Текст книги "Tangled Bond"

Автор книги: Emma Hart

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“I know, sweetheart. It’s why I make a point of being right.”

“Your house is closer to Rosie’s,” I point out, putting the coffee in the center console.

“I know, but since you don’t have your car and there’s cupcake frosting, I might never let you leave.”

That chocolate frosting being dotted down my stomach to my pussy with his tongue licking it all up doesn’t sound half bad. Neither does being stuck in that situation.

“Noelle.”

That sharp, husky tone—it’s not even a threat or a warning. It’s a promise, pure and simple. When he says my name in way so controlled, with so much growly depth to it, I know I’m ten seconds from trouble.

“Sorry.” I look out the window so there’s no way he can tell what I’m thinking. Or so I hope. The man has a damn sexual thought radar.

He pulls up behind my car in my driveway, and I hand him the cupcakes without looking. Hugging the envelope tight to my chest, I grab my purse and fish my keys out.

Naturally, they’re tucked between the laces of my Chucks.

“Ugh. Hold that.” I shove the envelope at Drake and crouch down, extracting the sneaker from my purse and wrestling with the keys until they’re free to the tune of his laughter. “Bite me,” I snap back at him, shoving the key into the lock and turning it. I move to disable the alarm, but the absence of any lights on the box makes me freeze.

“You didn’t set it,” Drake breathes into my ear.

“Thank you, Sherlock.” I walk through the hall and drop my purse on the coffee table, reaching for the remote to turn the TV on at the same time.

Drake shuts the door as I reach down to pull my boots off and change the channel. I lose my balance and fall sideways onto the sofa, but hey, my boot is off, and I’m already sitting down to tug the second off.

Drake shakes his head, sitting down. The cupcakes end up on the table next to my purse, and I reach forward to open them when he pulls the contract and report from the envelope.

“Here.” He hands me the contract and keeps the report for himself.

I snort and snatch the report from him. “Uh, my case. You work homicide. This is Devin’s.”

He blows out a long, frustrated breath. “Fine. Then why am I here?”

“Because you got me a cupcake and you’re useful?” I raise my eyebrows. “Now, hush up a second.”

I tuck my legs beneath my butt and open the report. For the most part, it’s exactly what Natalie told me in the office, just more detailed. Nothing I didn’t already get from her though. I guessed that every threatening message had something to do with hurting her, but several messages have threatened sexual things. Not necessarily rape… Something about a tape, but Natalie insists in the interview that she has no idea what her stalker is talking about.

“This.” I lean toward Drake, my finger at the start of the paragraph. “If the stalker is her ex, do you think it’s a secret sex tape?”

His brow furrows as he reads it over. “How long were they together?”

“It was long term. She says she doesn’t know.”

His forehead wrinkles further. “Isn’t that a female thing—dates and shit?”

I look at him and shrug. “What’s today?”

“No idea.”

“So it’s entirely plausible that she doesn’t know the exact date their relationship started—so you could argue that her boyfriend could have filmed in secret.”

“Absolutely. Just because he’s only stalking her now doesn’t mean he wasn’t obsessed with her before.”

“I suppose.”

Most obsessive tendencies come from a personal relationship. Stalkers this thorough are rarely total strangers. You have to know the other person’s routine, when they’ll be in certain places, eating, drinking—hell, even peeing. Without being presumptuous, I think the evidence suggests that it’s totally her ex-boyfriend.

After all, if anyone knows her routine, he does.

“What do you know about a Nicholas Lucas?”

“That his name is fucking stupid because it’s ass-ass?”

“As-as,” I shoot back. “Don’t be a dick. This is a working date.”

“Remind me never to date another P.I.”

“You say that with the inflection of someone never intending to date again.”

“Maybe I’m not.”

“This isn’t on topic!” I shove the report at him. “I know that Devin won’t give me the police report, and since he has no kids, I can’t bribe him, so I’m playin’ on your good character for information.”

