Текст книги "Tangled Bond"
Автор книги: Emma Hart
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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 18 страниц)
“Which is why you need to work with them. It’s no secret you solved Lena’s murder, and now, I’m asking you to solve Natalie’s. You’ll be paid your standard fee plus extras by the council—gas money and the like—and a payment for your time here this evening at your average rate.”
“I don’t charge for consultations, Mayor McDougall.”
“Perhaps not in your business hours, but I called you in your personal hours. Therefore, you’ll be paid.” He walks toward the desk and grasps the back of his chair. He leans forward, his fingers tightening, his look intimidating. “Ms. Bond?”
“Is Detective Nash aware of your intention to hire me? Sheriff Bates?”
“Sheriff Bates is on board with my decision. As for Detective Nash, it will be mentioned to him tomorrow when you attend the briefing at the station.”
“When I attend? That’s awfully presumptuous. I don’t like to agree to cases until the prospective client has had a chance to read through the contract and issue any amendments. However,” I add strongly when he attempts to interrupt me. “I will go to the briefing tomorrow after leaving a basic contract with your assistant. You’ll have twelve hours to make any changes, including the addition of your previous statement regarding payment. I’ll have my assistant draw up a new contract with that, providing I agree to your terms, and you’ll have a further twelve hours after delivery of the amended document to have it signed and delivered to me including the retainer check.”
If he’s angered by my demands, he doesn’t show it. In fact, he looks rather like he respects me. “I appreciate anyone who can get straight to the point, Ms. Bond, and the fact that you’re a woman makes it even more amusing.”
Wow.
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just insult me because of my gender,” I say through gritted teeth, reaching for my purse and standing. “What time do I need to be at the station tomorrow?”
“Eight a.m. Sharp.”
“You’ll have a contract on your desk beforehand.” I turn to the door and open it.
“Ms. Bond?”
“Yes?” I look over my shoulder.
“I mean it when I say this case needs to be solved with as little investigation as possible.”
“And I mean it when I say this case will be solved with as much as necessary.”
He pushes off the chair, making it swing around and bump into the side of the desk. His amber eyes narrow into catlike slits, and a tic makes his jaw twitch. “I’ve known Natalie Owens for many years. It’s in the best interests of everyone’s safety for you to follow my instructions.”
“Excuse me for pointing out the obvious, sir, but safety is exactly why this investigation will take as long as it needs to.”
“There are things about her you wouldn’t like. Many things are best left undiscovered, Ms. Bond.”
I meet his eyes and hold his gaze for a second longer than necessary. I’m not sure why he thinks he can intimidate me or that I’ll roll over and beg for a belly rub like every other woman he works with, but he should probably try not to be a sexist bastard if he wants me to cooperate.
As it is, we have a verbally binding contract that will be on camera, and as soon as I start investigating, all bets are off.
I close his office door behind me, grab the takeout cartons from Ellis with a smile, and press the elevator button.
As little investigation as possible, indeed.
I pick a little watermelon seed out of the chunk and pop the delicious piece of fruit in my mouth. Not one part of me wants to stroll into that police station right now and be all, “Hi. I’m in your investigation. Surprise!”
I didn’t even call my brothers last night to tell them. It sounds simple, but I know how pissed they all got when I ended up being involved in Lena’s murder. Never mind that Natalie Owens is a client of mine—again. Something only Drake knows.
It’s why I have her case file with me. One more thing for them to have. As it is, though, it doesn’t matter. When I dropped my contract off this morning, Ellis informed me that the mayor has informed Sheriff Bates that I’m to have full access to all police departments and findings and I must pay them the same courtesy.
I don’t think the mayor has any idea what he’s doing.
I don’t want to be thrown into the middle of a murder investigation again. I don’t want to deal with this bullshit for the second time in almost as many months. I want to live my quiet little life with cheating couples and lost dogs and suspicious-acting teens.
I don’t want to have the safety of people placed in my hands.
