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Wander wouldn’t give up until Roman had at least made an honest attempt to answer his question. That much was becoming clear. “We had this connection from day one. Chemistry but more than sexual. He saw something in me I didn’t know was inside me, a layer of myself that had been hidden this whole time.”
“He saw the Dom.”
“Yes, and I still don’t understand how when I had no idea myself. All this time, I’ve known you were in this lifestyle, but not once did I develop an urge to experiment or to test if I had kinky tendencies. Not until Caleb.”
“So, where do you see this going? You’ve always been clear you can’t afford to come out as bi in your job, so training to become a Dom is out of the question.”
Roman’s phone buzzed, and he flinched. That damned ringtone—like an alarm bell to his fraying sanity. He checked the caller ID. It was Blake Monahan, the state attorney and, as such, his boss. Fuck. Heart hammering, he swiped the screen.
“Roman.”
“Roman, what the ever-loving fuck is going on with you?”
“Excuse me, sir?”
“You haven’t been in the office for two weeks. Working remotely for such an extended period of time is not allowed without prior authorization, which I do not remember granting.”
Roman swallowed. “I’ve been dealing with some personal issues.”
“Yeah, well, my patience with that excuse is wearing thin. Either return to work or resign.” Monahan’s voice was as cold and emotionless as the blade of a guillotine poised above Roman’s neck.
Resign? His heart sank. “I’m the lead on the Whitman investigation, sir. Without me, that?—”
“You’ve become obsessed with that case to the point where I can’t help but question your objectivity.”
“You know about the threats against me, sir. I’ve reported each and every one.”
“I also know about the accusations your secretary made, your unsubstantiated claim someone reorganized your files, and about you causing an accident and not even remembering it, not to mention all the online rumors circulating about you. You can’t fault me for questioning your professionalism.”
No, he couldn’t. Which had been exactly what Whitman had intended to achieve. “I’ve never acted anything but professional, sir. My evidence in this case is above reproach.”
A long pause. “I don’t know about that, to be honest. I fear that with all this happening, Whitman’s lawyers would have a field day with you in court and would most likely manage to get some of your evidence thrown out.”
Roman sagged in his chair, his limbs feeling like lead. All this time, he’d worked his ass off in his job, and now that it came down to it, his boss questioned his professionalism? “I may be the lead, sir, but I’m far from the only one working on this case.”
“I know that.” Monahan cleared his throat. “But you can’t deny my concern is valid. Maybe stepping away wouldn’t be the worst thing, both for you and the case.”
Stepping away? Roman’s lungs seized so fiercely he struggled to draw a breath. He could only think of one reason why his boss, who had always supported him, would take this position. Whitman had gotten to him.
His mind raced, thoughts colliding. Should he walk away? He needed to keep chasing Whitman, but quitting meant losing resources and power. Returning to work was playing their game, wearing their noose around his neck. And it would only be a matter of time before it would tighten. He needed a strategic retreat. He looked up and met his brother’s eyes, heavy with unspoken words and shared resolve, and he nodded at Wander.
“Maybe you’re right,” Roman said, his voice cool but laced with an edge of defeat he hoped sounded genuine. “Lately, the investigation into Whitman has not been going well, and I’m hitting walls there. I’ve also been dealing with health issues.” Technically not a lie, considering the stress gnawing at his insides. “Maybe I need time to clear my head and get a fresh perspective.” Bile rose in his throat, but he forced the words out.
The silence on the other end spoke volumes. Roman’s pulse throbbed in his temples. He pictured Whitman, smug and untouchable, protected by the very laws Roman had sworn to uphold.
“How much time are we talking?” The state attorney’s tone was a blend of curiosity and skepticism.
“Four weeks should do it. I’ve got plenty of leave saved up.”
“Four weeks…” Another pause, a consideration Roman knew was more about optics than concern.
“I’ll step back from the Whitman case, regroup.” Roman tightened his hand around the phone, the four-leaf clover tattoo on his arm stretching with the strain. He needed this, not just for his job but to strategize to outmaneuver Whitman’s next play.
“Fine,” came the reluctant response. “Four weeks. But I’m not making promises about you returning as lead in the case, Roman. We’ll have to evaluate when you return.”
“Understood.” Roman ended the call abruptly, his breaths shallow. He’d bought himself time, but at what cost?
The silence in the room was deafening. Roman still gripped the phone tightly, knuckles white.