He cuts his eyes to me, but he grabs the report and focuses on it. His eyes flit over the numerous lines, and I know that, by the end of the paragraph, he’s completely enraptured by the interview.

I guess I’ll eat my cupcake, then.

I pull the sugary, soft goodness toward me and scoop the lemon candy through the frosting. Dropping it into my mouth, I focus back on Drake. He’s a page further, and he’s a much slower reader than I am. Maybe it’s because he’s the kind of guy who needs to know every single detail, whereas I’m the woman who skims it and makes her own decisions?

Hmmm. I dip my pinkie finger into the frosting and suck it off as his eyes continue to scour the report. Never once does he look up at me. Nope. One hundred percent focused on the papers in front of him—and for the first time, I see him in cop mode.

Not detective-my-career-depends-on-this mode. Cop mode.

The emotion across his face—that hardness, that solid determinedness—is nothing other than a desire to get to the bottom of a mystery.

If real life were Clue, he’d be the guy rolling the die every time, the conclusion written on the card tucked into his pocket.

“Not the boyfriend,” he mutters, dropping the report back on the cushion between us.

“Really? You think that?”

“Do I think he’s watchin’ her? Sure. They just broke up. Guy’s cut up. Wants to see if she is.”

“You sound like you know what you’re talking about.”

He grunts. “Can I finish?”

“Sure,” I half lie, ’cause his last statement was way too bitter for a guy who dates twice, fucks, then says goodbye.

Drake stands, tucks his hands in his pockets, and walks toward my window. “Sounds like he got obsessive during the relationship because she was unfaithful. And that obsessiveness… It carried over. Made him into who he is today. Into the kind of guy who would hurt the fuck outta her in revenge.”

The paper crinkles as I grasp the report and set it on top of my contract. Old feelings rush through me, and it doesn’t matter in the slightest that we’ve dated once. What matters is the fact that the elephant in the room, the one standing between us, is so decorated with the past and dreams and realities and imaginary happenings.

And, God, it stands between us like a steel wall, because for all of our combined history, neither of us knows a thing about the time when I wasn’t in Holly Woods.

“I think…” I pause, staring at my fireplace directly in front of me. “I think we’re done today.”

I hear his breath from here, and it takes every bit of strength in my body not to look at him.

“I agree,” he says quietly. He shoves his hands in his pockets and walks to the door.

I focus on the almost-silent screen of the TV, because midafternoon TV is shit—let’s be honest.

My front door opens.

I close my eyes.

“I’ll e-mail you a full report on Nicholas Lucas,” Drake says—loud yet soft, understanding in every sense. “If you’re goin’ up against a guy who got away with murder, you need to know.”

I jump up, but he slams my door at the same time my feet hit the floor.

And I don’t know what to consider first—that my client’s stalker is an apparent murderer walking free, or that Drake walked out on our date, leaving his cupcake sitting on my coffee table.

I look at the dark-brown goodness, temptation filling me, almost beating down the deflated sadness from him leaving. But it feels…wrong to even consider touching that cake.

So I grab the stapled-together papers, my lemon cupcake, and go upstairs to my room, despite it being three in the afternoon.

Who the hell cares?

My phone buzzes with the incoming text messages. In my half-asleep state, I pull it from the nightstand and open the blinking rectangle stretching across the screen.

Mayor chats shit at three, Bek texts.

As opposed to any other time? I reply.

Bless her for thinking the mayor doesn’t chat shit at any other time.

Shut up. Supposed to be a debate with the guy going against him.

Alistair Harvey?

Sure. Him.

Ugh. The lack of fucks I have to give about this mayoral campaign are severely dismal. As in they amount to a big, fat fucking zero.

