my throat as I answer.
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know that I called the local ‘dog kettle.’” Cynthia scoffs. “You want to turn down that bark just a bit?”
“What’s up, Cyn?” I lean against the sturdy wooden wall tucked away from the rest of the bar. My voice lowers. “I really don’t have time for this.”
She sighs, and I can imagine her running her nails along her blonde hair pale under the fluorescent light of her tiny desk, her earthy eyes rolling. She continues talking anyway.
“I just wanted to apologize…to you.”
I snort. “To me?”
“Yeah, to you, ‘Cujo.’” She exhales a deep, long breath. “I didn’t have to snap at you like that earlier. It was uncalled for.”
“Right. And do you think you calling me by a vicious, fictional dog’s name is going to make this conversation go any better?”
“Says the man once nicknamed Sydney’s biggest ‘root rat.’”
My back stiffens. I switch my phone between hands. “Who told you that?”
Cyn laughs lightly. “From your reaction, I’m going to guess those rumors are true, then.” My shoulders straighten as I push away from the wall, my back bristling. “Stephen King might have made Cujo the most famous dog in Hollywood cinema. But you’re definitely the most famous dog in Australia. Congrats…on being a complete hound.”
“And on that note,” I mumble, my finger hovering over the ‘End Call’ button, “feel free to snap your fingers wherever you’d like, Cyn.” My tone lowers. “Preferably, in several places.”
Her laugh is back. But there’s nothing sardonic about it this time. “I don’t mean to snap at you, Noah. Really, I don’t. It’s just…habit.” She sucks her teeth, creating a “tsk” sound. “C’mon. Give me a break. I’ve barely seen you since you stepped back into the New York office two months ago. Barely caught a glimpse of you at all. I mean, Jase lives here at the office. I see him all the time. Lach is mostly between here and London.”
“But you? You’re like a ghost. Mr. Untouchable.” She inhales sharply, the sound an audible bite. “And I know you’re just getting adjusted to being back in the City. But it’s hard as hell to get a hold of a man in your position. Even harder to get your attention when you’re in one of these, you know…” She hesitates, stumbling over the words, unsure of herself for the first time I can remember in my twenty-eight year-old life. “These modes.”
I sniff, not giving Cyn an inch. “What modes?” I ask, knowing full well what she means.
I can’t help it sometimes. In ‘go’ mode, I’m a dickhead. And Cynthia knows it more than most. She doesn’t let me get away with it, though.
“The ‘fuck everything but what I’m working on’ mode, Noah. I’ve seen it plenty of it when we were fifteen. Not much has changed in the last thirteen years.”
Despite my irritation, her warm change in direction thaws some of my frost, and I close my eyes, controlling that fiery temper that once made me one of the best real estate developers in the world…and one of the most stubborn.
I release an unshaken breath. “You’re forgiven, Cyn. What kind of fucked-up best friend would I be if I didn’t?” I exhale out loud. “And I’m sorry about my part. You’re right; I’m definitely in ‘go’ mode, but that doesn’t mean I have to be in ‘asshole mode,’ too. I’ll try and change that now.”
She snorts out loud. ‘Now, there’s the hound I know and love.”
I wait. “So are we good? Do I have to lick your hand and do a trick like a good little doggie for a treat? Or can I get back to what I was doing now?”
She huffs. “Yes, Noah, of course.”
I lean forward against the dark back wall, focusing all my attention back on her…and the company. “And let me worry about Quinn Real Estate.” I hesitate. “Have I ever let you or Jase or Lach down before?”
She pauses for a single second, and I feel a shiver I know I shouldn’t. Her voice is steady when it returns.
“Never, Noah. I trust you.” She exhales. “I believe in you.”
The guilt is palpable at this point. But I’m learning to swallow it.
Shame is as hard a pill as any. But like anything else, the more you wash, rinse and repeat, the easier it goes down.
Which was good. Because I was going to need all the washing I could get.
The shame pills were piling up.
I say instead, “It’s alright. You can make up for