The day I quit the Dallas PD is still too raw. It’s still too real even though it happened a couple of years ago. I can still remember the call I made, every gun shot, every cuss word as the engine started outside and the plain, white truck, still full of children, was driven away.
I can have a gun in my hands. I can shoot before I think. But I can’t protect people. I learned that on that day.
I’m too naïve and selfish.
No.
I was naïve. I’m probably still selfish. But I’m not naïve anymore. I’ve learned from my past decisions, and I’ve made better choices since.
Unless you count every single decision with Drake, but somehow, I don’t.
My window is knocked on three times, and when I turn, I see Devin’s face in it. He turns his finger for me to wind it down, so I hit the button.
“What are you doing here?”
I breathe out, more a sigh than anything, and end up blowing a spit-less raspberry. “Because I literally cannot be bothered to explain right now: Guess who the mayor hired last night?”
Dev stares at me for a second before his lips form a grin and a huge belly laugh erupts from him. My lips thin as he continues laughing like he’s two years old and watching Sesame Street or something.
“Are you done? Because guess who doesn’t know the mayor hired me?”
“Fuck off,” he shoots at me, still laughing. “Oh shit, sis. They’re gonna go nuts.”
“Yeah. Which is why I’m sitting in my car and not going in there.”
“Can I come watch when you tell them?”
“I’m sorry. Are you a newly-engaged thirty year old man, or a fourteen year old boy waiting for next week’s edition of Playboy?”
“Noelle, I don’t give a shit how old I am. This is gonna be fuckin’ gold. Wait—when you say they, do you mean Drake, too?”
Reluctantly, I nod.
Dev laughs again. “Let’s go.” He opens my car door. “This is too awesome to pass up.”
I groan and take my purse from the passenger’s seat. They’re literally going to kill me, aren’t they? They’re sure as hell gonna tear me a new vagina after I reveal my purpose for being here.
God, it’s gonna be like the high school football team welcoming the little geeky girl as their quarterback, isn’t it?
I drop my keys into my purse and wriggle my toes in the end of my Louboutins. They’re my absolute favorite shoes—mostly because their sleek, shiny blackness and blinding redness on the sole make me feel powerful. They’re a look-the-hell-at-me kinda shoe.
Maybe not so much with ripped jeans and a tank top, but whatever.
Dev wraps his arm around my shoulder and briefly squeezes me into his side. I give him a wan smile, because honestly, I feel sick. I wish I were already in there, that this whole thing were over and done with. I know that Drake, Trent, and Brody will have expected me to call, but I was afraid to.
I was so fucking scared to call them and tell them that their investigative team was being expanded to me.
Jesus, Noelle. You’re not a teenager stepping into a science project. You’re Noelle fucking Bond, and if they have a problem with that, they can bend and kiss your ass.
But Drake.
This could ruin everything.
What is everything though?
What do we really have except for a ridiculous attraction and a history of apparently hilarious and explosive arguments?
What if something is waiting in the wings and the mayor’s hiring me is the villain in our tentative love story?
What if we’re the modern-day Romeo and Juliet—without the whole dying thing, but only destined to be together in another life where everything is simpler?
“Dev.” I grab his arm and swallow right outside the building. “I can’t do this. I can’t storm in here and step in alongside them like I deserve it.”
“You do.” The door opens, and Brody steps through.
I turn to my baby brother, taking a deep breath. He knocks his fist into my cheek with the barest touch.
“Yeah, I heard. Drake and Trent don’t know. But Noelle—you do deserve this. You know as well as I do that you deserve to be sitting in that fucking meeting room with the best of the best. You know that you should be one of the best detectives Holly Woods has ever seen, and you are. You just don’t have the badge. Don’t taint your present with your past. Now, get your ass into that fucking briefing room before we grab you and drag you in there.”
“Brody wins the ‘inspirational speech of the year’ award!” Dev announces.
“How about you go fuck a chicken, you cocky bastard?”
