He chases after me. “Regan, don’t be stupid. This—”
I whip around so fast, not only do his words get shoved into the back of his throat, my fists nearly follow them. “Don’t be stupid? The only stupid thing I’ve done is spend time with you!”
“You need to lower your tone.” Alex scans our surroundings, wordlessly pointing out the dozen or more people gawking our way. “I know you’re angry, but if you’d give me five seconds to explain—”
“I gave you a chance to explain last night. You left.Again!” Although my words are whispers, the anger in them reflects the twisting of my heart.
“Because I wanted to bring you proof.” He steps closer to me, popping the invisible bubble I’m striving to keep between us. “And keep you safe.”
“Safe from who? Yourself? Or the man fromyouragency who broke intomyapartment to scare me into being with you?”
He balks, shocked I’m aware of Jay’s accusations. It proves what I’ve always known.
“How stupid do you think I am, Alex?”
“You’re not stupid, Rae; you’re just working with the wrong facts.”
I laugh. It isn’t a pleasant, happy laugh. “You’re right. I am working with the wrong facts.” Now I bridge the gap between us. “Because I stupidly thought maybe you weren’t the man I thought you were. That maybe you didn’t use me to advance in your career. Clearly, I’m reading the facts wrong.”
After a final sneer that warns him I am seconds from detonation, I dart down the hallway.
This time he lets me go.
That hurts more than anything.
Twenty-Five
Regan
My head pops up from a set of reports I’ve been perusing the past hour when a doorbell sounds through my apartment. With Isabelle and Hugo taking up residence in my penthouse, the number of guests we’ve had so far today has surpassed the number I had the six months I’ve lived here—although none have been who I’m secretly hoping for.
It’s been two days since my run-in with Alex at the courthouse, which means it has been two days of radio silence. That’s not surprising. He knows I’m on to him, so he’s lying low.
When Isabelle’s fretful eyes dart to mine, I yank my reading glasses off my face. “Go to your room.”
Unlike Isaac, Isabelle doesn’t take my demand as a suggestion. She jumps to her feet before racing toward the hallway without a protest leaving her mouth.
Halfway there, a deep voice shouts, “Izzy, it’s Brandon.”
The tightness in Isabelle’s shoulders relaxes. Mine does not. After arguing with Isaac that taking Isabelle onto his yacht for one last hoorah before he steps back and lets me do my job, I overheard some of his conversation with Hugo. Brandon has the handsome boy next door look down pat. His blond hair hangs loosely on the top of his head, and his hazel eyes appear wholesome and down to earth. Even his cheeks blush. But it was snippets of conversation he had with Isabelle that raised my suspicion on his true intentions.
He doesn’t want to be Isabelle’s friend. He wants something much more risqué than friendship.
Although protecting Isaac’s personal life isn’t in my job description, you can sure as hell be guaranteed I won’t sit back and watch another man cozy in on his girl. I also don’t take kindly to men purposely avoiding me. The only time I’ve been avoided by the opposite sex is when they’re hiding something from me. More often than not, it’s their marital status, but I don’t get that vibe from Brandon. He’s sneaky, but not in a creepy, adulterous way.
I check my face in the mirror as Isabelle swings open the door. I’m not being vain; I’m just using my assets as they’re meant to be used. When the door fully opens, I scan Brandon’s frozen frame. X-ray vision isn’t required to check if someone is carrying a gun. He’s not packing heat. Well, not anywhere he could hide a gun. The cut of his clothes and the way he holds himself conceal assets he should display, not hide. This makes me even more wary of his intentions.If he has desirable assets, why doesn’t he flaunt them?
When Brandon skirts past me, I do what all good hostesses do. I offer to take his jacket. It’s made of wool and bulky, meaning it is the perfect accessory to hide the weapon I was seeking earlier.
“Thank you.” Brandon’s tone is as apprehensive as his facial expression.
“You’re welcome.” My voice is nowhere near as friendly because my sneaky hunt came up empty-handed.
While Isabelle greets Brandon in a way I’m sure Isaac will kill him for, I return to the evidence I was compiling before he arrived. My plan is to pretend I’m busy doing attorney stuff, but in reality, I’m going to keep a close eye on them.
My brisk pace slows when I hear Brandon murmur to Isabelle, “She scares me.”
“I heard that.” My chest swells like the cat who swallowed the canary. “And you should be scared.”
