Page 40 of The Mood Board

Chapter 15

Bailey

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“BAILEY PAIGE,” I TOLDthe guard at the jail’s check-in window, handing him my ID.

“Wait here,” she said, pushing back from her desk and heaving herself to her feet as though gravity weighed particularly heavy on her. Or maybe it was just the room because the guard sitting behind the desk when I had checked in had acted the same way.

She nearly threw my stuff at me, glaring until I had moved it off to the side so the next person in line could move up. Feeling small and annoyed, I picked up my purse and restuffed everything that had fallen into the bin from the rough handling.

If this was half of what Liam faced on the other side of those bars, it must have been hell. And I wasn’t even the criminal.

Liam wasn’t a criminal, either, though. He was there by mistake. Or, rather, by malice. Someone was working against him, someone powerful and with a lot of money. That much had been made clear by the bail hearing the day before.

Before the hearing, Liam’s lawyer had been optimistic he would be out by evening and home with me, where we could strategize and figure out what was going on and who was behind it. Except that he hadn’t come home—he had spent yet another night in a cell, and I had been in our bed, alone, and still unable to sleep.

At this point, I was probably running on five aggregate hours, leaving me fuzzy and slightly nauseous. I needed sleep, or I was going to fall apart.

Even Kristen had taken one look at me this morning and promptly told me to turn around, get back in my car, and go home and sleep. She was going to take care of work today. I had left, but I hadn’t gone home—I had spent the day wandering until I had come across a library. There, I spent the next several hours researching criminal fraud and money laundering cases and the companies Janelle had previously worked for until my vision was swimming.

Walking out into the late afternoon, my mind had rebelled at the thought of returning to that big, empty house where absolutely every part of it reminded me of Liam. So I went to see him. His lawyer had told me the visitation process, and I couldn’t wait any longer.

But I had also been apprehensive at first. Between the time he had gotten arrested and then, the only time I had been able to see him had been in the courtroom for his arraignment, and that had mostly been the back of his head.

I had never visited anyone in jail before, either. I didn’t know what to expect from prison or Liam. He might have been the most positive person I knew, but even his positivity had its limits. Was he going to be angry? Upset that I hadn’t yet come to see him? Melancholy?

More than that, I wasn’t sure how I would react. Half the time, I found myself wandering around like some kind of lost spirit, wondering where to go and what to do. Would I be able to handle seeing Liam?

And it had been difficult. I felt entirely out of my element, anxious, and despondent. The prison was just as bad as all the TV shows and movies made it out to be—cold, inhospitable, starkly colorless, both the property and the people.

Liam had, as I had expected, looked rough. I had not expected anything different, but he was unshaven, his hair a mess like he had repeatedly run his hands through it, and bags under his eyes. I could see he was trying to remain upbeat or at least maintain a brave face, but his eyes had told a different story.

We were both reeling, still caught up in the whirlwind that was the current situation, buffeted by circumstances we didn’t understand and couldn’t yet control.

I had almost lost it, turning into a sobbing, messy puddle of emotion and misery for a moment. But our time together had also given me something surprising—determination.

Seeing Liam’s face, hearing his voice, a swell of resolve and purpose had overtaken the sadness. To a point, anyway. As I had told my fiancé, as I had promised him, I was to get him out—I didn’t ever want to see him wear that expression again.

Starting my car’s engine, I took my phone out of my bag to take it off silent and realized I had several missed calls. It wasn’t unusual—my phone rang regularly with calls from clients, vendors, and employees.

This was an unknown number, but I didn’t need a name in my phone to tell me who it belonged to—I knew the digits by heart, as much as I wished I could scrub them entirely from my mind.

It was Russ’s phone number.

“What does that asshole want?” I muttered.

And why had he called me multiple times? Of all the things I needed in my life right now, he was not it. In fact, he was probably one of the very last things I needed. But, of course, he had chosen now to try to force his way back into my world. It was just like him, and I shouldn’t have been surprised, except I was. I had honestly thought myself rid of him.

Rather, he had rid himself of me, swearing to purge me in every way from his life when I had broken up with him. I had spat back that it would be a blessing beyond blessings if he did, and then I had left, content in the knowledge I would never have to see him again.

And yet, here he was, five years later.

“When it rains, it pours,” I groaned, resting my forehead against the steering wheel, the engine’s vibrations skittering across my skin.

Russ was the last thing I needed in my life right now. Or ever. I blocked his number with a decisive swipe and stuffed my phone back into my bag before pulling out of my spot.

I headed straight to get dinner. If I was going to help Liam, I needed sleep and to feed myself. At this rate, I was running on dinner two nights ago and a few bites I’d had of things here and there. And there was only one place I wanted to go.