“Ignoring that you’re referring to my fiancée as a chicken, at least I have something at home to fuck that isn’t my right hand.”
“I’m left-handed, douchebag.”
“Fine—I can fuck something that isn’t my hand… Or bed slats.”
“One fuckin’ time, man. I saw it on YouTube.”
“Why were you even watching bed slat porn?”
“Oh my God!” I snap, storming past them both into the main reception. “You slimy, antagonistic, sneaky little shits!”
They laugh and high-five as I storm down the hallway. Ignoring Charlotte’s greeting, I take the single flight of stairs upstairs to the briefing room. I slam the door open, and instantly, Drake and Trent turn to me, as do the three other officers sitting in the room, who I recognize as Detectives Brown, Harper, and Johnston.
All men.
Fucking men.
What is this town’s issue with powerful women?
Drake stands, Trent echoing his movement.
“What the fuck are you doin’ here?” my brother asks.
I smile sweetly and hold my hands out to my sides. “Hi. I’m your new work buddy. Isn’t it fucking wonderful?”
“What?” Drake growls, his eyes focused entirely on me and pulling at my gaze despite my best effort to look anywhere other than at him.
“Oh, yeah. Didn’t you get the memo? The mayor hired me last night to work with y’all to find Natalie’s killer, so surprise!”
“Noelle,” Brody groans. “The attitude, sis.”
“Is exactly what she needs,” Sheriff Bates answers, entering the room right after him. “Brody, shut the door.”
He does it, and the sheriff continues.
“Last night, Mayor McDougall called Noelle into his office in her personal hours and proposed that she work with the homicide department in solving Natalie Owens’s probable murder. It’s not a secret that he’s not happy with the majority of our female officers, and in his eyes, Noelle’s advantage is that she isn’t a cop. Now, this goes without saying that it’s confidential information.” He scans us all. “Holly Woods will know in five minutes what the good Ms. Bond is up to, but they won’t know who hired her, and that, gentlemen, gives us a total advantage. Now, some of y’all have personal ties with her.” He stares harshly at Trent and Brody, and his gaze lingers for a moment too long on Drake, “But under no circumstances will that come between y’all and y’all’s duty to your town.”
“She’s my damn sister!” Trent spits. “If there’s a gun on her and it’s her or the shooter, you seriously expect me to ignore that?”
“Three weeks ago, I had one pulled on me when I was all alone and I dealt with it perfectly fine, thank you,” I remind him. “I’m not a goddamn princess, Trent. I’m the best detective this department has and I’m not even fucking employed by it.”
“Not by my choice.” Sheriff smirks. “And yes, Trent. Brody, too. I expect you to focus on apprehending a suspect, not saving your sister. Y’all know she’s more than capable of saving herself. The only—and I stress, only—time that’s acceptable is if she’s unarmed and her life is in total danger.”
“Whoa now,” I reply, raising my eyebrows and putting my hands on my hips. I give no fucks about my diva status. “Would you say that if I were in possession of a penis, Sheriff? ’Cause if not, retract it, and I’ll take the bullet like your guys do.”
“You were so born with the wrong genitals,” Brody mutters.
I punch him.
“Noelle.” Sheriff draws my attention back to him. “Yes, ma’am, I would. If your colleague is unarmed and you can protect them, you do, even if it’s at the cost of your suspect. None of y’all signed up to be a martyr when you went through your training. And as a cop, you know that.”
“I’m not a cop,” I remind him through gritted teeth.
“But you were.” His eyes spark. “And you’re as good as any I’ve got in this building. So let’s be done with our new addition courtesy of the mayor and get on with our briefing. Any objections?”
Drake grunts his agreement, the expression on his face identical to Trent’s.
Thunderous.
I can practically feel the anger vibrating off him. He’s like a ticking time bomb, and I swear that, if anyone so much as breathes in his direction, he’ll bite their head off.
I knew this was a bad idea.
