I stop and place the pen down.
I can’t say that. I wish I could, but I can’t. I’m supposed to make up some bullshit that paints him in the best light possible, so we can remember him in all his overinflated-ego-glory.
Ripping the paper from the legal pad, I crumple it up and toss it in his trash.
If Keane were here, she’d probably know exactly what to write to minimize the amount of ‘asshole’ in my tone and maximize the amount of light we’re casting on a man who doesn’t deserve a single flickering neon bulb.
Lifting the receiver to my father’s desk phone, I dial Marta.
“Hi, Calder,” she says, voice stuffy. She hasn’t stopped crying since he had the heart attack earlier this week. I told her to take some time off, but she insisted on staying because, “It’s what he would’ve wanted.”
“Have you heard from Aerin today?”
I was going to stop by her place again today and try one more time to get her to hear me out, but I thought I’d run by the office first on the off chance she came in.
“No, sir, I haven’t,” Marta says. “Do you want me to call you sir? Your father always liked it, so …”
“Do you know where she is?” I ask.
She releases a nervous hum. “I don’t. But she did drop off a letter this morning with the overnight security guard. I put it in your mailbox. I can bring it to you’d like?”
“That won’t be necessary, Marta, but thank you.” I cradle the receiver and head to the mailboxes, grabbing the plain white envelope with my name scrawled in cursive on the front. Ripping the side, I pour a carefully folded letter into my hand, my heart crawling up my chest as I read.
A resignation letter.
She knows she can’t quit—not that I’d bother Legal with this, but still. She’s well aware. Why would she do this?
Shoving the letter in my pocket, I head to the elevators, stopping at Marta’s desk on the way.
“I’m taking the rest of the afternoon,” I say in passing.
Her brows lift and her manicured hand covers her chest. “Of course. Take all the time you need.”
They all think I’m insane for coming in the day after my father’s death, but their concerns are none of my business. In fact, I couldn’t care less.
As soon as I get to the main floor, I enter Aerin’s brother’s address and order a ride.
“Aerin.” I knock three times, loud and hard, but not aggressive enough to send nosy neighbors to their peepholes. “Aerin, I know you’re in there.”
I don’t.
I don’t know where the hell she is.
I’m bluffing.
I knock again, only on the third pound of my fist against the door, it swings open. On the other side is a scowling version of the girl who drives me crazy in every sense of the word.
“What are you doing here?” she asks. Skintight black yoga pants hug her thighs and a pale violet Grateful Dead t-shirt with a generous scoop neck finish off her look. Her hair is messy, piled at the top of her head with tendrils framing her freckled face.
I wish I could tell her how fucking sexy she looks.
“What’s this about?” I hold up her letter.
Aerin shrugs. “I resigned. You were going to fire me anyway.”
“You’re one of the most intelligent women I’ve ever known,” I say. Her hand moves to her hip as she studies me. “And I’ll admit, you’re right about most things, most of the time. But you’ve never been so wrong about anything in your entire life.”
“I saw the text, Calder. It said you were ‘free to fire me.’”
I offer an incredulous grin, shaking my head. “Why wouldn’t you let me explain?”
“What makes you think you deserve an opportunity to explain?” Her hands lift before slapping against her thighs and her voice is raised. “I’ve done nothing but be there for you. I refused a dying man’s last wishes out of loyalty to you. And this is how you repay me?”
I smirk. It’s kind of cute watching her rant, but as soon as she’s done, I’m setting her straight.
“I’m glad you think this is funny,” she snaps. “Seriously, Calder, why would you want to fire me? And after I told you I had plans for my earnings?” Her fingers massage her temples. “I’ve never felt so deeply betrayed by anyone in my life. And the worst part? I was starting to fall for you. Hard. At first, I thought you were nothing like your father, now I’m not so—”
“—don’t say it, Keane. Don’t you dare fucking say it.”
She squares her shoulders, pressing her lips together.
“My father lied,” I say. “About his illness. And about the Samuelson offer—which was the sole reason I agreed to come on board in the first place. He’s an egotistical prick, and if you think I’m anything like him, then tell me now so I can set the record straight for you.”