The Rush
Page 32

Principal Costas gestured to the remaining vacant chair in his dated, but well-maintained office. I sat down next to the mystery woman and shot her an uncertain glance.
“Ivy, I’d like you to meet Mallory Hunter,” Costas explained.
I smiled at the attractive blonde in her early thirties. She was wearing a sharp, black skirt suit and screamed polished hardass. Her returning smile was tight, but there was a soft pity about her expression I didn’t entirely understand.
“Ms. Hunter is a lawyer on behalf of your father’s estate, as I understand,” Costas explained. “Smith Porter called earlier this morning to arrange this meeting. I am going to give you time to…. talk.”
Principal Costas put a reassuring hand on my shoulder and then left his office quietly. I gulped back some awkward nervousness and then shifted so I could face Mallory Hunter head on.
“Hi, Ivy,” she greeted soothingly. She held a folder in her lap, and there was an expensive brief case at her feet.
“Hi,” I said simply and then curiosity got the better of me. “Do you work for Jared?” Jared T. Artero was the lawyer in charge of my father’s estate and my trust. We talked every year around Christmas time, he because he was my father’s friend as well as legal advice and he liked to make sure I was Ok, and me because I liked to make sure my money was Ok.
“Not exactly,” she smiled brighter and I could see that it was her method of placating me. “I’m here on behalf of Smith Porter. Actually I work for the sister firm of Arnold, Terkoff and Blane. My firm is Hastle and Crimmens, but Catarina Arnold is my mentor.”
“Ok, so I’m really confused,” I grimaced. What did she just say?
“Catarina Arnold is employed by Mr. Porter, she is also my boss…. indirectly. As I understand this, your situation is very…. precarious. Smith brought me in to ensure nothing could be directly linked back to him, Catarina or Jared.”
“Ah.” Well, Ok, that made sense. And if my mom ever started asking questions I would just have Mallory recite that entire jumble of words. She would be confused immediately.
“I’ve met you here, because I understand your home life is…. intense?” Mallory had this way of punching her point. She would pause dramatically and then say her point with enthusiastic curiosity. I bet her tactic worked well with indecisive juries. “Smith has expressed concern that you might be facing abuse. As you know if you are in verifiable danger, it is possible for you to acquire the full amount of your trust early. Verifiable danger can be defined as any kind of abuse, emotional, physical or verbal with recorded evidence or life-threatening circumstances that you are capable of involving the police or FBI in. Can you claim either of these conditions?”
My mother slapping me flew to the forefront of my mind, but then again it wasn’t that awful. It was just a slap. It wasn’t like I had to be rushed to the emergency room or anything. The mark was completely gone by morning, no evidence or scars left behind. What did verbal abuse even mean? My mother was harsh at times, callous and unfeeling always, but was that actual abuse? Had I suffered anything that could be proven in the court of law other than a messed up sense of reality and unrealistic expectations?
“I don’t have anything I can prove,” I finally admitted. “I’m not even sure Smith is entirely justified in involving you. There’s no abuse happening in my life.”
Not yet anyway. And by that time I’ll be eighteen, I’ll be an adult. So it won’t matter.
“I was afraid of this,” Mallory’s face filled with more pity. “Smith and Catarina are very good friends of mine. I’ve taken this case as a favor to them. And I’m working with Jared, who seems to share some of the same concerns as Smith. Unlike Smith, Jared respects your mother, thinks the world of her actually, but he has shared some of your father’s dying words and I understand why Jared feels the way he does.”
My father’s dying words? What did that mean?
I opened my mouth to ask, but she continued. “There might not be anything to share with me now. There might never be. But I don’t think Smith would have gone to all these lengths if there wasn’t something going on.”
After several moments of charged silence I finally settled on, “You’re right. I can’t prove anything, but I need my trust early. I need it now.”