Mayor McDougall is the most corrupt person I’ve ever met in my life. Seriously—the man paid his way out of a cheating allegation twenty years ago, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s done the same since. Fact is¸ the good mayor of Holly Woods has more fucking fireworks up his ass than the United States of America set off on Independence Day. If only he’d light half of them…

He’s been the mayor of Holly Woods for as long as I can remember. I think he even sat in the front row at my baptism way back when. He’s like the political Simon Cowell. He changes his mind so often that the whole town has whiplash from his indecision. Like those flowers he approved for the local park? Yeah. Well, we can safely say he forgot to plant the damn bulbs.

So listening to him spout his total crap at a campaign speech? Excuse me if I don’t sing his biblical praises at the top of my lungs. Hell, y’all would be lucky if I don’t sing his hellish ignorance from my own level of hell.

Six a.m. is far too early to deal with the mayor and his stupid claims. I tug on workout clothes and make my way to the spare room, where my elliptical is sitting alongside my treadmill. I hesitate in front of the treadmill for a second before plugging my phone into the jack, hitting the workout playlist on Spotify, and jumping on the bitch treadmill.

We’ve never gotten along, but you know. Desperate love handles call for desperate early runs and all that.

My feet pound against the moving belt, and I breathe with each step. My head is bursting with pain, but that’s simply the result of one more glass of wine than was called for last night. Actually, given the way my date ended, it wasn’t nearly enough.

My phone rings, slicing through the music, and I tap the answer button. “Hello?”

“Noelle,” Brody, my younger brother, says. “Are you going to the debate today?”

“I don’t want to, but I’m assumin’ this call is because Dad is gonna make us all.”

“Yep. And he said your ass better be on the side of the mayor’s.”

“My ass might be, but my vote is on the other side.”

“Obviously, it is. Do you need a ride? I can get you if you want.”

Clearly, someone heard about my date.

“Brodes, I can drive.”

“Are you sure?”

The protective tone of his voice makes me fumble. Damn my brother—actually, damn them all. They’re pretty much the only guys I can’t say no to when they go all sibling on me.

“All right,” I acquiesce. “I’ll take the ride.”

“Of course you are. I was going to stop by anyway.”

“Obviously.” I smile.

“You sound out of breath. Did I interrupt some woman time?”

“Some woman time? You’re gross. No. I’m running.”

He pauses. “You’re running? As in, actual running?”

“Yes.” I grab my water bottle. “Is that all? You’re killing my buzz here.”

“Fine. I’ll see you later.”

“Bye.” I hang up and hit the play button. The music starts back up, and I continue my run to a much better sound than my brother being equal parts prying and protective.

My family’s finding out about the end to that date is the last thing I wanted. Hell, I still don’t want it. I can imagine the private chat before Brody called this morning. Ugh—I don’t even want to do this today. I want to take my moment to be my inner teenage girl and mope.

Wait. I did that into a bottle of wine last night.

Fact is, my date with Drake did the one thing I knew it would. It confirmed to me that there’s more to him than the arrogant, argumentative, sexy son of a bitch I know. There’s a fun side and that side is intriguing. I want to delve deeper into it, tear apart the layers that are Drake, and hang there a while. That’s it. That simple.

Or it was until he got all bitter. Clearly, the good has himself some relationship hang-ups—and clear commitment issues—and that’s bullshit to me. If he’s been cheated on, well, newsflash, so have I, and you don’t see me running toward the hills to avoid discussing it.

My ex was an unfaithful fuckhead who liked to dip his cock into many different pools. I could be a rare creature, because after the shock wore off, I didn’t become an insecure wall-flower.

I reasoned that he wasn’t good enough for my special brand of awesome in the first place.

And hey, true or not, it worked.

I block Drake from my mind and focus fully on the run. Except, now, my motivation has gone—and I’ve apparently been running for the last thirty minutes.

Whatever. That’s some two hundred calories. That’s a cupcake. In my dreams, at least.

With a heavy sigh, I set the treadmill to stop and hop off when it’s slowed enough. The belt moves for another few seconds while I take my phone and water bottle and head into my bedroom. The elliptical stares at me through the wall with its imaginary eyes, so I give it the finger.

