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The sting operation—such as it was—had been a huge success. Fyra’s four executives had delivered Harper’s lab manager into the hands of the police, along with her venom-filled confession recorded digitally on Trinity’s phone.
It was so great to have finally taken control of something.
“That woman deserves to burn,” Harper spat as the detective the Dallas police department had sent finally left. “Imagine the nerve. Assuming she deserved any credit for Formula-47. That was my baby. I gave up my life for two years to develop it. All she did was take notes. Dante did more than she did when he created the new FDA samples after she ruined the first ones.”
The woman had been so angry about the perceived lack of credit that she’d confessed to causing all of their problems in hopes of ruining Harper for the snub. In reality, the lab manager had little to do with the creation of Bloom. Psychological screening was definitely in order.
“It’s over now,” Cass said soothingly and glanced at Trinity’s phone, which was still on the table in front of her after she’d played the recording for the detective. “We should go celebrate.”
Trinity sank into a swivel chair in the conference room where they’d met with the police, clutching her weak stomach. “That doesn’t look like the face of a CEO who just plugged the leak in her company.”
“I, um...think you should see this.” Cass held out Trinity’s phone to show her a text message. From Logan. “I didn’t mean to read it, but it popped up with the preview.”
“It’s okay.”
Numb, she tapped up the whole message. She probably wouldn’t have read it now—or ever—if Cass and Harper hadn’t been sitting there staring at her. But she had to talk to him sometime. Avoidance wasn’t a good coping mechanism.
The text jumped off the screen.
We need to stage a public breakup. I left a ticket to today’s game at will call. Come by before the seventh inning and we’ll get it on camera.
It was a good idea. Brilliant, in fact. Maybe they could still generate some publicity with another fight. Except her stomach heaved so much that she genuinely feared she might throw up.
So this was it then. Logan was really lost to her. In keeping with the painful theme of their relationship, it didn’t seem real.
“Want me to drive you?” Cass asked quietly.
Disoriented, Trinity nodded. Cass didn’t try to talk to her on the way to the stadium, a blessing because she didn’t know what she’d say. At will call, Cass insisted on buying her own ticket, even though Trinity tried to pay for it as a thank-you for driving her. She couldn’t have done this alone. For a woman who claimed to value independence, she’d grown remarkably unable to stand on her own two feet lately.
Per the additional instructions Logan had texted her en route, Trinity found the security guard expecting her, and he led both women through a warren of hallways and out onto the field where Logan was supposed to meet her. They hung back, well out of the way of the cameramen and other personnel.
The game was in progress. Top of the seventh, so she’d made it before the stretch as instructed. The Mustangs were up to bat, two men on base and two outs. She eyed the lineup. The next batter couldn’t afford a sacrifice fly because the runner on second wasn’t fast enough to tag up—God, what was she doing? Where did all that stuff even come from?
Well, no mystery there. Logan had infused her with his passion so easily because she’d loved hearing him talk about baseball.
LA’s left-handed pitcher took out the right-handed batter in three easy strikes and the inning was over. The players streamed from the field, and a woman in a US Air Force dress uniform sang “God Bless America.” Trinity had seen this routine several times now, but never from the field. The perspective was dizzying. As the last notes faded, a figure shadowed the stadium lights, and Trinity glanced up.
Logan. Big, beautiful and such a hit to her already strung-out nerves. How dare he stand there with that killer smile, looking so amazing that her knees actually buckled before she could catch herself? Apparently her body hadn’t gotten the memo that she didn’t go for men who bailed when the going got tough.
“You rang?” she called out sarcastically and crossed her arms before he noticed her hands were shaking. “Looks like even I couldn’t save Walker’s RBI, so your plan to get your good-luck charm on the field failed. LA’s reliever is hot.”
He shrugged good-naturedly. “Win some, lose some.”
“Close your mouth, Trinity,” Cass muttered from behind her. “There’s a camera on you. And it’s streaming your conversation to the big screen.”
