing nothing of the sort. You’re working out the contract you signed with us.”

Wouldn’t be the most outrageous thing she’d done this week. Or even in the last thirty-six hours. She undid a button and Charles’s brow went up above the rim of his glasses. Bastard would probably enjoy her Simone Perele revelation full-cup underwire, and that wasn’t going to help.