The last time I got on that thing I couldn’t walk for an hour afterward. Leg-killing bitch.

After a quick shower, I tie the towel around me and squeeze every last drop of water out of my hair. I run a brush through it and grab my hairdryer. I’m approximately halfway through my long-ass necessary blow-dry when the machine sparks and I drop it. It stops blowing as soon as it hits the floor.

“Shit.” I pick it up and flick the switch. Nothing. “Double shit.” I pull the plug from the wall and put it back in, moving the switch again. Still nothing. “Triple shit with sprinkles.” I drop it back on the floor carelessly, because, hey, it doesn’t care that I now have to wrangle my half-damp hair into submission in the form of a bun or some crap.

At least my bangs are dry.

My phone rings on the bed, and in my naked state—screw it. I’m ignoring it. If it’s important, there’s a thing called voicemail.

I rifle in my drawers for underwear, then throw them on the bed before pulling out a royal blue pencil skirt and white blouse. I guess, if I’m going to this dumbass debate, I should try the professional look again this week.

I’m going to put shorts and a tank in my purse.

My phone rings again, and I clasp my bra, humming to myself. Panties next. Then my blouse. I’m doing up the final button when my phone rings for a third time.

I guess that’s important.

I lean over, and the most recent number added is on the screen beneath the caller’s name: Natalie.

Why is she calling me this early?

“Noelle,” I answer the phone. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh my God, finally,” she says quickly. “I got another letter. This time through the mail. I’m scared, Noelle. They’re threatening to hurt me, and my shed was broken into. There are chips on my back porch window and a couple of bricks beneath it. I think they left the note after!”

“Windows aren’t as easy to break as everyone thinks.” I tuck my phone between my shoulder and my ear and grab my skirt. “Are you still at home?”

“Yes.”

“With the letter?”

“Yes.”

“Called the police?”

“No.”

“I’m calling Devin on my way over. Don’t leave your house.”

“But I have an important appointment!”

“If it’s more important than your life, keep it. If not, reschedule.” I tuck my blouse in and buckle the small belt as silence hovers for a moment.

“I’ll be here,” she finally says. “Please make sure he isn’t in uniform.”

“I don’t think the Holly Woods police department owns a uniform past rookie rank, hon. You’re good.” I run downstairs, slip my feet into some black Jimmy Choo heels, grab my purse, and open my door. “I’m getting in my car now. I’ll only be a few minutes. Make sure your doors are locked and you have something that can be used as a weapon if they’re still there, okay?”

“I have a pan,” she whispers.

“As good as anything,” I reason. “I’ll see you in a minute.” I hang up and double back quickly to set my alarm. Once it’s done, I lock the front door and get into my car, already dialing my brother’s number.

“What?” Devin groans.

I pull out of the driveway. “Mornin’ to you, too, grumpy-ass.”

“Noelle, what the fuck? It’s not even eight.”

“I know, but someone broke into Natalie Owens’s shed, tried to break into her house, and left a note.”

“Why can’t these assholes operate during normal hours? And why the fuck can’t you call someone on duty?”

I glance at the clock. “’Cause I’m pretty sure you start in thirty minutes away, so it’s probably a good thing I’m draggin’ your ass outta bed.”

“Shut the hell up.” There’s a rustling noise. “Shit! Amelia must have turned the alarm off ’cause she’s off today. Fuck!”

“You’re welcome.” I snort. “And since I’m not on hands-free, I’ll see you in ten minutes at Natalie’s house.”

Another shout of, “Fuck!” comes through right as I hang up.

My brothers. I swear. They’re all pains in the asses—all I need is for Trent to step up and get under my feet and they have a full house in the Bond family sibling bingo.

I make the few turns to Natalie’s house and drive slowly down her street. I guess that one of the perks of living in a place like Holly Woods is that you know where everyone lives, even if you haven’t spoken to them for years. The perk of my job is the refresher when they fill my forms out.

