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Chapter Eighteen:
A Little Insane
Zeppelin
I felt weird as I staredat myself in the mirror. It had been a long time since I’d dressed up for a date, but damn did I look good. My long, blonde curls came out perfectly even though it had been months since I attempted to style them, and they covered the zipper I unfortunately couldn’t get to the top. The red dress I chose was worth it though, it hugged my hips in a way that made me want to fuck me, but seeing as I’d done that enough the last few years, that wasn’t the goal tonight.
One thing I didn’t do was heels, so I buckled the straps on my flats and checked my cell to ensure I sent the right address to Caffrey. To my surprise, I didn’t have a text from him, but I did have one from Oliver.
Ollie: Don’t stay out too late.
The hell? Why?The day I asked for time off, he’d called me out of the blue to ask about my date, and when I said who it was with all he did was snort. I was so confused with his call and Sterling’s reaction that I’d nearly canceled altogether, but I had to figure this shit out. I didn’t text him back — half because I didn’t know what to say and half because I heard the doorbell ding and saw it was exactly eight o’clock.
If nothing else, the man was punctual.
I rushed down in hopes to slip out without awkwardness, but of course, Sterling was already down there. Shit. “One second,” I called through the door, then walked closer to Sterling. “Can you help me?” I spun around and moved my hair, exposing my open zipper. “Please?”
“Of course.” His fingertips brushed my neck, sending goosebumps down my bare arms as he fixed my dress for me. “Where is he taking you?”
“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver. I don’t know yet.” I stayed where I was, because Sterling behind me felt so damn right I didn’t want to move. “Do you need me home by a certain time? I don’t mind it.” Give me a curfew, Silver. Give me something to tell me you don’t want me to sleep with someone else.
“You’re a grown woman, Zeppelin. You’ve worked your ass off here for months and haven’t asked me for a thing. What kind of a boss would I be if I stole the first Friday night you’ve had off?” His strong, broad hands slowly pulled my hair back and smoothed it out. “Just promise me one thing.”
I spun around, and the lack of distance between us took my breath away as I stared into his gorgeous blue eyes. “What is it?” I whispered, happy the word “anything” didn’t slip out like it wanted to.
“Whatever he tells you about me ... don’t believe it.”
“Zeppelin?” Caffrey called, knocking on the door again. “We’re going to miss our reservation!”
Sterling glared at the door and stepped back, and I could tell by the look on his face that he’d never tell me what he meant even if I asked a hundred times.
I felt severed in that moment, because no matter how charming Caffrey might be, a part of me was going to stay right here with Sterling tonight. And maybe I wanted it to. I nodded, communicating with my eyes as much as I could and hoping he understood what I was trying to say. I wanted to tell him that I knew him, and nothing anyone could say would take away from the man I knew. But all that came out was “I’ll see you later,” because apparently I was just as emotionally constipated as he was.
I opened the door with a forced smile, rushing out an explanation about my dress malfunction and closing the door behind me before they could interact. Whatever happened between them was obviously unresolved, and I needed to find out what it was.
Caffrey had a cherry red convertible that looked like it was from the fifties. Classic rock played loud enough to fill the silence while we drove, but low enough to carry a conversation even if we didn’t seem to have much to say until we were sitting down in the restaurant with two glasses of wine. “So, your fancy card said you’re some kind of lawyer?”
“Prosecutor, actually. I’d say I’m surprised your employer hasn’t told you that already, but I’m not.” He took a slow sip of his wine and sat back. “Mainly white-collar crimes, but I handle other things when necessary. Have you always been an aide?”
“No, this is my first job like this.” Don’t ask about Sterling. “Were you and Sterling friends or something?” Wow, that initiative went well.
He snorted, grabbing his napkin to dab his mouth. “No, I’d hardly call us friends. I have a bit of a better relationship with Oliver, but that’s not saying a whole lot. I think he’s only nice to me because he’s afraid he might need a favor one day.”
That only planted more questions in my head, but for once I listened to myself and changed the subject. “So, I accused a prosecutor of roofies and made him hold my hair while I puked. Good to know,” I teased, attempting to get back to safe territory.
“And somehow, I’m still here,” he quipped. “Though we haven’t exactly gotten off on the best foot, have we? We should try again. My name is Caffrey Brannigan, I’m a prosecutor with the district attorney’s office, and I think you’re beautiful and maybe a little insane.”
I chuckled, focusing more on the handsome man across from me and not the infuriating one at home. “I’m Zeppelin Bryce. Caretaker for Charlie Bishop and occasional dog walker for Carl. I might be a little insane, but what exactly does that make you, Mr. Brannigan?”
“Apprehensive.” He leaned back as the waiter brought our food, then eyed me once we were alone again. “So tell me about you, Zeppelin. How is it that you ended up working for one of Brisley’s most notorious families?”
“Notorious?” I asked, confused. I really didn’t know much about this town. “I didn’t know they were. I applied at every job possible and they called first. Charlie and I really clicked. I came here for a new beginning, and I got exactly what I needed. I’m not sure you want that backstory, though.”
He stayed silent through a couple of bites, then shrugged. “It’s what we’re here for, right? To move past the accusations and get to know each other? Doesn’t seem like you’re one for due diligence, but I am.”
Due diligence. He sure knows how to sweet talk a lady. I went into my journey with transparency, telling Caffrey about how I got to Brisley, why I really left the way I did. I shared nearly everything, right down to how I ended up in the Bishops’ home — but I left out most things regarding Sterling. That was none of his concern. “And you? Any shitty exes you’d like to talk about, Mr. Prosecutor?”
“Not particularly,” he admitted. “My stories would pale in comparison to that.”
