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“Slow.” Sheila placed a stack of mail on the desk. “Did you need me to stick around after close? Prep for tomorrow or anything?”
“No, that’s all right. It’s an easy week on the catering end. I think people are still sticking to their New Year’s resolutions. Give it another week and the catering orders will start rolling in.”
“Ha! All right, well, I’ll be up front for the next half hour if you need anything.”
“Will do. Thanks,” Roxie murmured, her attention already focused on a plain manila envelope. No stamp, no addresses. Just her name.
Her pulse raced as she opened it. And then the blood drained from her face when she saw what was inside.
Another picture. This time, from the evening before.
Her back was to the camera, and she was looking off to the side. Jeremy was standing close, his hand on her arm. And the look on his face? There was no mistaking his romantic interest.
A stranger viewing the photo would assume they were lovers having an intimate moment, not a man who didn’t know how to take a hint and a woman searching for an escape route.
But the false narrative was not what had her breathing faster. What had her heart threatening to beat out of her chest.
No, that was the single word scrawled over the picture in thick red marker.
Whore.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
Joe parked his truck in his driveway. Well, technically, both the truck and the driveway were his dad’s. Sean Buchanan had two vehicles, a Tesla because this was the Pacific Northwest, and a Ford F-150 because this was island living. When his dad had offered up one of the vehicles, Joe had happily swapped out his rental for the truck. His dad was far more generous than Joe was deserving. That was for damn sure.
Killing the engine, he snagged his phone and checked the text message he’d heard ding while he’d been driving. He grimaced at the message.
Hey, it’s Candie from the plane. It looks like I’ll be on Hudson Island sometime in the next few weeks—still finalizing my schedule. My firm’s looking at investing in some property there and I was hoping to meet up so I could pick your brain about the area. Let me know if you’re free and what your schedule looks like.
Joe had zero desire to see her again, but he didn’t want to be a dick. He gave his reply a few moments of thought before he texted his response.
My schedule is currently in flux, but if the timing works, I could meet you for coffee to talk about Hudson.
Satisfied with his polite and professional text, he tossed his phone onto the passenger seat and closed his eyes, taking a minute to decompress. Today had been a good day. When he’d arrived on Hudson Island last week, he’d been an unemployed, angry shithead who’d been throwing a massive pity party for himself. Now, he was just a shithead.
Joe had stayed at the gym for a few extra hours after finishing the tour with Cade. He’d met the other coaches and some of the fighters, then he’d donned protective gear and stepped into a ring for the first time since before the Woodsworth case, breaking the longest stretch he’d ever gone without sparring. He had kept up with his running and typical strength exercises, but there was nothing quite like two grown dudes beating the shit out of each other to show you just how out of shape you were. In comparison to the guys he’d sparred with today? He was freaking out. Of. Shape.
But even though his body was sore and tired, he felt good. Not only because of the hard gym session or the potential to get paid to do something he loved, but because of Roxie, too.
Running with her beneath the moonlight this morning, he’d finally felt whole. And he’d realized that what had really torn him apart all these years, what had caused him to be such a massive asshole, was the knowledge that their friendship—and any chance of more—had died with Paul’s admission.
But Paul had lied, and now Joe knew the truth. Now his anger and bitterness and pain were gone. In their place was a lightness, a growing hope of possibility.
Yeah, for all he knew, he could walk in the front door tonight and Rox could tell him to go fuck himself. Hell, she could decide AirPod Douche was the man she wanted to be with.
Or she could tell him she felt the same way he did.
The same way he’d always felt about her but was too stupid and immature to realize it. Until it was gone. Untilshewas gone.
Joe smiled into the darkness.Possibility. It was a damn good word.
Grabbing his duffle bag of dirty, borrowed gym clothes, he climbed out of the truck. As he stepped through the front door, he heard hushed voices coming from the kitchen. He dropped his bag on the ground and headed that way.
Rounding the corner, he saw Quinn and Alex milling about. Little Annie was strapped to Alex’s chest in some sort of pouch contraption, fast asleep. Rox was leaning against the kitchen island, arms wrapped tight around her middle. Her green eyes were bloodshot and overly bright. She’d been crying.
Joe was next to her in a heartbeat, wrapping one arm around her shoulders while tilting her face toward his with the other. “Roxanne, what’s wrong?”
A tremble racked her body, and she shook her head, eyes welling with fresh tears.
