The Last of Us

Sixteen

Ben has been blowing up my phone for hours. I can tell he feels bad about last night, even though it was hardly his fault that his boss is a jerk, clearly covering something up.

I also know he wants to involve himself more in the case, but I can't forget that we are still practically strangers. Trust takes time to build.

I had a lot to do today. I'd woken up early to plan our next group session with the girls, and I'd also be lucky enough to slot myself into a meeting with Dylan James.

I'm sitting in the waiting room as I have been for the past fifteen minutes. It had already been ten minutes longer than I'd anticipated. The receptionist had told me he wouldn't be long, but part of me doubted that.

I place my hand firmly on my jiggling knee. I hope Dylan doesn't have a temper as bad as his father's. I hadn't wanted to admit it out loud, but I had been slightly scared by Gordon's reaction two days ago in the restaurant. At that moment, I was sure he would be capable of just about anything.

Even murdering a teenage girl like Talia.

"Harlow Sandoval?"

I look up, spotting a young man standing by the receptionist's desk. He's respectably attractive, wearing a navy suit that fits him well. His blonde hair is jelled back neatly. Not a hair out of place. He offers me a small smile paired with a wave when we make eye contact.

A man that blends into society, appearing like an average, valued citizen. Underneath, things could be much darker. Hiding in plain sight, they might even say.

"Harlow?" he calls again, sceptical this time about whether I am his next client.

"Yes, sorry," I stand, brushing down the front of my jeans. I realise my palms are sticky with sweat. I didn't like being nervous. It felt like yet another weakness of the human body.

"Right this way," he smiles, leading me into a small office.

He waits for me to take a seat before he shuts the door behind us.

"So you wanted to file your tax return today?" he begins.

This is where I'd been stuck this morning. Did I continue with my fake story for a while before I proceeded to question him about Talia, or did I dive right in?

"Yes," I nod. "A tax return."

I'd already completed my tax return this year. My manager had dealt with that for me. I can't remember the last time I'd had to worry about such a thing.

"Great," he claps his hands together, taking a seat behind the desk as he swivels to face his computer. "Well, I'm Dylan. Thank you for choosing Howard's Accounts. I'll just—"

"You look really familiar," I interject. "I just can't seem to place where from."

Dylan looks back at me, laughing as you do when something isn't funny at all, but you need to appear polite. "I guess I just have one of those faces. So—"

"No, I definitely know you from somewhere," I sit more forward in my chair, placing my hands over my knee.

Although he holds a better mask than his father, I can see the nice-guy facade wearing thin. He wants to do his job and be done with me, not sit here and make small talk.

"I feel like maybe we used to work together or something," I tap my chin. "Oh! I know! You're Gordon's son. You used to work at Rome and Riva."

His eyes widen slightly as he smiles. He seems relieved I've worked out where I know him, almost as if he'd been nervous it was from somewhere else.