Fighting the Fall (Fighting, #4)

I stand and move around my desk just as the office door swings open. Eve saunters in all smiles and swaying hips. For the first time today, I’m able to take a full breath.

“Surprise.” She holds out her arms, grimaces, and curls her arms around her chest. “Ouch.” Her fingers rub circles into her triceps. “I’m still sore from the other day.”

“That’s good. We’ll have to get you back in the weight room.” I pull her close for a hug, dragging her sugar-and-spice-scented hair deep into my lungs. “What brings you by?”

“Oh, I had to tell you. I just had a job interview.”

Well, that explains why she’s dressed up, but this kind of a long summery get-up with a deep vee that shows off her ample cleavage isn’t something I’d consider interview material.

“Where?”

“Pool at Mandalay.”

I guess sexy beach casual makes more sense.

“How’d it go?”

She shrugs, and I release my hold enough so she can back up a step, but I keep my arms around her waist. Being in the same room with her is calming, and touching her is even better.

“Good, I think.” She worries her bottom lip. “I’m not really sure. I applied for one of the supervisor positions, but told them I’d take first available even if that means I have to pounce around in a G-string and sling drinks to drunks.”

A low growl hums in my chest. “Don’t know how I feel about that, doll.”

That’s not true. I’m good and fucking sure I hate that.

“Money is money. I’m just trying to earn enough to feed myself, pay the bills, and hopefully have enough to get a pizza from time to time.

Slinging drinks in a G-string? Nope. Not happenin’. “Layla’s going on maternity leave in two months. Until then, I’ve got enough going on to keep you both busy.”

She backs away, her big and very wide eyes on me. “You’d . . . but you don’t know anything about me.”

I lift an eyebrow and feel the side of my mouth curve. Leave it to Eve to get a smile out of me on today of all days. “You sure about that?”

Her cheeks flush. “Oh, no, I mean . . . yeah, you know me like . . . naked or whatever, but you don’t know anything about my work ethic or how I operate under pressure. You’ve never seen me handle a challenge or problem solve.”

“Sure as shit have. You want the job; it’s yours. It’ll give you plenty of time to train with Layla so when she’s gone it’ll be a smooth transition. She can take as much time as she wants, and it’ll give you some valuable work experience on your resume.”

She’s staring at me, her jaw hanging on its hinges. Her eyes flutter and she shakes her head. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a genius?”

I shrug. “Yeah, I hear that a lot.”

She launches herself into my arms. “Thank you, Cameron. I swear I’ll work so hard. I’m a fast learner.” She smothers my neck and jaw with quick kisses. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” With a quick, jerk she leans back and covers her mouth. “Oh, but no kissing the boss, right? Sorry.”

“Fuck, doll, if there’s no kissing, then I revoke my offer.”

She slaps my chest just as Layla pops her head through the cracked door.

“Sounds like we’re celebrating.”

“Cameron’s going to hire me while you’re on maternity leave.” Eve jumps up and down clapping her hands.

The girls hug and start talking about how much fun they’ll have, and for a second, I wonder if there’ll be any work going on between them or if it’ll be mainly gossip and chick talk.

I grab my notebook off the floor and move around my desk to check the time. Almost noon.

“Let’s go to lunch and celebrate.” Eve’s eyes swing to mine. “Is that okay? Or do you have fighter boss shit to do?”

“Yeah, I’ve got some things I need to take care of before tonight.” I drop my gaze to my desk because I know if I make eye contact she’ll see I’m not giving her everything. And knowing Eve, she’ll pry until she gets it.

“Aw, poop.” Her brief disappointment is soothed when Layla describes the new sandwich place that opened up down the street.

I grab my keys and shut things down for the day while listening to them moan over what they’re calling “fancy chicken salad.”

“Eve, babe, I’ll pick you up at six-thirty.” I brush a small kiss against her lips and roll my eyes at the gooey-girlie sound that Layla makes.

Once out of my office, the oppressive weight is back.

Seven twenty, seven twenty, seven twenty . . .

The day I was handed everything I’d never appreciate until I lost it.





##


Suicide isn’t always quick. For some, it’s slow, dirty, and more complicated than a bullet through the skull or a belly full of pills: a daily decision to syphon any fight they have left, drown it in substance and depression. Death by sheer will to be done with this world combined with the weakness to fucking man up and end it.

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