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“He said he’d come back for them.” His hand tightens on the ice pack. “He said that if I didn’t pay, he’d come back for them and finish the job.”
Chapter Three
Will
The next morning, Bristol doesn’t give me a chance to yell for her. She hurries in through my office door five minutes early, a mug of coffee in her hand. There’s a tightness around her mouth that doesn’t look right.
She’s pretty. Beautiful, even. Yesterday she was quick with a smile, and it was real. It went all the way up to those green springtime eyes.
This morning, no smile.
Bristol sets the coffee on my desk, briskly turning the handle in the correct direction.
“Good morning, Mr. Leblanc. I have the latest version of the report you requested from the finance department.” The portfolio slides into place near the coffee. “I’ll be waiting for the mail. Was there anything you wanted to change on today’s schedule?”
Something’s up with her. Bristol has another folder tucked tight to her chest, her fingers gripping the edges so hard the paper bends.
If I had to guess, I’d say this has something to do with that phone call yesterday.
Asking about it would break my life’s most important rule, which is to never give a fuck.
But I want to ask her.
I want to know.
“I don’t have any changes for the schedule.”
Bristol gives me a crisp nod and leaves. Papers shuffle on her desk. A tap tap tap as she straightens a stack. A cascade of keystrokes. She’s typing like a bat out of hell, like fast, precise data entry will help her outrun what’s bothering her.
I spend the next hour wondering what the hell happened yesterday. What made her voice shaky and strained like that? What did she find when she went home?
Where is home?
This morning I caved and pulled up her personnel file. We don’t have her address because she’s technically employed by the temp agency. She’s only here for two weeks.
It doesn’t matter what happened yesterday.
None of my damn business.
But I catch myself staring at the computer screen and listening for the sound of her voice.
More than once.
An email from my oldest brother, Sinclair, arrives in my inbox.
SUBJECT: Back soon
Headed out of town. Back in forty-eight hours. Probably less.
—Sin
I don’t need emails to notify me that Sin is leaving town for two days. If my pulse ticks faster, if irritation skates across my rib cage, it’s not because I want him to stay. This is a new habit since he came here from LA.
SUBJECT: RE: Back soon
Business or pleasure?
Will
