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20. A Frank Talk
Jules
Monday morning, I bring the sunflower bouquet Cash bought me to work because I know Mont Center will feel empty with him gone. Every time I glance at the flowers, a sharp pang tears through my heart.
I never thought I could miss someone so much. I miss those precious minutes each morning when we go over his schedule, and I miss the way his smile warms me all the way to my toes on days when I have the foresight to bring him coffee. It’s a small gesture he seems to appreciate. Maybe because he isn’t the type of boss to ask for such small errands.
But I have no one to bring coffee to this week.
No reason to feel giddy in the elevator on the ride up to the thirty-eighth floor.
At least work is keeping me busy. That’s an understatement. With Cash in Oklahoma, my workload has doubled. I’m finding mid-week especially chaotic, and as the end of the day arrives, I’m more than anxious to meet Les. She’s probably tapping her fingers waiting for me right now, since I was supposed to meet her for dinner twenty minutes ago.
Purse in hand, I’m passing the conference room on my way to the elevator, but the sound of Cash’s voice halts me in my tracks. His sexy tenor is coming from beyond the ajar door.
When did he get back? He isn’t due home for a few more days. A flutter of excitement goes off in my belly, and I raise my hand to knock. That’s when another voice freezes me before my fist reaches the door. A woman’s voice. No, not just any woman, but his wife’s.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realize how odd it is that I know her voice that well. I’ve grown familiar with all things Cash, including Monica Montgomery.
I should walk away. Should mind my own damn business. I already know I won’t. Peeking through the space between the door and the frame, I see Cash standing with his arms crossed, facing his wife.
And me.
It’s too late to duck and evade. His gaze catches mine, and realization jolts through me because that’s not Cash. I’m stunned as usual that I can tell by a single glance the difference between him and his brother.
I don’t know what I just stumbled upon, since I didn’t catch what they were saying. Before Kaden can call me out on eavesdropping, I hurry toward the elevator and press the down button. The floor is empty. The day late.
And that fucking elevator decides now is the time to climb all thirty-eight floors before reaching me. Flicking my gaze toward the conference room, I find Kaden watching me. The door is wide open now, and I spy Monica standing behind him, eyes downcast. The strong, commanding woman I equate with Cash’s wife is absent. Folding herself in her arms, she gnaws on her lower lip.
The ding of the lift saves me, and I rush inside and jab the button for the atrium level. My heart thumps hard against my chest the whole way down, refusing to calm until I’m out the doors of Mont Center and on my way to the restaurant.
I can’t help but look over my shoulder at least once every block as I stride down the sidewalk. Part of me is certain Kaden will come after me and demand to know why I was listening to what was obviously a private conversation. Even though I didn’t catch a word of it, the tension in the air was palpable.
And odd.
Still processing what just happened in the dregs of my mind, I find Lesley waiting at our favorite table. Sure enough, she’s tapping her black-painted nails on the wood surface.
“He’s working you too much,” she says, grumbling.
I slide into the seat across from her. “He’s out of town this week, so things are especially busy.” Picking up the menu, I eye her over the top. “Is something wrong? You seem cranky.”
“Just band stuff. Tensions are fucking high right now. All Zan and Garen seem to do lately is argue.” She brushes her bangs out of her eyes. “Actually, forget arguing. They’re playing tug-of-war like two toddlers in diapers.”
“Aren’t they best friends?”
“They’ll go back to being best buds after the gig, I’m sure. There’s just too much pressure right now to get our sound out there.”
My cell dings, and I fish it from my purse as Les peruses her menu, even though she always orders the French dip.
Cash: I miss you like hell. What are you up to?
I bite back a sad smile. He hasn’t texted me once since he left. Any correspondence we’ve had has been related to business. I’m not sure how to feel about his text.
Me: I’m having dinner with Les.
Cash: Your friend in the band?
Me: Yeah.
