Tied Together (The Cade Siblings Duology #1)

10. Alex

CHAPTER 10

Alex

Alana walks through the doors of the small conference room and sits across from me. I breathe in the addicting smell of her perfume. She smells like strawberries and vanilla and it reminds me of summers in Texas, picking strawberries out of a field and making fresh pound cake with my mom. I want to tuck her under my chin, hold her to me and breathe her in.

“All sorted?”

“Yeah, I think so. Thank you for tidying up my desk.” She glances down and then back up at me. “I know I’ve been sort of a maniac since we got the news about Paris, but I swear I will calm down once we get everything figured out. I’m just a mess right now.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s a lot for anyone to take in.”

“I don’t see the great Alex Ashford having a meltdown in the break room.”

“You just haven’t caught me.” I wink at her and pull my laptop in front of me.

That earns me a small tug at the corner of her lips and I feel like I just won the lottery.

“Okay, let’s get started.” Alana displays her laptop screen on the large monitor on the wall and pulls up our project management software. “So we have two options here for the December issue as far as spread designs.”

We pitched four different designs to Ian and Heather at our meeting, and they chose their top two. We were left to make the final decision once we determined what all would be in the issue. The type of content on the page typically determines what spread we use.

“If this issue is going to be pretty photo heavy, we probably should go with the second one,” she says.

“With the Anastasia Valentine feature I anticipate there will be mostly photos. Did we get confirmation from her publicist?”

Anastasia Valentine is an up and coming model in the industry and everyone is chomping at the bits to get her on one of their issues. Thankfully Ian knows her publicist personally, and has pulled a few strings.

“I just got an email about half an hour ago that we’re good to go,” she says.

“Look at you,” I say with a smile.

“Don’t inflate my ego. Ian did all the work.”

I laugh and shake my head.

“Okay great, one decision made and a hundred more to go.”

As we continue our discussion, I can sense Alana getting more and more anxious.

“We need to brief the rest of the editors on the shoot and the details, along with the spread content. Can you take care of that?” She starts fidgeting with the cap of her pen, snapping it on and off.

“Absolutely.”

“I’ll make sure all of our current projects are tied up and complete. I need to get with Caroline and check on where she’s at with the November issue content.” She starts to scribble frantically on her notepad.

She was relaxed when she walked in an hour ago, but she’s tensed up now. Her shoulders and back are rigid and raised, she shakes her foot under the table and has taken a handful of very deep breaths in the last few minutes.

I have to physically restrain myself from reaching out and drawing circles on her arm or getting up and crossing the room to rub the tension from her shoulders. I want to ease her discomfort and I also constantly want to touch her. It’s really not my place to do either.

I want to approach the topic of her anxiety so we can talk it through, but I want to do it with care. My mom suffered with anxiety growing up and I learned a lot about how to care for someone who struggles with it. Every person is different, but I want to take the time to learn Alana and how she best manages this.

“Why don’t we take a break from work talk for a second?” I start with some simple questions to try and distract her. “What did you do after work last night?”

She is visibly a little confused by the change in conversation, but she goes with it.

“Um…Cami, my brother, and I went to the Mexican restaurant down the street, Angel’s . We go there a lot.”

“Oh no way, I love that place. What did you all order?”

“We get the same thing every time we go.” I watch her shoulders drop a little as she talks. She’s still wound up but I think this line of questioning is helping get her mind off of the stress. I think she can probably guess why I’ve turned this into a game of twenty questions, but she rolls with it.

“Wait, let me guess,” I say, holding a hand up to stop her from continuing her answer. “I bet you both get a margarita.” She gives me a soft smile. “And chicken fajitas to share.”

She laughs and fiddles with the small gold chain on her wrist.

“You’re close, but not quite. Margaritas and quesadillas.”

“All three of you?” I ask.

“Well, no. Charlie gets a chicken enchilada. Pretty much the entire wait staff knows our order at this point.”

“That’s impressive. It’s a great place and the staff is really nice. I can understand why you would make it a regular dinner spot.”

She nods and smiles at me.

