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“He’s not the only determined one.”
“I can see there’s no talking you out of this.”
“I love him, Jord.”
“I know you do, babe.” One of her hands covers mine. “Let’s crash before the sun comes up and look at this with fresh eyes when we wake up.”
Grateful for her, I finish my tea and stand, linking our arms. I turn off the kitchen light and grab an extra toothbrush from the linen closet. “So, Stiles, huh?”
“He is sexy.”
“He’s robotic.”
“That’s just the outer layer. You know what they say about still waters…”
The fact that Jordyn is even considering how deep Stiles might run says a lot. But if I point that out to her, she’ll just shrug it off with a sexual innuendo. Stiles probably isn’t all that bad, it’s the circumstances. I’d love for Jord to fall for a good guy who treats her like gold.
I’d love it if we all got our happy endings.
The morning after dawns witha frenetic beat in my chest. I hadn’t slept much. Drifting in and out of consciousness, I kept seeing Mick’s face, the bottle of whiskey. His abraded knuckles, the blood on his shirt.
At six, I give up and climb quietly out of bed so I don’t wake Jordyn. Feeling groggy, I brush my teeth and splash water on my face. I look awful, and could use a shower, but I need caffeine first.
Pulling on a terry-cloth robe and tube socks for warmth, I tiptoe out of the room. In the foyer, I pause to peer through the front window. The Hummer is gone, but the now familiar black sedan is back. Sighing, I let the curtain fall back in place and put on the new coffee machine with allthe bells and whistles that would be a barista’s dream. Mick had recently ordered it and specialty beans from Italy. I teased him for being a coffee snob until I had my first cup and swore it was my new obsession.
I look around at the touches that Mick has added. Family photos in the living room. A Vitamix blender for the morning smoothies he often makes me before work. In such a short space of time, our lives have melded together. I could see the picture of our future forming, day after day. Year after year. I could barely make out the shape and texture of my life before him. It’s not that my previous life was bad—I had my career, my friends; I was working on my recovery. But it was missing color and vibrancy. It was missing him.
I rub at the knot beneath my left breastbone. I can’t let myself accept that this is the end. Hanging on to a kernel of hope, I shake off the morose, and douse my coffee with skim milk and three sweeteners. It smells delicious and tastes even better. I enjoy a few sips, then take the mug to my office. I stop on the threshold, remembering the way Mick looked writing in here, the time we’d made love up against the wall.
A shiver runs through me. I would give anything to be with Mick again. Anything to help take away his troubles and have him back. That has me doing the unthinkable. I sit behind my desk and open Mick’s laptop. Shaking off the twinge of guilt, I enter his password, Beauty<3. He’d confided it in me: Beauty with a heart. Mick trusted me with that but not his secrets.
The screen opens on his manuscript. As tempting as it is, I don’t read one word. Mick had said he’d share it with me as soon as it was to his satisfaction. I still hope I’ll get that chance. I minimize the document and go to his email. It seems like the best place to start.
I scroll through his in-box, glancing at the work-related messages from Nadia at Pivotal about the expansion project and Jordyn in regards to the design. I skip a couple that look investment related. All of them are opened and flagged. I look for Tuesday’s date, hoping to discover something telling, but it’s just more of the same. Of course, Mick could have deleted any message he might have received or maybe he’d received a text. Still, I continue my search and stop on an email from Stiles. The Subject box reads: Weekly Invoice.
I double click on the attached PDF. It opens onto JDS Security letterhead with a one-page summary of costs. I draw in a breath at how much Mick is spending. I scroll down to the second page to view the details, not surprised to find my name and Dwayde’s listed under security services. But what nearly knocks me off my chair is the last item:P. O’Malley.
“Morning.”
I jump at the sound of Jordyn’s voice. “God!” My hand flies to my throat. “I didn’t hear you.”
“Sorry.” She lounges against the doorjamb, eyeing me then the open laptop. “Whatcha doing?”
“Something bad.”
“That much I got from the hand-caught-in-the-cookie-jar reaction. Tell me.”
“I’m creeping Mick’s laptop.”
“Ooh, that is bad.” She grins. “I like it.”
“It’s awful, Jord.”
“It’s not as if he’s given you much choice.”
“That’s what I’m telling myself.”
“Did you find anything?” she asks, hitching a hip on the edge of my desk.