Her street is quaint and very quiet—not the type of place you’d expect a stalker to roam or a break-in to be attempted. From the newly cut lawns to the perfectly trimmed hedges and houses with perfectly painted exteriors, it’s the picture-perfect, stereotypical American street. But hey.

Beautiful lies hide ugly truths.

I turn into Natalie’s driveway and park my little Audi behind her suave BMW. Her face appears in the window to the door as I get out of my car, purse in hand.

Shit. I left her file on my nightstand.

Still, I lock my car and go to her front door. She opens it before my feet have touched the steps leading up to it, and I offer her a wary smile.

“Anything?”

“No. I don’t think they hung around after posting the note.”

“Do you have it?”

She nods. “On the coffee table.” She steps aside to let me in.

Although my focus is on the room to my right, which is clearly her living area, I can’t help but glance around her house. Vintage-style, very rustic and full of charm. Cracked and scuffed photo frames adorn the walls of her spacious entry hall, and I recognize the people in the photos as her family and closest friends. Lena is even in a few, along with Mallory, and my stomach twists.

Lena, the woman I found poisoned and tortured to death not two months ago, and Mallory, her best friend and possibly the only person she ever really trusted in this world.

I swallow back the hard hit of emotion and walk through into the living room, which is much the same style. The same frames are hung on the walls, and even her furniture is very chaise-longue style with wooden legs. Her house screams pure class, and this girl either got lucky at yard sales or she has more money than most people in this town.

Oddly, I want to side with both options.

The note is lying on the coffee table, like she said, and I bend over to look at it. Aside from finger-sized creases in the corners, the note is perfectly crisp. There aren’t even fold lines. And it’s handwritten. The writing is messy but cursive, like the author really tried to neaten up their letters but went all kindergarten regardless.

Two sharp knocks at the door startle me, and Natalie screams, her hands going to her mouth. I get up and go to the window. Upon recognizing Devin’s car, I nod to her that it’s okay. Natalie opens the door, albeit hesitantly, and my brother walks through.

With his dark hair the exact shade of mine messy in an I-just-woke-up-in-severe-need-of-a-haircut style, cleanly shaved jaw, and his deep-brown eyes a smidgen darker than mine, my brother literally looks like he’s walked off America’s Next Top Model.

“That the note?” he asks gruffly, immediately going into cop mode.

“Yep.”

He knows better than to ask me if I’ve touched it, as evidenced by his quick pull of gloves from his pocket. “I have forensics on their way.”

“Forensics?” Natalie’s bottom lip wobbles.

“Sorry, Miss Owens. I can’t ask them to come unmarked.” Devin lifts the note and holds it directly in his eye line. “When did you find this?”

“I called Noelle ten minutes ago, so maybe twenty minutes ago?”

“You hear anythin’ before?” He puts the letter back down and walks through the door.

I follow him, cupping Natalie’s elbow to encourage her to, too.

“The bricks, the shed…?” he says.

“No. I-I’ve been having trouble sleeping for a few weeks. My doctor prescribed me sleeping pills, and this is why I didn’t know.” Natalie sucks one of her cheeks in and crosses her arms tight. Her position screams defensiveness and defiance—but if she had any information, why would she hide it? Her fear was, and is, real.

“Okay.” Devin unlocks the back door with the key sitting steadily in the hole.

I scoot past Natalie to follow him out. She’s right. The window is chipped in two or three places. There’s even a crack spreading out from one of them, but when I scrape my nail down the inside of the window, the surface is smooth. It doesn’t go right through the glass.

Devin is questioning Natalie over by the shed. The door-less shed, because there’s a hinge lying on the ground next to the wooden plank that is, or was, the door. Apparently, our would-be burglar thought taking hinges off would be easier than breaking the padlock—which is still attached to the door.

And why is there even a padlock there? Who locks sheds in Holly Woods?