You might be thinking, If you’ve worked with this woman for a year shouldn’t you know the most basic things like where she frequents for dinner? The answer is yes and no. Alana and I have worked together for a year, so I do know work-Alana well, but I don’t know her at all outside of work. When she is in the office, she’s a machine. She throws herself into her tasks and is one of the most determined people, often staying well past five. That was one of the reasons I asked where she went last night. I was surprised to see her leave so early.

We haven’t had very many conversations that were about anything besides what goes on inside this office. I have always been fascinated by her, so these are all things I’ve wanted to ask, but until now I didn’t feel that I could. I think the event in the break room changed the dynamic between us and now I feel like I know her on a deeper level and can let my curiosity out a bit.

“How was the evening besides the food?” Her posture has relaxed quite a bit in the last few minutes, but with this question she grows rigid again.

“It was fine.”

Fine . Girl code for anything but.

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not really. It was stupid. My ex, Brad, showed up and we had to get our food to go and?—”

“Wait,” I say, cutting her off. “Is this the idiot that was bothering you the other day?”

She nods her head and looks down, picking at the skin around her pretty pink fingernails. Something in me snaps and I respond before really even thinking.

“I told you to let me know if you needed help.”

I know as soon as I say it, it wasn’t the right thing to say. I didn’t even ask how that made her feel or if the prick tried to talk to her, I just jumped straight to what she should have done.

“Well, I didn’t need help. I handled it on my own, thank you very much,” she snaps at me. “No need to go all caveman.”

I take a breath.

“I’m sorry, you’re right. I shouldn’t have said that. You are perfectly capable of handling that on your own, I just want you to know I’m here if you need or want help.”

She looks up with wide eyes, clearly shocked by my response for some reason.

“Right, well anyways. He showed up and I really didn’t want to get into a conversation with him, so we got our food to go and tried to sneak out.”

“Didn’t work?”

“Nope. Our covert mission wasn’t quite so covert.” She lets out a deep sigh and begins rubbing her wrist almost absentmindedly. The motion causes her sleeves to ride up, and I notice small fingerprint bruises marring her porcelain skin.

“Lanie…I know I just told you I was sorry for going caveman on you, but if those bruises are from that jerk I swear I’m going to?—”

“I’m fine,” she hurriedly supplies, removing her hand from her wrist and tugging her sweater sleeves down to cover the marks.

“Did he put his hands on you?” I ask in a dangerously calm tone. My body feels anything but.

“I promise, Alex, I’m okay. Cami was there along with the entire restaurant. He just didn’t realize how hard he was gripping my wrist.”

It takes everything in me not to get up and go murder that man for putting his hands on her. Not only did he do whatever he did to get her to break up with him, but he clearly doesn’t respect women if he feels okay leaving marks on their skin.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to ground myself. This isn’t about me or my feelings.

“Okay. If you’re okay then I’m okay. But please promise me if he messes with you again and you need help, you’ll call me.”

“I promise.”

I nod, forcing my brain to be content with that and try to move back to my line of questioning to get us out of this emotionally charged space we’re in.

“Right, so once you got back to the apartment what did you do?”

“We watched Vanderpump Rules . It’s a reality TV show about a group of people who work at this restaurant.”

“Oh yeah, I’ve heard about it. Did Cami and Charlie come over to your place?”

“Yeah they did. Cami actually lives in the same building as me, just down the hallway. We live in the building down on the corner there.” She motions her hand in the direction of the only apartment building on this street, so I immediately know which one she’s referring to.

“Not a far commute then.”

“Not at all. That is for sure one of my favorite things about it.”

We sit in companionable silence for a moment and it seems like things have lightened a little. I want to try and work through some of the major stress points of this whole Paris project we are assigned to, so I decide to push a bit.

“I know you’re stressed about Paris. I assume you’re trying to decide if you want to go?” I start. She gives me a small nod. “Do you want to talk about it? Maybe verbal processing might help.”

“Have you been to therapy or something?” she asks in a teasing tone.

“All the best people have been to therapy, Lanie.”

She stares at me for a moment, seemingly stares through me, and I can tell she’s thinking. She takes a deep breath, then begins.

