‘I want you more than I’ve ever wanted another soul.’
Which puts me above Liam...
I’m instantly chilled, goosebumps rife across my skin. To think it is bad enough: getting one up on my younger brother...my younger and very dead brother. My gut clenches tight and I can’t breathe. The grief I haven’t yet surrendered to is building with force.
‘Cain?’
Her voice sounds distant, miles away, as I swim in a misery of my own making. I feel my fingers shake as I rake them through my hair and turn away from her.
‘Please,’ I force out, ‘can you go?’
‘Cain...?’
I spin on my heel. ‘Lexi, just go. I’ll find you shortly.’
‘But...’
I stare at her, my pain, my past, my present all in one. ‘Please.’
And she does exactly as I ask, quietly, with no more sound—nothing but the click of the door as she closes it behind her.
I turn a full three-sixty and I’m surrounded by Dad. But both Dad and Liam are gone. Dead. There’s nothing bringing them back. Nothing.
I sink to the floor in a crouch, a winded, wounded mess. I heave in a breath. Another. I slow it down until I can get my breathing under control.
I stay like that until my skin cools, my head quits and the sickness passes.
All better. Almost.
I head to my desk, straightening my tie, my hair. Another deep breath and I’m calmer now.
One day I’ll mourn. One day I’ll feel strong enough to let it out. But not now.
I have a job to do and I’ll get it done.
I will.
CHAPTER SIX
THREE MONTHS OF working alone—or rather, working without an O’Connor alongside me—has been hard. Lonely, even. And the pressure—I don’t mean the pressure of the workload, I mean the pressure from my peers and from the board—has been unbearable.
It doesn’t matter what I say or do, nothing can convince them I have this. I don’t need help. They just need faith. And I’m convinced that doubt stems from my gender—my gender and my age: a combination it seems no amount of hard work on my part can fix.
But, of course, the second I caught that whiff of a conspiracy between Cain and the board via Ethan I pounced on it, desperate to blame someone other than myself. It came from my frustration, my anger, my dwindling motivation as I struggled to hang on under the constant weight of having to prove myself while keeping my grief private.
Days given to work, nights to tears. That was my routine for so long I’m finding it difficult to adjust to this new state of affairs.
Two weeks Cain has been back. Two weeks since he officially re-joined the fold and the transformation within the firm is marked. I wasn’t enough, but Cain, it seems, is plenty.
News of his return rippled out swiftly, with calls coming in from investors and clients alike, the office abuzz with it. He already has Sheila, his PA, in position outside his office. John, his second-in-command, is in the office next to him; and a whole host of others are infiltrating my teams, gleaning what they can, helpi
ng rather than taking over.
No one is pissed off.
No one except me.
Although ‘pissed off’ isn’t the right term to use. Don’t get me wrong—I’m pissed off that all he has to do is walk back in and suddenly everyone feels safe again, confident, with the kind of faith in him that’s something I’ve failed to earn, no matter how hard I’ve tried. But I have to acknowledge that my work life has eased. I’m starting to enjoy my job again, focusing on the things I’m good at rather than paying lip service to nervous board members, investors, peers, all of whom should’ve had faith in me from the off.