Taking care to step around the bricks on the floor, I lean against the wall of the house, focused on my brother and Natalie. Devin stops to take a call, and a few seconds later, I’m joined by two forensics guys and a couple of other officers.

“Noelle,” Officer Jake Dylan acknowledges me.

“Officer.” I offer him a smile before moving out of their way.

“What do you make of this?” he asks, catching me before I can disappear.

“Someone tried to break into her house and left her a threatening note,” I reply carefully. “I make that someone has a real issue with Miss Owens. Simple.”

I’m not doing your work for you, Jake Dylan. Figure it out yourself.

This time, I move a little quicker to escape him. Devin is pointing toward the house and telling two other officers what to do, and I smile. I love seeing my brothers in control, doing what they do best… Unless I’m the one they’re telling what to do.

Makes me think that Nonno would be real proud of his boys if he could see them now.

When the two officers disappear, I hover back a little more. Natalie’s complexion has faded to a greyish tinge, and she has one arm wrapped around the top of her stomach. She looks like she’s about to pass out, and a sliver of worry worms through me.

“Natalie?” I ask quietly when there’s a break in the conversation. “Are you okay? You don’t look too good.”

She looks at me, her lips twitching unreassuringly. “I think the adrenaline has worn off. It’s sinking in.”

I know from experience that this is the worst feeling. I gently touch her arm and glance at my brother, and he nods.

“Come on,” I tell her. “Let’s get you inside to sit down. I’ll make you a hot drink while you calm down.”

Without a word, she lets me lead her back to the house and into her kitchen. She sits at the breakfast bar. I’d prefer the table, but hey, if she faints and gets a concussion, at least she’d be focused on that instead, right?

I fill the kettle on the stove and boil the water. By the time it screeches that it’s done, I’ve managed to locate green tea and decaf coffee.

Who in their right mind drinks decaf coffee? Even when my sister-in-law was pregnant, she had one cup of weak caffeinated coffee a day. Her argument was that she put so much milk in it that it turned into a coffee milkshake, so the caffeine was vetoed. And hell, no one was going to go up against her. She was pregnant, and the Bonds aren’t that stupid.

I hand Natalie her green tea. “You’ll feel better after a hot drink. I promise.”

She nods slowly and wraps her trembling hands around the mug. She’s hunched in on herself, and she briefly looks up to meet my gaze. “Didn’t you get broken into not long ago?”

“Too many times,” I mutter. “It’s awful.”

“What did you do when you…you know. Found out someone had broken in?”

Grimacing, I reply, “Searched my house with my gun out.”

She blinks. “Seriously? You didn’t freak out?”

“Well, sure.” I sip my coffee. Ugh. Yuck. “Even though my stuff was all over the place, it didn’t sink in until after the police had left. I was mostly pissed at someone breaking in, but when that wore off, it was a total ‘shit, someone broke into my house’ moment, and I went crazy. I still don’t feel totally safe in my house now and I have an alarm. It’s hard knowing someone’s been in your house without your permission.”

Natalie shudders. “I’d be a total mess if they’d gotten in. Look at me now—I’m bordering on an anxiety attack from a brick at my window.”

And the note. But I won’t be mentioning that right now.

“Do you have an alarm system?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “I’ve been meaning to get one for a couple of weeks now, but something always got in the way of me making the call. I guess I have to do it now.”

“I have the card for the company who did mine in the car. The cops rushed it through, so I’ll speak to Devin later when I see him again since he’s real busy out there right now, and I’ll get him to contact them for you. They’ll forward you the bill, but they’ll have it done tomorrow.”

“Really? That would be amazing.” A little tension leaves her shoulders.

“Really.” I flick my eyes toward the clock on the stove. “I have to go to the office now, but I’ll write this up and see if I can find anything about your ex’s location last night.” I pat her hand. “We’ll get this figured out. Don’t worry.”

“I know. I trust you.”