Brody pats my thigh twice and gives me a regretful smile. Hey, what can I do though, right? I’m here now. I’m being trusted by both the mayor and the sheriff—and my youngest brother. And, honestly, does it matter that Drake and Trent aren’t impressed?
As long as Nonna doesn’t get wind of this tonight at the rescheduled family dinner, not at all.
She’ll implant a new pair of ovaries into my pelvis when she discovers this.
“Two days ago, Natalie Owens came in with stalking concerns. She expressed that she was forced to file a report before Noelle would work on it.” Sheriff Bates scribbles on the whiteboard and draws a line under it. “Yesterday morning, she calls Noelle with concerns about being broken in to. In turn, Noelle calls Devin Bond, the detective in control of Natalie’s case, and informs him of it due to the shocked nature of the victim.” More scribbles and another line. “Forensics have, so far, delivered no clues as to who the would-be burglar or stalker is.” Another line. “That’s at approximately eight a.m. Just over seven hours later, Natalie Owens is found dead in a hotel room at the Oleander.”
My toes curl inside my shoes, and I refuse to meet Drake’s eyes as he looks at me.
“In those few hours, Natalie Owens had an important appointment which stopped her from staying inside her house and keeping herself safe. Natalie Owens willingly went to the Oleander and met someone who, at the very least, had sexual relations with her before she was killed. We don’t need Tim’s report to know that she was murdered. What we also know is that her murderer was someone she trusted enough to surrender her body to him. She knew her killer. She knew the risks, and if our assumptions are correct of her being a member of D.O.M., she had a contract with the killer.” Sheriff looks at Brody. “Take Detective Johnston and the warrant on your desk to the club. I want every contract and member file they have on record.”
Brody nods.
“Detective Bond,” he addresses Trent, “you and Detective Harper and Detective Brown are tasked to finding out what Natalie did between the hours of nine a.m., when Detective Devin Bond’s team left her house, until she was discovered by Madison McDougall at approximately three thirty p.m.”
Oh no.
“Y’all can leave,” Sheriff Bates tells them, zeroing in on me and Drake.
Everyone shuffles out, Trent shooting me a dark look as he does.
“And Detective Nash,” Sheriff Bates says once the door has clicked shut. “You and Ms. Bond will cover everything else.” He glances at me. “Madison is at home now following her admission to hospital for severe shock last night. Interview her and get an understandable statement from her. Then track down Natalie’s ex-boyfriend. If he was her stalker, I want his ass in an interview room within forty-eight hours.”
“Understood,” Drake says tightly.
“I have her file with me,” I add quietly. “We should be able to find Nick now and conduct necessary interviews.”
“Noelle.”
I focus on the sheriff instead of the window. “Yes, sir?”
“Within my building, you keep to legal boundaries. In your own, whatever y’all do is your business. I want this case solved.”
What I don’t know won’t hurt me, he means.
“Absolutely, sir. I’m sure Mayor McDougall told you I refused his offer of an office in the department for the duration of the investigation.”
“Yes, he did.” He smiles slowly. “He told me many other things, too, and all I have to say is your father will be proud when I tell him.”
I shrug. “I’m no pushover. I think he found that out.”
“Don’t tell me you pissed off the mayor,” Drake growls, turning in his seat and staring at me. “That’s the last thing we need.”
“Of course I pissed off the mayor. I had a conversation with him.”
“Well, that explains a fuckin’ lot.”
“Enough.” Sheriff Bates steps forward. “I trust y’all to work together despite your personal relationship, whatever that may be this morning. A girl has been killed, and that far outweighs your personal issues. Work that out outside of my building. Now, get into Nash’s office and work out your plan, y’all.”
“Let’s go,” Drake says shortly, standing so quickly that his chair clatters to the floor behind him. His hard steps echo against the tiled floor as he storms his way to the door, and his bicep flexes when he grasps the handles and slams it open.