“Alright, then that’s what we will work on. I won’t call you, or contact you in any way other than here at school. And I’ll visit again in a month. If you can record anything you think is useful on your phone. Or if anything happens take a picture of it immediately. If…. conditions worsen for you, get ahold of Smith immediately. Does that work for you?” She raked her eyes over me in a way that screamed I was her client and nothing else. Pity maybe? But there was no sympathy behind Mallory Hunter’s expression.
Still it was obvious she kicked ass in court.
“Yes, that works for me,” I agreed feeling like I was signing away something very precious. Like my soul.
Which was ridiculous. If anything, staying was so much worse than leaving for that same thing.
“Alright, then. Ivy, thank you for your time. I’ll be in touch,” she stood then and stretched out her hand. I echoed every movement and then bit back a smile at her firm handshake.
She was just so…. professional.
“Thank you, Mallory,” I gushed not meaning to. I actually meant to return the professional air of civility, but suddenly I found myself near tears. Partly because Smith had disregarded everything I said. But mostly because there was hope that I hadn’t felt in a really long time. Hope I hadn’t felt in maybe ever.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Three pounds my ass. Literally…. maybe that’s where the three pounds were hiding. But I honestly gave losing them a legitimate run for two full days. And nothing happened. Not even a half of pound. Not even after I peed first thing in the morning.
Now that it was Saturday and I was practically faint from hunger I decided to screw it. Ok, so two days didn’t exactly equal the strongest effort ever, but chocolate croissants were calling to me from across the street. Fresh, warm, gooey ones. With a caramel macchiato to drink.
I could always start again tomorrow. Right? Right.
I rushed through a shower, only shaving my calves and ankles, leaving my thighs for a different day. Small rebellion, but well worth it. I blow dried my hair, hot rolled, then brushed it out to erase all previous efforts and painted my face with the usual regimen of makeup. My mom wasn’t going to wake up this morning and do a leg check on my dedication to shaving, but she for sure would check out my face in one second flat if I didn’t take cautious care. And if I intended to sneak out for chocolate croissants I needed to be extra careful.
After the beauty routine, I dressed in a pair of turquoise skinny jeans, white scooped neck tank top and a sheer oversized white cardigan. I slipped into some red wedges and threw on the required amount of jewelry to complete the overdressed outfit. But bases covered and I was ready to go.
As long as I didn’t spill chocolate on my shirt, I would probably get away with this too.
Mom hadn’t talked to me since she shut me up by slapping me across the face. So…. I had that going for me.
I slipped out of the apartment and across Farnam without incident. Once I gained some distance from my happy home, I found myself breathing easier, taking in the crisp coolness of the late October morning, and even smiling a little.
This morning felt like a reprieve from everything, from my mom, from Nix, from school, from…. me. That same everything felt easy. And for a moment I forgot about it all and just looked forward to breakfast.
Until, I opened the door and saw him waiting for me next to the counter.
Ryder.
And then nothing felt easy.
Not even breathing.
He stood with his hip leaning against the counter, in casual conversation with another one of the college girls that worked here. He turned back to smile at me, as if expecting me any moment and then winked. He was dressed in the nicest jeans I had seen him wear, boot cut and dark washed and his black button up shirt was rolled to the elbows. His hair was in all its voluminous, coarse, in-desperate-need-of-industrial-strength-conditioner glory.
The butterfly in my stomach must have mated sometime during the last thirty seconds because suddenly there was a storm of them viciously attacking my insides. Nervous energy rushed through my body, completely disorienting me. My brain went all fuzzy, like everything intelligent and coherent was suddenly abducted by aliens. My fingers actually started to tremble, like I had a crack addiction and I was jonesing for a hit and my lips adapted a will of their own and curved into a smile without my permission. Actually, completely against my direct orders!
I was a mess. And a puddle of goo. And a nervous wreck all at the same time!
Was this honestly what it was like to have a crush on a boy?
Because if so I hated being a girl.
And loved it at the same time.
Good grief, this was confusing. Now to round this multi-personality-riddled problem out, I just needed to act cool and not trip face-first over my feet.
No problem.
“Morning, Red,” he greeted with a deep, rough voice that hadn’t recovered from sleep yet.
