Page 42 of Resist

Shit, I hate lying to anyone. It’s one of my most sacred rules, being honest, open, and communicating.

Ugh.

I rake my fingers through my hair as I steady myself before leaving to apparently go on a merry voyage to find sour cream.

I can’t tell Cora I think her father is a piece of shit, so I’m grateful to have the fact that she lied to me to hide behind as a reason for me to bethisupset.

I pack up my bag, tucking a manuscript inside now that I’ve signed the non-disclosure agreement for protecting the works I come into contact with inside the office. I’ll try to unwind with a book before I go to bed. Probably not going to work, but I live in hope.

I risk ducking into the unisex bathrooms before I leave. I’m not making it to the store and then to Mom’s without taking a piss.

Before I unzip my pants, a voice echoes around the restroom. “I feel so bad for her, taking over for her dad like this.”

A second voice hums in agreement. “Did you hear the latest? Georgia said that the board is making her marry someone. They’re not letting her out of her father’s wishes. She has to marry someone before they’ll give full control of the company over to her.”

The first voice doesn’t gasp, suggesting she knew. “Yeah, I heard. She has to marry within a few months of his death to inherit the company. And if she doesn’t, the board will pick someone better suited to run a company of such high family values.”

The second woman snorts. “Family values my ass. As if a strong, intelligent, and capable woman like Cora needs some flaccid pushover of a douche at her side to run this place. Georgia said the board has started a list of potential candidates. They aren’t fucking around.”

The first voice groans. “I’m not normally one to encourage a loveless marriage, or a quick romp in Vegas, but I hope she doesn’t lose the company. Can’t she go back to her ex? What’s his face?”

Number two sighs. “He’s already engaged to someone else.”

“What?” Number one’s shriek echoes around the bathroom. “No way. So he was stepping out on her? What a bastard.”

Number two hums in agreement. “We should cut off his balls.”

The bathroom door opens, and someone else comes in. I guess this is the place to be before everyone leaves to go home. I wash my hands and leave without taking a piss because I don’t want the women still in the stalls to think I was eavesdropping. Even though I was definitely taking in every word.

There’s a flutter of what might be sympathy in my chest for Cora. She’s lost her father, even if he was a raging asshole, her ex sounds like he’s also a raging asshole, and she has to find someone to marry within the next few months or... what? She loses her family’s company?

That’s a shitty hand she’s been dealt.

The memory of her scent invades my nostrils, her strength,her poise, and the way she speaks despite being under an avalanche of real life shit.

It’s probably why she gave me a fake name. She wanted to be an unknown for the night, she didn’t want her relatively famous father’s name... her father’s death to cast a shadow over her when we met. If she does know what he did and she wasn’t okay with it, she’d likely want to detach from him forever. But even just knowing who he is, and the gravitas his name means in some circles...

I get it.

It’s part of what I love about Protocol. When you step through those doors you can be anyone you want to be. Something about the ability to be so free, so uninhibited, so truly yourself brings about a kind of metamorphosis with the people who go there. And despite the fact we do what we can to protect people in all areas, sometimes people pretend to be someone they’re not.

Like Cora.

My stomach sinks as I climb into my car. It sinks lower as I drive to the store and grab sour cream. And by the time I’m at Mom’s house, it’s at my feet.

I liked her.

Maybe not “till death do us part” level liked because we’ve known each other for a couple days, but I really fucking liked her.

Dammit.

Perhaps she doesn’t know. Fuck. I sure as shit hope she doesn’t know. Maybe I don’t have to destroy her inheritance. Maybe I can figure a way to seek vengeance for Mom and the other victims of Donald Blackwell and somehow salvage my fledgling relationship with Cora at the same time.

Mom throws her arms around me before smushing my cheeks with her palms and planting a kiss on my forehead. “You missed dinner last week, Sterling.” She scolds me formissing our weekly Monday night family dinner with a smile on her face.

“I did. I’m sorry. I wasn’t feeling great and didn’t want to get either of you sick.”

She seems to accept that with a resigned sigh before taking the sour cream and apple pie from my hand and leading me into the kitchen.