The knock of the knob against the wall is startling in his loudness, and as he stalks his way through the doorframe, I turn to the aging man before me.
“I sure hope y’all have soundproof walls, because it’s about to go down.”
“Well, you’re your mother’s daughter and your nonna’s granddaughter.” He shrugs.
I grin, grab my purse, and walk past Drake. Then I snake my way through the tables and down the stairs until I reach his floor. His office door is partially open, and I shove it open the way he did the briefing room’s.
“Don’t even,” Drake growls, his fists on his desk, leaning forward. His eyes could slice diamond.
I slam it shut behind me and drop my purse on a chair. “What the fuck is your problem?”
“You bein’ here!” he yells. “What the fuck, Noelle? You couldn’t say no the mayor, huh? You just as gutless as everyone else he tramples on?”
“Gutless? I have more balls of eggs in my ovaries than you have sperm in your balls. Why don’t you give me a little credit for once, huh? He hired me because I have a track record—”
“Because you solved one murder?”
“Because I’m good at my fucking job!” I shout, jabbing my finger at myself. “You think I wanna work with you? With all of y’all in this fucking building? No. I’d rather drive my car into a tree. I don’t want to be working another damn murder case, but here I am, working with you, the very last person I wanna work with!”
“You think I wanna work with you?” Drake slams his fists onto the desk before straightening. “Like fuck do I, Noelle. I don’t want your ass anywhere near my fuckin’ case.”
“Then tough shit, cupcake, because you’re stuck with me.”
He swipes his hands against his desk, knocking off several sheets and his pen holder. Every step toward me is angry but calculated, the anger etched into his features obvious and more than a little hot in its determined frustration.
Drake’s body collides with mine, his hands cupping the sides of my face, his lips melding onto mine.
The door stops me from moving back another step, but he doesn’t stop pushing. He moves against me until I’m flush with the door and every part of his body is connected with mine. He doesn’t move a goddamn muscle except for his mouth as it explores mine with a hard-hitting intensity that has my knees weak and my skin tingling and my lungs constricting.
“We can’t work together,” he breathes, still holding my face. “It’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard. Me, you, together nine hours a day? No, Noelle. Just no.”
“Like I said,” I reply as breathily as he was, “tough shit. If I had a choice, I wouldn’t be here either. I’d be holed up in my office with my cupcakes and cutesy little lost-dog files and not-so-cutesy cheating-bastard files.”
“Jesus.” His thumbs brush across my cheekbones. “This—fuck. Do you not see how dangerous this is? Me and you, working together? I’d let a serial killer run for his freedom as long it meant you would be safe.”
I lick my lips, refusing to look away from his eyes. “Our working together is no more dangerous than our being together, and you’re all for that, aren’t you?”
“That’s different. If you were mine, you’d have to let me protect you. I know for a fuckin’ fact that you’d pull your gun before I pulled mine in any other situation.”
“You told me you didn’t want a damsel in distress.” I move his hands from my face. “So, surprise, Drake—I’m not. I never will be. If I ever need savin’, it’s on my terms, and you should know that. Working with me ain’t gonna kill you or anyone else, so suck it up and get the hell on with it, because like Sheriff said, her dead body is bigger than us.”
He stands in front of me, not touching me but somehow caressing every inch of my skin. “But that’s the problem, ain’t it? Nothing is bigger than us, Noelle. Especially when ‘us’ is barely even defined.”
I take a deep breath, so deep that my breasts brush his chest. “It doesn’t need definition. We’re not a word in the dictionary. We’re just…whatever we are.”
“Whatever we are.” He snorts, backing away. “Sounds about right.”
I shake my head as he moves toward his desk, turning from me. He reaches up and loosens his tie, throwing the released strip of satin on top of his keyboard when he’s freed it.
“You know what? No. The mayor can kiss my freshly waxed vagina. I’m not putting myself through his shit because you’ve got your cock up your own ass.”