“Well, for starters I have some pretty bad flying anxiety. Once I get up in the air I’m okay but the getting up and the coming down are another story. I also love Christmas, it’s my favorite holiday, and I have a list of traditions that my brother and I always do. Those will be pretty impossible to complete, considering I won’t be home to do them.” Her shoulders slump, giving away just how sad that makes her. “I also am not too excited to be visiting a city that inspires love stories, considering the one I thought I was living in turned out to be a nightmare. I mean, it’s been over a year, so it’s not like I’m hung up on it, but I haven’t had anything else to replace those memories yet and I really don’t want to walk around seeing couples in love left and right, when my own boyfriend didn’t give me the time of day and constantly commented on what I was eating or how much weight I’d gained and ruined any hope that I’d ever trust a man again.”

I see the moment she realizes she just word vomited and probably shared more than she meant to. Her eyes go a little wide and she takes in a sharp breath, staring straight at me.

I am trying to think through how to help her, but my brain is snagged on the part where she said her boyfriend thought she was too curvy for him. I honestly cannot imagine a body more perfect than Alana’s, and I’m not just saying that.

She’s short and petite in an endearing way, and she has the most delicious curves. Her waist isn’t tiny by any means, but there’s a dip in her hips that is perfect for someone’s hand. My hand.

I shake my head and bring my thoughts back to the present conversation and away from her body.

Her lack of trust in men is surprising to me. It makes sense if she had an awful experience, and if the guy is leaving marks on her skin that tells me all I need to know about what kind of man he is. Still, it makes me sad that she doesn’t feel like she can trust people. It causes me to look at our interactions through a different lens—one of caution and importance in every gesture. If this woman doesn’t trust other men easily, then I need to work hard to make sure she can trust me.

I force myself back to the present.

“I can absolutely understand why you’d be stressed. That’s a lot.”

She laughs, but it isn’t humorous. “Yeah.”

She starts to close her laptop and I frantically search for something to say or do to get her to stop packing up. I’m suddenly desperate to keep her in this room and work through what’s holding her back. I can’t leave it like this. I reach out and softly touch the top of her hand, halting her movements. She flinches, not expecting my touch, and then relaxes. “Okay, let’s start with flying.”

She just stares at me, but after a second gives me a little nod.

“What part of flying specifically makes you anxious?”

“The tight space of the aircraft in general. It’s so small and the seats are so close together that I feel like I’m suffocating.”

As she talks, I begin making mental notes of things I can do to try and help. Surely Heather would approve first class seats if she knew about this. The company can afford it. I know Alana would never ask herself, but that doesn’t mean I can’t.

“I also really dislike the noises.” She stops and thinks for a second. “The rattling makes it sound like the wheels are going to fall off the damn thing. Oh, and the turbulence.”

“Do you have noise canceling headphones? Like the ones that go over your ear?” I ask.

“No…that might be a good idea to help with the rattling.”

I nod my head and continue to think about the other things she mentioned. I give her hand a squeeze, then say, “I’ll do some research on how we can tackle the other things.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that Alex. That isn’t your job.”

“What if I want to?”

Her sapphire eyes meet mine and there is curiosity in them. She cocks her head to the side a little, as if she’s trying to figure me out.

“Tell me about your Christmas traditions,” I say, trying to move the conversation along.

“Oh that would take forever,” she says with a laugh. “There are a ton.”

“Then make me a list. I’d like to know about them.”

She giggles, then nods. “Okay, Ashford, I’ll make you a list. Maybe it will inspire you. Don’t tell me you’re a Scrooge.”

“Oh, I could never be Scrooge,” I say as I wave my hand in dismissal of her ludicrous suggestion that I don’t like Christmas. “As for Paris being the city of love,” I continue. “I think we can rectify that.”

“What does that mean?”

I don’t really know, honestly. Only that I want her to enjoy her time there and for the name of her ex to never cross her mind.

“Just let me worry about that part.”

She laughs and sits back in her chair. That laugh. It’s so beautiful and light and I realize at this moment that I would do anything to hear it. I would make any joke and move any mountain to see her smile and hear her laugh like that.

“How are you feeling now?”

“Better, thank you.”

We gather our things, both of us seemingly happier with a plan of action, and head back out into the hustle and bustle of the office.