Part 1 (1/2)
HATE.
F*@K.
The Horus Group series.
by Ainsley Booth.
part one.
Cole:.
I push her b.u.t.tons. I want to push them in the good way. Dirty, up-against-the-wall, my-hand-in-her-pants kind of way.
But that's not possible, because I'm dark and she's light, and we both know it.
So I push her b.u.t.tons in the bad way, making her hate me.
Hailey:.
If a genie granted me three wishes, I'd ask for Cole Parker to never look at me again, that I'd forget the dark promise in his eyes, and that just once, before he vanished from my life completely, that he'd push me up against a wall and f.u.c.k me.
Then I'd go wash my mouth out with soap.
PART ONE OF A THREE PART SERIAL.
.
The Horus Group.
Cole Parker Jason Evans.
Wilson Carter Tag Browning.
The Reids.
Morgan Reid - m - Amelia Dashford Reid.
Taylor Dashford Reid.
Hailey Dashford Reid.
Morgan Dashford Reid II.
Alison Dashford Reid.
-one-.
Hailey.
I pick at the blueberry m.u.f.fin on my desk, which my friend Taryn gave me out of pity since I can't go outside. I have two monthly reports to run and a mile-long, hand-scribbled list of fixes for our website from my boss, but I can't concentrate on work right now.
My co-workers all understand, which makes me feel all the more guilty for bringing this s.h.i.+tstorm to their doorstep. These are good people, regular middle-cla.s.s, law-abiding folks. None of them have a sister who is stupid enough to believe a powerful man when he promises no-one will find out about their affair.
Newsflash. People always find out.
Long story short, my family is a freaking train wreck, and I was an idiot for thinking I could have a regular job and pretend I'm a regular girl.
My phone vibrates in my purse, and my skin crawls. I don't want to answer it. There is literally not a single person in the entire world I want to hear from right now.
”Hailey?” I glance up at my boss, standing beside my cubicle, and wince at the look on her face. A mix of pity and annoyance which I understand and resent at the same time. I didn't blow the Vice President. This isn't my fault.
”I'm so sorry, Ellen. They'll go away soon.” I'm talking about the various scuzzy photographers and videographers from media outlets camped in front of the converted townhouse that houses the employment agency I work at. This is new and awful and unexpected for my co-workers, and I feel like s.h.i.+t for bringing this into their lives.
Me? I know the drill. They don't care about me, but they want a sound bite, and I'm the rebel. The only member of the family not holed up at my parent's estate-again.
Jesus.
It wouldn't be a Friday morning if I hadn't already considered changing my name at least once.
Because being a Reid? It sucks.
She leans against the fabric covered half-wall in a poor attempt at nonchalance. ”Will you hate me if I suggest you work from home this week?”
Yes. I bristle at the totally reasonable suggestion because, like so much of the drama in my life, I feel like it's not fair. Which is petty, so I suck it up, because my boss is awesome for knowing that I'd rather just keep going on as if my family isn't on the national news. ”No. I get it.”
The truth is that there isn't anything for me to do at home. I'm an intern. The whole point is that I'm on the job site, soaking up the knowledge and expertise of those around me.
”You can finish knitting those socks you brought in yesterday.” She offers a weak smile, knowing that I'm miserable. ”And as soon as it is safe for you, we want you back here. You're a hard worker, Hailey. Don't let this be anything other than a momentary blip.”
I take a deep breath and nod. What else is there to do? Ellen pats my shoulder and drifts away.
Against my foot, my purse vibrates again. I want to kick it. I don't.
It is not a genetic requirement that I have no self-control. Just because my father and my sister have both caused national scandals in the last six months doesn't mean anything other than Fate has a gross sense of humor.
Beside, I have two other siblings and a mother who haven't caused national scandal-that I know of. So only thirty-three percent of Reids are morally reprehensible. So far.
With a thunk, I drop my forehead to the desk. f.u.c.k. My. Life.
I only wallow in self-pity for a minute. My boss is right. I can go home and knit, and at least if I'm there, my co-workers will be able to come and go as they please. It's not like I'm being super productive or anything. I yank my bag out from under the desk, stick Ellen's list of website fixes into the outside pocket, because those I can do from home, and slide on my oversized, extra-dark sungla.s.ses. No way are those a.s.sholes getting a picture of my whole face.
I don't bother to say goodbye. I just power down my computer and head for the back staircase. There's a gated backyard that leads to an alleyway, and I can dash across it into the back of the import/export shop across the way. From there, I can get a cab.
It's a great plan, but as soon as I swing the door open, I know it's not going to happen.