I tug the door open, but Drake is quicker than I thought, and the force he shuts it with jars me into letting the handle go. He leans forward, our eyes colliding and connecting in a way so intense and irresistible that looking away simply isn’t an option.
“Sit your ass the fuck down. We have a job to do. Regardless of the shambles that is us,” he mutters, but each word is still somehow perfectly pronounced and filled with anger.
I reach into my purse, which I’m still holding, and slap Natalie’s file against his chest. “Here. Read this. I’m going to explain to my team why I’m suddenly the mayor’s bitch. When you’re done with that, call me, yeah?”
This time, when I open the door, he doesn’t stop me.
Cupcakes are waiting on the meeting room table.
Gigi’s cupcakes.
And the gas receipt next to the box has the total scribbled out.
I guess they’ve heard… About everything.
“Cupcakes are on me, Miss Noelle,” Dean says when I sit down.
I smile at him. Brawny and built, buzz-cut hair, yet sporting a new beard, Dean is made of marshmallow inside.
“Thank you, Dean. I appreciate it, especially today.”
“We heard.” Bek meets my eyes. “For real, Noelle? You’re working with the HWPD?”
“In theory,” I begin.
“In reality, you and Nash have already fought,” Mike smirks.
“You know,” I say to him, “if you didn’t have, like, a hundred and fifty pounds on me and I hated cupcakes, you’d so be licking this frosting off your face right now.”
“God.” Bek leans forward. “Seriously? It’s barely been an hour.”
“Are we here to discuss our cases or my private life?”
“He is your case.”
“No. He’s an unfortunate partner. Now, get on with it and tell me what you’ve got.” I pull a cupcake from the box and remove the wrapper, grabbing a fork from the holder in the middle of the table. Everyone lays out the basic info as they usually do, and I nod my way through it, shoveling a forkful of cake into my mouth every other sentence.
I’m not even ashamed when I reach for the second cupcake.
Bek, however, looks at me with the kind of concern only moms and best friends can muster.
“Okay. Y’all get on now,” I tell everyone, scrunching up my second cake wrapper and throwing it toward the trash can in the corner. Ultimately, I miss it, but Mike bends down and tosses it in before he walks out.
“Noelle,” Bek says quietly.
“I’m fine.” It’s unconvincing, I know, but maybe saying the words out loud will help.
There’s been an odd kind of empty ache since I stormed out of the police station earlier.
“Right. Two cupcakes immediately and you’re as fine as the new guy who served me coffee at Rosie’s this morning.” She snorts. “And don’t even go there trying to get me to talk about him!”
“Wasn’t gonna,” I lie.
“What did Drake do?”
“Nothing. Not really.” I rest my head on my hand. “He reacted…too much. Does that even make sense? Like, Trent going crazy? Okay. But Drake? There are levels of emotion, and that was not on the first-date kinda level.”
“Maybe because you two never have been. You’ve always been all or nothing, and hell, y’all passed nothing a while ago. I don’t know why you keep fighting him.”
“Because of this. We fight. We are a fight.” Drake and I…we’re a bomb and a lit match. But when that match touches the fuse, it’s sure to explode right before us.
“And your grandparents?”
“Shut up.” Just because they fought every day for decades doesn’t mean that’s the key to a successful or even healthy relationship.
“I don’t know why you fight it. It’s okay to get your heart broken, you know?”
“At twenty-eight? Bek, I don’t know. I don’t want to give him my heart. I don’t want to give him me.”
“Then why are you so bothered? Why do you let him affect you this way?”
I meet her eyes, picking at the corner of the cupcake box. “Because I don’t know how to not to.”
“Well, you’ve gotta figure it out soon.” She stands up. “Seriously, Noelle.”
“I know,” I say quietly, looking down. “I don’t need you to tell me.”
She shrugs and pauses at the door. “Just because you’re forced to work together doesn’t mean you can’t have his second date is all I’m sayin’.”
