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“It’s???”
“Stuck in my head, bee in my bonnet.”
“The French sounds cooler.”
I snort. “I’ll teach you a few phrases so you can annoy Clay when you see him.” Then I dump the takeout on the coffee table and survey the living room, empty of life. “Still sleeping?”
“She isn’t making any noises, so I guess so.” He’s rooting through the bags. “This mine?”
“If it’s Italian beef. What set all this off?”
“No idea. She stormed out of the conference, found me in the staff lounge. ‘We’re leaving,’ she said. Then collected her coat and purse but left her briefcase. Locked the office and we skedaddled. She was moving so fast I could hardly keep up with her.”
“Which is her room?” I’m going to storm the fortress. If she’s had more threats, I’ll tear Sam limb from limb.
He points to a corridor. “It’s the middle room back there. Guess she didn’t want to sleep in the primary room.”
Interesting quirk but no time to examine her reasoning. Instead, I stride down the back hallway and try the knob. It’s locked. My knock goes unanswered. “Micki,” I call out. “Please let me in.”
“Go away,” sounds muffled by pillows, but I can hear the catch in her voice.
“No, not going anywhere. Just open the door. Or come into the living room. I need to know what’s wrong.”
A meaningless “nothing,” is the only reply.
I examine the lock. It’s a typical bedroom handle with a pinhole on the exterior. My small set of screwdrivers has one that fits into the hole. Once it catches, I hear the mechanism pop. When I open the door, Micki sits with her feet under her, the duvet draped over her shoulders. Disheveled hair and blotchy face.
With no tissue in sight, she wipes the back of her hand across her nose, grimaces, then pushes the duvet to the floor. As she drags herself toward the bathroom, I can’t take my eyes off her defeated posture until she disappears through the doorway. When she finally reappears, looking a little more composed, I take her in my arms and hold her loosely.
“Is it Sam? Did he manage to contact you, threaten you?”
“No. I haven’t heard from him. I blocked his number, so he’d need a new one.”
“Then what is it? You look like your entire world has blown apart.”
“It has.” A new sob bubbles up and she rests her cheek against my chest while her whole body vibrates with distress.
I can’t even imagine what could have happened and have no idea how to console her. “Are your parents okay? Did someone die? Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Don’t want to talk.” She backs away, arms out, palms facing toward me in a gesture of denial.
“Please, talk to me,” I plead. “Just tell me what’s going on.”
She pushes me out of the room and slams the door, then pushes a chair against it.
I retreat to the living room and slump onto the couch in defeat.
ChapterSeven
When you have expectations, you are setting yourself up for disappointment.—Ryan Reynolds
Micki
When Haydenand the congressman walk out the door with Tyler Miller, I know I’ve lost the partnership battle.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Micki.” Rebecca sounds bracingly down-to-earth.
“Golf. They’re playing golf. It’s an old boys’ club and I’ll never break through.”
