Something of a Kind - By Miranda Wheeler Page 0,49
Typing something in, he grinned. Spinning his chair with a kick, he pointed to the screen over his head. Her photographs merged into a slideshow, popping up like an aver-key, every lobby screen in unison.
“Someone will be out soon for an interview” He sounded pleased as he returned her phone.
After a moment, he worked on arranging a flood of copies, labeling several files with her name. In thick permanent marker, the manila folders became something daring– The Glass Case. It had become a political statement against her father, possibly against herself. Aly didn’t know how she felt about it.
Before she could return to her chair, Greg was running towards her down the hall. She paled, biting her lip. Silently, she rushed to build resolve. She could tell by his jerky movements that he was working towards confrontation. Bracing herself, she prepared for anything. Perhaps he was confused or angry; maybe he wasn’t aware of her until she’d caught his eye. They flashed now, a chilling blue.
Either way, he sees me now. There’s no getting out of it.
Before he’d stopped walking, Greg warned, “Alyson, you better tell me what you’re doing here right now.”
Aly crossed her arms, her defense instant. “I’m making a report.”
“How,” Greg yelled, “How did you know?”
Her eyes slid to the people around the room, frozen and gawking. It occurred to her just how loud he was being. Trying to sound innocent and unaffected, Aly inquired, “About what?”
She failed. Her father’s hands shook. When he caught her confused stare, he tucked them in his elbows. Fists balled, exposed skin pulled white over his knuckles. “My work – how did you know about my work?”
“Townies,” Aly replied, an edge to her voice.
Why does he keep demanding something from me?
Disgusted, he spat, “What is this?”
“Why am I being scolded? I saw something. Some friends identified it and pointed me in the right direction.” Feeling defensive, her fingers itched, curling into themselves. She dug her nails into her palm, a welcome distraction from the hurricane raging in her chest.
“This isn’t a joke, Alyson. This is my career. You can’t take this from me. You can’t take this too. I won’t have it. You’d regret that, I’m sure.” Tone menacing, his jaw set.
What is that supposed to mean?
Baffled, she stuttered, “I-I didn’t-”
Incensed, he demanded, “Did your mother put you up to this?”
What the hell?
A lump germinated in her throat. Eyes wide with shock, she blinked back confused tears. Suddenly ashamed of her vulnerability, she curled her nails into her palms, desperate to shake it off. Unwilling to whisper, her voice hardened. Aly said, “She’s dead.”
Greg nodded slowly. Sounding distant, he smirked, “I guess so.”
Blood boiled in her veins. She labored to control the spiraling rage in her chest. She wanted to hurt something, maybe him. It was painful to resist the rage to open her mouth and say a million things
– something, anything until it hurt him. She wanted to go low, to rip the arrogance that grated her calm.
The consciousness of the people staring around the lobby forced serotonin through the storm, but the state felt impassive. How could he say that? How could act like it didn’t matter, as though he had almost forgotten? As though the revelation was almost amusing? How could he not revere and love her mother as completely as Aly did?
She couldn’t fathom Vanessa allowing a man into her world that didn’t worship the ground she walked on. Aly remembered her mother’s words – “You are worthy of nothing less than the Alpha. You wait, watch, and you ask nothing of him because you never rely on a man. He has to prove himself.” Was it a secret to life Vanessa passed on in discretion, or a warning not to follow the footsteps that lead into her darkest mistakes?
She never said I was one of them.
Greg shook his head in frustration to a thought he hadn’t shared. Stalking away from her, he ripped the folder from a statuesque blonde woman’s hands as she discussed them with a coworker. She threw her hands up, waving, calling after him. Greg ignored her indignant threats, flipping through the pages. He slowed to a stop, silent. His lip curled.
“You have got to be kidding me,” he snarled. Shoving splayed contents back between the manila covers, he shook it in Aly’s face. “What the hell is this?”
Why does he keep demanding something from me?
The blonde materialized behind him, stiffly tapping his shoulder. He spun to face her, meeting a look of