I put the phone down and drop my head to my desk. Sweet Jesus. Nick Lucas, Natalie’s ex, is the most elusive man in Texas right now.

Two hours of phone calls to a ridiculous number of people has wielded absolutely no information about his whereabouts of last night, and his phone rolls straight over to voicemail. These calls are after a staff meeting, a phone call from Dad confirming that he’ll see me at three, signing off on a new contract for Mike, a random drop-by from my decorator about his inability to get the shade of pink I picked for the kitchen, an interview with an eighteen-year-old high-school almost-graduate for Marshall’s job, and a text exchange with Devin about Natalie and her alarm system.

At least Bek brought me a cupcake at lunchtime. Which I haven’t had a chance to eat, because well, I used the thirty-second break I had earlier to pee and yell desperately for a coffee.

I say yell. I begged. Unashamedly.

I sit back up and hit the space bar on my laptop to wake it up. I add to my spreadsheet of calls Bek insisted I make, and I hit save, then print. I close the computer once I have the list in my hand and tuck it into my file marked Owens, N.

The clock reads two thirty.

“Oh, someone give me a break,” I mutter to myself, standing and heading for the bathroom.

I look like a bird made its home in my hair and a raccoon adopted me.

I grab the wet wipes from the cupboard and pull my spare makeup down, too. And here everyone laughed at me for keeping makeup at the office. My father would kill me if I turned up this afternoon looking anything less than one hundred percent professional, and not because he’s harsh, but because the mayor is, unfortunately, a lifelong friend, and it’s expected.

Put it this way: If my brothers aren’t all in ties and button-down shirts, Dad will pull his spare sets out of his trunk and force them to get changed. Yes, this has happened, and I have it on video.

Ten minutes later, I have a fresh face of makeup that makes me look somewhat human. If my stomach could stop growling, too. That would be even better.

I grab the cupcake from my desk, and I’m about to pull the wrapper off when Brody walks into my office.

“What are you doin’? We gotta go. Now.”

I groan. “I’m hungry!”

“It’s just past lunch!”

“Which I didn’t get because I’ve been workin’ all day,” I argue, taking my purse from the back of my desk. I throw it over my shoulder and pick my phone up. “So, long story short, I’m eatin’ it in your car.”

He pauses for a moment as we go downstairs. “Only because I’m in a squad car.”

“Obviously.”

“And you’re vacuuming your crumbs after.”

“In another life,” I reply with a grin shot over my shoulder. “That’s why y’all hire cleaners.”

“Hours cut,” he grumbles, opening the car. “Something about cuts the mayor wanted. Now, we have to clean up ourselves.”

“Oh, you poor little babies.” I snort as I get in. “Imagine having to clean up after yourself like actual adults! How horrifying for you.”

“Hey, you have a cleaner.”

“Who comes in once a week. Other than that, I keep a full set of cleaning equipment in the cupboard in the basement. We clean our own offices, thank you.”

Okay, so I think Grecia does Mike’s sometimes, but as long as it’s tidy, I don’t care if he’s offering sexual favors in return for her vacuuming a couple of times a week.

“You wanna come clean my office? Charlotte’s on my back because she had to empty my trash twice in three days.”

“Charlotte, huh?” I take a bite of my cupcake as the police receptionist is brought up.

“Noelle, she’s been crushin’ on me for three years. If I were interested, I’d have fucked her already.”

“Straight to the point as always.”

He laughs and pulls up outside the Oleander hotel where the…whatever-the-hell kinda boring hour this is gonna be…is.

“You got crumbs on my seat,” he grumbles when I get up.

“Apparently, you should take Charlotte up on her crush, ’cause you sound like you need to get laid.” I bend over to brush the crumbs off. Most go outside the car, thankfully.

“Dad’s gonna kill you if you go in there stuffing your face with cake.”

“And I’m gonna kill someone if I don’t get some food in my belly. I’m hangry right now.”

“Hangry?”

“Hungry and angry.”

“There’s a ship name for that?”