But it does, doesn’t it? It means our relationship is way more professional than personal, and that’s dangerous. I don’t want that to get in the way of him doing his job. He’s the best damn detective I’ve ever met. Even better than my brothers, honestly. And I don’t want to be his liability. If we work together as more than detective and investigator, we’re risking something. We’re risking safety. We’re risking answers. We’re risking lives.
I know why Sheriff put us together. In his eyes, I’m far less of a liability with someone I’ve been on one date with than I am with people I share DNA with. Equally, I’m far safer with Drake than I am with detectives I last spoke to in the line at Rosie’s weeks ago.
And I get it. I’m a woman. I’m automatically weaker than a man—I need someone who cares about me to protect me. Which is exactly why, in Sheriff Bates’s eyes, Drake is the perfect partner in this.
But…damn.
He’s wrong. He’s not my perfect partner. How can I work with that man, constantly thinking about what has been and what could be and what might never be? How the heck does that make any sense?
I fold my arms across the table and bury my face in the nest they make. Good God. This whole thing is so screwed that I can’t even stand it.
Another client murdered. A seriously tumultuous relationship with the lead detective. A contract that binds me to them both.
I just can’t catch a break.
“Noelle?” Grecia says hesitantly, opening the door. “The mayor has the contract here.”
I hold my arm out, my eyes still closed. I’ve been lying back on my chaise longue for two hours now, waiting for my phone to ring.
Spoiler alert: It hasn’t.
A welcome reprieve but a hellish one at the same time. I know that Drake will be working. He’ll be getting it done without me because that’s the kind of asshole he is. This contract I’m holding right now be freakin’ damned, right?
I open my eyes and scan over the amendments scrawled in red. “Fine,” I say, handing it back to Grecia. “Can you type it up with the additions and send it back over?”
“Absolutely.” She takes the stapled-together sheets and leaves my office.
I rest my hands on my stomach and stare at the ceiling.
Why did I walk out of his office earlier? I should have given him the file and then forced him to work with me.
No. I should have called him and warned him what was happening.
I should have called him and talked about it before I agreed with the mayor.
Actually, no. I shouldn’t have. This is my job, my business, and the mayor is simply paying me to do that. And he’s paying me a lot. The only person who should make business decisions with me is the reflection in my mirror.
But I still should have warned him.
Damn. Now, I feel guilty.
I’m not the one who lost my shit though. He is. I’ll apologize to him when he does to me. If he does. Which he won’t. Because he’s male and can’t possibly be wrong ever. And I’m far too stubborn to apologize without getting one in return, so we’re at an impasse.
Both professionally and personally.
I get up, grabbing my shoes by their heels, and set my office phone to the answering service. Then I grab my copy of Natalie’s file and my purse and head downstairs.
“I’m out for the rest of the day,” I tell Grecia. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be at home.”
“Sure. Are you all right?” She looks at me with worry in her dark-brown eyes.
“Crap day.” I smile wanly and head out, still holding my shoes.
The concrete parking lot is hot beneath my bare feet, so I run across to my car while I dig my keys out. Mercifully, I find them quickly, and I unlock my car and drop my butt to my seat, swinging my feet in before the soles of them burn off.
I dump my things on the passenger’s side, barely glancing as my shoes roll off the seat and hit the floor with a thud. Instead of picking them up like a responsible adult, I pssh at them, shut the door, and start the engine.
My phone buzzes somewhere in the depths of my purse, so I turn the radio up to drown it out. It’s not like I can answer it, but I’m pretty fed up with that damn buzzing noise.
The only thing that should buzz as much as my phone is a vibrator.
And there’s no way a Samsung is fitting there.
And it’s still buzzing when I kill the engine outside my house.
Lord help the little piece of crap or my heel might go straight through its screen.
I’ll answer it—once I’ve had a chance to pee. My bladder has been seriously neglected in the last two days, and given that I hate cranberry juice, I’m not in the market for an infection right now. Or medical bills.
