on coming for Thanksgiving. You’re sure your parents can put up with me?” He grinned at his joke, because Will’s mother had once told Hunter she preferred him to her own son, because Hunter just said, “Yes, ma’am,” and “No, ma’am,” instead of challenging everything she said.
Will’s affinity for arguing made him an excellent problem solver, though, and he and Hunter had gotten along extraordinarily well. Hunter had never been as nervous as he’d been when he’d moved to Cambridge.
He’d signed a lease for an apartment with four bedrooms and six men. He’d had a private room, and right next door had been Will. Their second year at MIT, they’d found a house and shared that, just the two of them. Hunter still owned the house, and Will managed that too. Now, he rented it to an MIT student in need for hardly anything, because Hunter didn’t need the money.
Even Dad didn’t know about the house in Cambridge, other than that Hunter had bought it to live there. He’d never asked if Hunter had sold it or kept it, and Hunter hadn’t volunteered the information.
Will finished laughing and said, “You better bring some of those caramel chocolate chip cookies. She’ll probably leave my dad for you then.”
Hunter belted out a laugh too, but deep inside, all of his organs writhed. Those caramel chocolate chip cookies could only be made by Molly. He’d felt like this before, and he’d quelled the loneliness and depression by going out with other girls. Lots and lots of other girls.
Hunter wouldn’t do that this time, he knew. He was older now. More mature. He didn’t need to experiment to find the type of woman he liked. He knew.
He also knew he couldn’t have everything he wanted. Life didn’t work that way, and Hunter had started to accept that reality.
“See you soon,” Hunter said, finishing up their conversation and letting his phone drop to his lap. He stared out at the weather, feeling the same cold and numbness inside him. He hated feeling this way, this sort of film of nothingness, where he could get through anything because no matter what, he never felt too bad.
His intercom beeped, and a woman said, “Mister Hammond?”
He sighed as he turned back to the expansive desk. When he’d first moved to this office on the twenty-fourth floor, he’d wondered how he’d ever fill a desk this big. Now, it held all kinds of things, and Hunter knew what each folder and file held. He knew why Elise had told him to put plants in the office, and he glanced at the family picture they’d had taken at his grandmother’s funeral.
He hated the picture, because he looked like someone had smashed tomatoes in his eyes. He’d cried so much that day, and Hunter hated the extremes in his emotions. He’d once told his uncles it was all or nothing, and that had definitely been the case lately.
Candace started talking before he could reach the button and tell her he was listening. “Your one-fifteen is here, and the food is on the way up.”
Hunter pressed the button and said, “Thank you, Candace. Can you hold them and send everything and everyone in at once?”
“Of course, sir.”
Sir. Hunter hated being called sir. He was only twenty-five-years-old, and his assistant was easily a decade older than him. Myra was still working for Laura, but once she retired on January first, Hunter would get the same assistant his Uncle Wes had had for years.
The CEO had two people who made sure he had everything he needed, and Candace had moved over from legal to work with Myra and Hunter. He liked her quite a lot, as she always had everything ready for him the moment he stepped off the elevator in the morning.
Hunter stood and paced toward the far wall of his office. Though this room was huge, he often felt caged here. He tried not to think that he’d only been in the office for two weeks, but he did anyway. He and Molly had been separated for almost five weeks now, and he still hadn’t found the courage to gather her favorite flowers and knock on her front door.
He didn’t need her to do this job. He could do the job without her.
It was actually living that was unbearable.
He walked from one side of the room to the other, taking time to feel every stride, each pull in his muscles as he moved. Lucy had taught him to focus on specific parts