Gretchen set her bag on the floor. “Who?”
Addison thrust a stack of pink message slips at her. “You know who.”
The sigh that left Gretchen’s lips could have powered a small steamboat. Her friend and law school classmate Jorge Alvarez had been calling for six weeks now, asking her to consider joining his refugee resettlement nonprofit as a staff attorney.
“I told him you already had his number, but he insisted on leaving it again. Just in case.”
Gretchen knew the number by heart at this point. She retrieved her bag and slung it over her shoulder. “I’ll call him back tomorrow.”
“Just call him now and get it over with,” Addison said, trailing Gretchen down the short hallway to her office. “What’s so hard about telling him you’re not interested in the job?”
Gretchen answered honestly as she flipped on the light. “I don’t know.”
“Maybe because you actually are interested.”
Gretchen scowled at Addison lounging in the doorway. “I have clients who need me here.”
“That’s a non-denial denial.” Addison gave Gretchen a knowing look.
“I’m not looking for something else,” Gretchen said, sitting down in her ancient desk chair.
“Yes, you are. The problem is you just aren’t sure what it is.” With that, Addison turned on her heel and sauntered out with all the swagger of a prosecutor who’d just nailed a defendant on the stand.
“Hey!” Gretchen called. “What the hell does that mean?”
“I can’t tell you that. It was meant to be cryptic.”
“It’s bullshit, is what it is.”
“But it’s good bullshit,” Addison called back. “Because it’s true.”
“It’s not true. I am perfectly happy where I am. I love my clinic. I love my job. I love my life.”
“Who are you trying to convince?”
One of the clinic’s case managers, a college intern named Joey, entered her office. “You know, when you told me working here would be like joining a family, I didn’t know that would include stupid arguments.”
“Shut up,” Gretchen grumbled under her breath.
“See? Just like family. My sister used to say the same thing to me every day.”
“That was meant for Addison,” Gretchen said, followed by a pointed look at the chair across from her desk.
He got the message. He clicked his pen and looked at his legal pad. “Okay, tell me what to do.”
Gretchen spent the next fifteen minutes giving him instructions on what to do next with Carla’s case. Just as they were wrapping up, an instant message popped up on her screen from Addison. Your brother is holding for you on line three.
She quickly typed back, Which one?
Evan.
Alarm sent a jolt of adrenaline through her veins. Of her two brothers, Evan was the oldest and the one who pretended the hardest that Gretchen didn’t exist. If he was calling her—on her office line, no less—something must be wrong.
She nodded toward the office door, and Joey once again got the message. He rose and walked out, shutting the door behind him. Gretchen picked up the phone and hit the blinking button. “Hello?”
Her brother’s voice was muffled, as if he’d pulled the phone away from his mouth as he waited for her to pick up.
“Evan,” she said sharply.
Her brother came back to the phone. “One second.”
“You called me, remember?”
But he’d already gone back to barking orders at whichever lackey was unlucky enough to be called before him. Gretchen’s jaw jutted sideways as she considered hanging up on him. If something was wrong, he was taking his sweet time telling her about it.
He finally came back to the phone. “Hi, sorry about that.”
“Why did you call me on my office phone?”
“I couldn’t find your cell number.”
Of course he couldn’t. Because why would she be saved in his contacts like any normal sibling? All their lives, he’d treated her like a pesky brat who needed a good talking to, but now that they were adults, that had morphed into a detached formality that was even more annoying. Not that they’d ever been close. She used to blame their twelve-year age difference, but the chasm between them went beyond age. “What’s up?” she asked.
“I need you to come out this afternoon.”
“Out where?”
“To Homestead.”
Homestead. A warm word for a cold place. The corporate headquarters of Carraig Aonair Whiskey had certainly never felt like home to her. More like a dirty little secret. Rather, she was their dirty little secret. She was one of those Winthrops, a bona fide heiress from one of Tennessee’s richest and most influential families, but they rarely liked to claim her and her inconvenient politics publicly. None of them had ever forgiven her for daring to deny the family legacy—their words, not hers—and forge her own career path. Which made Evan’s summons both suspicious and worrisome.