Page 140 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

Mr. Hartley stopped.

He turned slowly, and that familiar calculating glint returned to his eyes.

“Why don’t you come home and ask her yourself?”

Liam’s eyes narrowed.

“Why. Isn’t. She. Picking. Up. My. Calls?”

Hartley spread his hands in a show of baffled innocence. “How should I know? Perhaps you did something to earn her silence.”

Liam’s jaw clenched. A small ripple of tension moved across his face, but he said nothing. He just held Hartley’s smug gaze.

With one final, dismissive glance at both of us, Hartley left.

I turned to Liam. The playful ally from moments ago was gone, replaced by a man coiled with tension.

“Everything okay?”

His eyes remained fixed on the closed door, as though he could still see his father standing there.

“I’m not sure,” he said quietly. There was a note of worry in his voice that I rarely heard.

“I’ve been calling Cassandra ever since… you know. The scene. She didn’t pick up once, which, okay, I understood. I figured she’d need a few days to cool off. But when I went to her apartment, it was locked. So I called Mrs. Morris. Cassandra doesn’t go anywhere without telling her.”

He finally looked at me, his expression troubled.

“Morris said she’s back at the house. I thought maybe she just needed a break at home to reset, you know? But now…” His eyes narrowed. “With Dad waltzing in here with his fucking marriage contract…”

The worry in his face gave way to suspicion.

“I need to check what’s actually happening in that house. Something doesn’t feel right.”

I frowned.

The idea of Liam walking into that den alone, especially with Hartley’s plans freshly thwarted, left an unpleasant knot in my gut. I didn’t want to be within a mile of Hartley or his daughter ever again. But I also wasn’t going to let my friend walk into a potential ambush alone.

“Do you need any help?” I asked.

He looked at me, and some of the tension in his face eased.

“Nah, it’s fine. I’ll handle it. It’s probably just her sulking on a grander scale. I’ll… figure it out. I’ll tell you if I need backup, I swear.”

He glanced at his watch and let out a long, weary sigh.

“Man, that was exhausting. You want to take an early lunch? I need a break. And a beer. Possibly several.”

I shrugged, following his lead back toward something normal.

“Sure. Let’s go.”

As we passed Rohan’s desk, I told him to take his lunch break. Then I turned to Liam.

“We are not going to that place you picked last time.”

The last “new spot” Liam had chosen had been a culinary crime scene.

My roasted chicken, which should have occupied its own dignified sector, had been carelessly leaning against a mound of mashed potatoes, gravy seeping into the crispy skin. The green beans had been scattered across both like afterthought casualties. The waiter had presented the travesty with a triumphant smile, as though he’d created art.