Page 22 of Drunk In Love
I was the one ruminating on what was just a kiss!
Well, if he can ignore it, so can I. Two can play that game. I am not going to let it throw me off on this case. Maxwell stands up from his desk and briefly locks eyes with mine before heading towards the conference room area and shutting the door. I watch him pull out his phone and begin talking to someone, gesticulating with his hands while the phone is on speaker.
I spin back in my chair and look at my desk. If he is going to ignore me, I am content to ignore him for the rest of the afternoon.
I pull up Accurint on my laptop and begin looking into Harry Cooper. Nothing about the Van Zandt family shows up in my search. Now it makes sense that when I search for Cecily, there’s no mention of a child that comes up. It was as if they completely divorced each other from the other’s existence. How sad for mother and son. The most recent hit on my search is from earlier today. A local news site caught pictures of Harry Cooper leading the protests.
“I’ll be out of office the rest of the day,” Westin says over his shoulder. As he approaches the glass door to exit, I notice Cecily approaching to come in. Westin lets her in, and she barges through, not sparing him a glance.
“I know Brandon is out for a few more days. Who is in charge here?” she asks.
“That would be me,” Maxwell says, standing behind my chair now and pocketing his phone.
Westin hesitates by the door. I wave Westin off and mouth We’ve got this.
“I can’t believe this! Zachary assured me we could trust you to get this taken care of swiftly. Next thing I see is you’re on the evening news with that degenerate son of mine in an apparent campus protest?”
Max moves from behind my desk, his hands up in surrender. “I can assure you, Cecily?—”
She narrows her eyes at him for using her first name.
“Pardon, Mrs. Van Zandt. I can assure you that Kamaya and I are working tirelessly on getting this resolved.”
“Well, you’d better. I just want to wash my hands of all of this. The last thing I need is this getting out to FJ’s competitors.”
“I promise that won’t be an issue.”
“You can’t promise that. If Charles Dennis gets wind of any of this, he’ll use it to trash my name.”
“Charles Dennis?” I ask. Another person I hadn’t heard of until today.
Cecily sighs before answering, as if this conversation is a chore. “He’s the head of Investments Daily and the bane of my existence. Investments Daily thinks they’re in competition with Financial Journal, but I’ve seen their sales report, and I can assure you they’re not. In fact, you should look into Charles Dennis. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was behind all this.”
I exchange a glance with Maxwell. Charles Dennis was a new entry onto our lists.
“Don’t worry. We’ll look into,” I say.
Cecily’s gaze meets mine as she purses her lips, seeming unimpressed by the both of us. “I will be checking in when Brandon returns,” she says and pivots out of the office as swiftly as she’d come in.
“Soooo, are you still mad at me?” Maxwell asks, looking sheepish. He’s standing by the edge of my desk, hands clasped behind his back.
“That depends,” I say, clicking through database searches.
“On?”
“On…the peace offering,” I say.
Maxwell smiles, making that singular dimple appear. It’s one of his best features. Though I should not be focusing on that right now.
“How about we go downstairs to the corner where the Mr. Softee truck is parked?”
I raise a brow at him. “And?”
“And…my treat,” he responds.
“Perfect,” I say, smiling back at him. “I’m getting the biggest cone they have.”
Max rolls his eyes at me. “Of course you are,” he says. “C’mon before I change my mind.”