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“You’re so fucking fired!” I yell at the door as it shuts.
God! I hate him.
***
I walk back from the bathroom, my head spinning.
I have no idea why my face is flushed.
The heat was blasting in the bathroom.
Must be having an allergic reaction to the mimosas.
My guard dog finger-banged me like a fucking champ. I’m high on life but also feeling murderous.
“Hey, what took—?”
“I think I’m allergic to the bathroom.”
Fay looks up at me. “What?”
Get it together. “Nothing. I said I think I had too many mimosas.” I slide into the booth, noticing Tate isn’t back yet. “Where’s Tate?” Probably beating one out in the men’s room. No one walks away from me unfazed—
“He’s on a call.” Or not. “Police department. They may have something.” My attention snaps to Theo.
Tate appears then, not looking pleased.
“What happened?”
“They have Chad in custody.”
“Holy shit, it was him?” That weasel.
“Questioning. Let’s go.”
I’m already out of my seat. “Where? Do I get to question him?”
Fay snickers, and I turn back. “Wouldn’t that be cool? Where were you on the night of—?”
“Let’s go.”
“Yeah, yeah. Raincheck on the tacos.” I wave to Fay and Theo as I try to step in line with Tate— which isn’t the easiest since he’s walking so fast. “Slow down.”
He doesn’t.
He tucks me into his SUV. “Wait. How did your SUV get here?”
“Had it dropped off.” He shuts the door, climbs in on his side, and pulls into traffic. I steer clear of the bathroom debacle and focus on the matter at hand. “So, what happens now? Do they think it’s him? They brought him in. Seems enough reason to think they think it’s him.”
Tate shrugs. “Not sure.”
“Not sure what? That he’s guilty? Stop being a stubborn ass and tell me some—”
“They went to pay him a visit and asked him to come in for questioning. He refused at first, then agreed when they started throwing out words like ‘rape’ and ‘jail.’ As far as I know, he hasn’t admitted to anything, but the initial interaction doesn’t scream innocent.”
His phone rings, and he answers it, going into military mumbo-jumbo mode. I lean back and stare out the window. All this time, I worked with him, let him touch me…I clench my eyes shut, needing the imagery of his hands on me to go away. The assailant from that night was comparable in build and height. The sick notes… how similar they were to things he’s said to me on set…how did I not put this together sooner?
We walk into the station, and Tate greets a man who escorts us into a room. It’s dim with a large window. On the other side, Chad is seated at a table.
