AllFreeNovel
Share Us
No one speaks as we work, more interested in finding the file than making idle chit chat. Occasionally, I catch Cynthia peeking at me. She quickly diverts her gaze, returning her attention to the files, and says nothing.
The silence becomes unnerving the longer we take to find the file. I’m about a second away from commenting on the weather to cut the tension when Cynthia clears her throat. “I understand you and Trent had breakfast this morning.”
Punk curses under his breath, moving to stand closer to me.
“No, we did not. I was having breakfast with Chase, and Trent showed up,” I correct her diplomatically as my fingers run over each file, pleading internally for the file to appear so we can avoid this awkward confrontation.
“Oh,” she says in a cynical tone, lifting a manicured eyebrow. “So the text he sent you this morning asking you to join him for breakfast was a coincidence?”
Triple crap.“I never responded to his text message.”
“Sure. He just continues to send you text messages with no responses. Please.”
Her accusatory pitch has my hackles rising. “It’s the truth.”
My fingers move faster over the files. I murmur the name of each client as the file passes until my finger lands on the Oldani file, vastly out of order from where it should be. A weighted sigh leaves my lungs.
“I found it.”
“About time,” Punk mutters behind me.
With the file in my hand, I head for the door, only to be blocked by Cynthia. She looks at the file in my hand, then at my face.
“You’re telling me you haven’t been in communication with him at all?” Cynthia accuses me coldly.
“Yes. I gain nothing from lying.”
Attempting to end the conversation, I open the client’s file, turning over the pages as I scan each one before coming to a halt when I find the missing form. It’s not the form that has me frozen solid, but the personal info of the client on the form.
Luca Oldani, from Denver.
Sweat builds along my hairline as flashes from the recent past flood my mind. A tattooed hand with a single word—a name—written in cursive reaches out to grab at my shirt.
The name Oldani is familiar because I’ve seen it before inked into the skin of one of the most vile men I’ve had the misfortune of encountering.
I’m only half-aware Cynthia is bitching, too consumed by the name on the page to hear everything she’s spewing.
“Simone? Are you listening to me? Do you honestly expect me to believe you haven’t been leading Trent on? Why else would he continue sending you messages?”
“Beats the hell out of me. Take it up with your boyfriend.”
“I have. He refuses to answer me. I’m asking you.”
“Not my circus. Not my monkeys.” I squeeze past her, knocking her slightly against the shelving unit. “Excuse me. Sorry.”
Cynthia makes a growling sound of irritation. “Simone? Simone! Are you running from me?”
“Only to get back on my case,” I clip as I hurry with Punk. I turn the file around and show him the name. “Am I imagining things, or could this be him?”
Punk looks at the file but isn’t following me.
“It was tattooed on his hand, Punk. On Lucky Luca’s hand.”
It takes Punk less than a second to register what this file means. Swiftly, he takes me by the elbow, leading me out of the storage room. We hustle down the hall toward Chase and Butch.
Cynthia runs behind us, struggling to keep up in her heels. “Simone, stop. I’m talking to you.”
I enter the conference room, with Punk at my back. He turns in the doorway to stop Cynthia from entering. She huffs her agitation.
