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I wanted it to be Brett.
But instead, it was the very friendly driver I had been assigned.
“Would you like some help up to your apartment, ma’am?” he asked.
“Actually, yes. I would,” I said, yawning.
The man was kind. He carried as much as he could, and the two of us made our way into the lobby of my complex. We stepped onto the elevator and rode it up to my floor. He took my bags all the way to my door, huffing and puffing but never complaining. I opened my apartment door and dug around for my wallet. I pulled out some money, readying myself to tip him.
“It’s okay. My tip has already been covered,” he said.
I nodded, not questioning his statement as I placed the money back into my purse.
“Well, thank you for your help,” I said.
“I hope you rest easy,” the driver said.
Then, he turned on his feet, leaving me alone in front of my apartment.
I kicked my things in, then closed the door behind me. I locked it and latched it, readying myself to peel my clothes off and pile into bed. I switched my phone on and immediately it started buzzing, groaning back to life with the familiar sensation of service. I’d been out of range for days. Lord only knew the amount of people that had tried to get in contact with me. All I’d had was a hotel room phone and my work laptop for days, and the only thing I had connected into my work laptop was my work email. No phone calls. No messaging services. Nothing.
My phone rang off the hook for almost fifteen solid minutes.
I shoved my things off to the side, relegating myself to unpacking tomorrow. I stripped myself of my clothes, leaving a trail from the front door to my bed. I piled in, my eyes already dropping with exhaustion.
But I couldn’t go to sleep without at least notifying Katie and my mother I was back in town.
I worked my way underneath the covers and held my phone over my head. I unlocked it and started sifting through messages and listening to voicemails. I called my mother and told her I was okay. I sent some pictures off to Mike that I knew he would appreciate. I had a small conversation with Katie via text, letting her know we’d get together soon. I even briefly called Daniel to let him know I was back in town.
However, when I dipped into my personal email to rid it of its contents, I had an email from an unknown email address sitting there.
And my name was in the subject box.
“The hell?” I asked.
I opened up the email, and there was a picture inside of it. A blurry picture of me with some guy. I turned up the brightness on my phone and zoomed in on it. At least, I thought it was me. I was pretty sure that picture was of me. Then again, the woman’s stature was a little too plump. And there was something off about her hair. The ends of it looked like a bright red. Or maybe some sort of mauvish-pink color? Either way, I’d never colored my hair before. Did I know this person somehow? Why had this picture been sent to me?
Then, I scrolled down to the bottom of the email.
I’ll show this to Brett, and I’ll convince him it’s you. He deserves to know. And you don’t deserve him.
I closed out the email and immediately opened my phone. I pressed down onto Brett’s cell phone number, then held it up to my ear. It rang and it rang, and it shouldn’t have shocked me that he didn’t pick up. So when I got his voicemail, I hung up and dialed his work cell phone. I figured he’d assume it was work-related and at least pick that up to see what I had to say.
But the phone call went unanswered.
“This is Brett Greyson, owner and CEO of Greyson Consulting. Leave a message after the tone. I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Thanks.”
“Hey, Brett. It’s me. Look, I know you’re angry, but I’ve received some weird email that I figured you might want to know about. Just trying to keep the lines of communication open. Please call me back soon. Thanks.”
Then, I hung up the phone, placed it on my chest, and waited. Because I sure as hell didn’t have anything else to do with my life until work in the morning.
32
Brett
I cracked my neck as I sat at my desk. Part of me thought I needed a day to recuperate from the jet lag, but the other part of me knew I’d spend that day thinking about Olivia, worrying over her, wondering about those emails. So I got up at six the next morning and readied myself for work. I fell back into my routine, relying on it more than I needed to. I autopiloted myself to work, then came up to my office, sat down at my desk, and started working. I typed a few emails back and forth with the Realtor Mr. Martin had set me up with. I wanted this building in Paris, and badly. But it would need a lot of renovations, and that meant I could use those issues to bring down the price in my favor. If I could somehow snag it for under two million, that would be a steal. It would give me a budget of almost three million to work with regarding the renovations. I could make that building into whatever I needed it to be. I sank myself into work, looking over the numbers and budget.
