“Seriously, Bailey. I want to get to know you.”
“Fine.” She sighs. “I’ll tell you all about my boring family.” She rolls her eyes in a funny way before she settles into her chair, but I know what she’s doing. She’s downplaying her life in order to make herself more comfortable. I’ve done it myself for years.
“Getting comfortable?” I voice my thoughts, and she looks at me skeptically.
“This could take a while.” Her lips thin, and she takes a deep breath. “Where do I start . . . hmm.” She taps her chin, continuing to stall. I level her with a look that says she’s not getting out of this, and she finally blows out a breath. “I guess the main thing you should know is that Harper and I couldn’t be more different.” She shrugs. “She’s blonde and fair-skinned like our mother, and I’m dark and brooding like our father—was.”
She looks away for a second, obviously still feeling the pain from his loss, but then she smiles back up at me. The smile warms her face. Hell, her smile could warm the whole room.
“I’m sure you know, but she’s one of the top prosecuting attorneys in New York City, and until you hired me, I was unemployed.”
“Bailey . . .” I start, but she shrugs me off.
“What? You asked. Seriously, the comparison of light versus dark or good versus evil comes to mind.” She chuckles. “It describes Harper and me to a T, but it couldn’t be any more different to describe our parents.” She forges on, and I wonder if I shouldn’t stop her. The self-deprecating way she’s discussing herself makes my blood boil. But she changes to talk of her parents, so I let it go. “Our father doted on us, loved us. Our mother only cared about status and whatever the next big event would be. While he had us out playing for the day, she was probably off spending his money on herself.”
As little information as she’s given, it’s enough to paint a picture of what life for Bailey must’ve been like after losing her father. No wonder she’s struggled. Who wouldn’t?
“Your mother sounds like a lot of people I know.”
“Right.” She frowns. “My father was the one who didn’t fit in. He was too good. Too caring.”
The way she talks about her father warms me. Knowing she had someone who loved her, and she loved just as much in return makes me feel better about Bailey’s childhood.
“When did your father pass away?”
She swallows, and I instantly regret asking that question ahead of all the others I could’ve asked. “He died of a heart attack when I was a senior in high school. It was likely caused by strenuous hours in stressful environments—both in the office and at home.” Her eyes well up with tears, and the need to comfort her is almost more than I can take. I reach out and grab her hands, lending the support I can manage from across the table. “When he died, I don’t think our mother cared about anything other than the payout from his life insurance. She collected and practically deserted us for a life in the city. She blew through our inheritance before finding another willing victim to sidle up to and drain of money.”
I want to hunt down her mother and strangle her for deserting Bailey. She doesn’t deserve to have a daughter like her. And if I ever get the chance, I’ll tell her as much.
“She’s back and forth between our small town of Hudson, New York, and the city, pretending she’s royalty.”
“I’m familiar with Hudson. It’s a great town.”
She nods. “I love it there. If only she were gone, I’d go back more often. She’s a leech, and someone I only half tolerate.”
“I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”
“I didn’t really deal with it,” she says, lowering her eyes to the table.
I frown, trying to work out the meaning behind her words. I don’t have to ask because she forges on as though she needs to purge the past from her subconscious.
“I got drunk and partied, eventually screwing up my life. Things got bad.” Her eyes seem far away and hollow as she looks down at her arm and rubs at the small scar. “I was in an accident in college.” We both grow quiet at the admission. “I-I . . .”
“You don’t need to tell me more,” I offer, not wanting to ruin this day by forcing her to relive painful events from the past. But a part of me wants to know. Needs to. It’s the only way I’ll know how to help her.
“I want to.”
“But it doesn’t have to be here, Bailey. We can do this somewhere private.”
“If I don’t tell you now, I’m not sure I ever will.” I nod, signaling for her to go on. “My best friend and I were drinking . . . I was too drunk to drive. Hell, she was too. But I pressured her to take us to another party . . .” Her words trail off, the meaning clear.