"Fuck, Fee. Don't kick a man when he's down," I demanded, getting up from my seat, feeling a little lighter than I had when I walked into her office.
Family could do that.
Lighten the load.
Or, sometimes, help build you back up, so it didn't feel quite so heavy anymore.
I was just getting back to my desk when I saw a familiar light brown ponytail bouncing away from me on her way to her desk.
She was back.
Better.
And back.
I hadn't seen or heard from her since her apartment. Where her mom none-too-subtly tried to suss out what was going on between us. Much to the embarrassment of her daughter. I should have been a nicer guy and brushed off the invite to brunch. Especially since it hadn't come from Katie herself. But what can I say? I wanted to try those crêpes.
The crêpes.
It had nothing at all to do with the woman who made them, a woman who had been invading my thoughts far more than she should have. A woman who plagued my dreams, leaving me waking up hard and aching.
It didn't matter how many times I told myself to stop thinking about her.
There she always was.
And now, here she was.
She buzzed through the office, gathering files off the desks as she passed, slipping some paperwork onto others.
Her work attire was different than what she wore in the cabin—thick layers to keep warm. I guess because at work, she was in control of the thermostat, and she kept it boiling, something most of my female coworkers enjoyed. So she tended to wear dresses to work, but never anything form-fitting, anything that suggested she had any soft curves underneath. Which I knew for a fact she did.
This day, she was wearing a navy blue dress of some flowing material with a little white bird pattern on it, the skirt falling just below her knee, the top a size or so too big. She did have a white sweater on over the dress, but not an oversized one, and she had it open in front. She had on flats. Always did. Today, in blue to match her dress. I hadn't seen her wear any jewelry at the cabin, but she had little diamond studs in her ears and something hanging off a simple silver chain.
I wanted to go over there, apologize for showing up at her place, for implying that she was avoiding me instead of being genuinely sick.
I was just about to get up to do that when her phone started ringing, making her rush over the last few steps, answering.
Then I watched as her calm, professional demeanor melted away, leaving her shoulders slumping, her face falling.
Her gaze shot around the room, making mine fall for a second, not wanting to be caught watching her.
But as soon as her gaze was forward again, I couldn't help but look her way, finding her pulling off her glasses, rubbing the bridge of her nose.
Bad news?
Someone she just didn't want to talk to?
Curiosity had me rising from my seat, making my way over toward the coffee station even though I still had a mostly-full mug from Fiona's office. But the coffee station was a few feet from Katie's desk. And if I was going to be a fucking creep, I figured I could go whole hog with it.
"I can't talk right now," she insisted. "No. You know I'm at work."
Was that...a boyfriend?
It didn't sound like she was talking to her mom in that tone. And she said she didn't really have friends that night while we played board games.
Even if she was shy, I didn't believe she never dated, never had men in her life.
Was this one of them?
This person calling to nag her at work?
It certainly seemed like something a romantic entanglement would do.
An ex, maybe?
"You can't. Stop," she demanded, voice getting more strained, more desperate. "Just stop. Please," she demanded.
My stomach fucking bottomed out at that.
Please.
I'd heard that word so many times, it was burned into my brain.
Please. Please. Please.
It was said in a similar, but different way. Both ways were desperate. This one was a little sad. The one I'd heard time and time and time again, it was needy.
But I heard it.
I knew it.
"You want to come, don't you?" I'd asked.
"Yes, please. Please," she'd whimpered.
Fuck.
Jesus Christ.
There was no way.
No fucking way.
Except, maybe, there was.
Katherine.
Katie.
She barely said anything. I always figured because she simply didn't know what to say, liked listening more. But maybe it was more than that. Maybe she was afraid I would recognize her voice. Because she worked just ten feet away from me. Every goddamn day. For years.
Shit.
Shit.
"I have to go. I have to go," she added to the caller, voice firmer. She slammed her phone down on her desk, letting out a sighing breath.
I wasn't one for confrontation. Sibling rivalry aside, there just rarely ever seemed to be a need for it. It had always worked better for me to hash shit out calmly, rationally.