“Good morning,” I replied politely, faltering a little on my way to the cash register.
“I was hoping to catch you here,” he admitted, and his mouth curved up into a reserved smile.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he echoed and then turned to his friend working. “She’ll have a caramel macchiato, extra hot. And I’m ready for my order too now. Thanks Gwen.”
I finally made it to the counter and contemplated forgetting the croissants altogether with how sweet Ryder was being, but then my stomach growled loudly and I knew I needed to eat something.
“Hungry?” he turned to face me, and crossed his arms against his chest. The movement pulled his shirt tight at his biceps and shoulders and I had the strongest urge to run my fingers against the creases in the fabric and smooth them out.
“Mmm-hmmm. I could eat like five croissants this morning.”
“Good to know,” Ryder’s face broke out into a bigger grin, his gray eyes sparkling until they turned into shiny silver. “But I have a better idea.”
“Than chocolate croissants? You can see why I would have my doubts,” I took another step forward so I could press my hands against the cool glass of the counter and lean forward. I looked back at Ryder over my shoulder, noting how close we were. I was having fun flirting with him, I could admit that. But I also had to admit I needed to stop myself soon. It wouldn’t do any good for him to actually start returning these feelings.
“Come have breakfast at my house,” his voice dropped to a rumbling timber.
For a few moments I was stunned into silence, only the sound of the espresso machine whirring in the background, the soft tickling of ceramic dishes being used and melodic hum of conversational voices interrupted the shock that froze all of my thoughts.
“I can’t,” I mumbled finally. I dropped my gaze to the counter, to my hands, to the cash register, to anywhere but Ryder’s face.
“Yes, you can,” he pleaded gently. Always gently with me. Always careful.
I shook my head quickly. “No, thanks, it’s sweet of you to offer.”
“It’s not sweet of me to offer,” Ryder laughed harshly. “It’s against my better judgment to offer. But come anyway.”
“Well, now you’ve convinced me,” I groaned. A moment ago my thoughts were all vibrating and fuzzy with confusion, but leave it up to Ryder to bring me right back to reality.
“Here you go,” Gwen interrupted Ryder’s ready response. She handed Ryder a drink carrier full of four large coffee cups. The scent of fresh, hot caffeine permeated the air around me and I instantly took a step forward to inhale a good whiff.
Ryder passed a twenty and a five across the counter and winked at Gwen.
“This is way too much,” she smiled at him.
I forced my expression to remain the same and hide the jealous monster that lurked just beneath my calm surface.
“I know,” he shrugged. “Think of it like a bribe. I’m holding her,” he gestured to me with his elbow, “coffee hostage. If she decides not to come with me, do not serve her under any circumstances. We clear?”
“Sure,” Gwen laughed. “We’re clear.”
My mouth dropped open in surprise and I shot Gwen an imploring look. She looked me over, not in a very kind way and her expression became steel.
“Are you serious?” I gasped more to Ryder than to Gwen, but she shrugged her shoulder as if there was nothing she could do. “Ryder, make her serve me coffee.” I whispered harshly when he started to walk away and Gwen disappeared through the door that led to the kitchen. “Ryder!”
“Not a chance, Red. If you want this delicious, amazing-smelling macchiato, you better move your ass.” He didn’t slow down and soon he was out the door while I stayed staring after him.
I decided he was right, so I hurried after him and my kidnapped coffee. “You know, I could always just go to Starbucks if I get desperate.”
Empty threat.
“Yep, you could,” he admitted, but didn’t look back at me.
I let out a long suffering sigh, but in the end I let myself in the passenger side of his Bronco parked on the street. He handed me the carton of coffees, shot me a huge grin and then started the car.
I held the coffee in my lap with both hands and tried not to move one way or the other when his arm rested on the back of my seat, just above my shoulder blades while he backed out. There was warmth in that movement that I was almost desperate to lean into and at the same time the clawing need had me eyeing the door handle and contemplating my chances of diving out of the car before he could put it in drive.