Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 67144 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67144 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
“I don’t need anything right now. Thanks for asking, though.”
“Of course.” He sighs again. “I’ve taken up enough of your time this morning. I keep trying to find a time to call you that is appropriate, but it never seems to work out. So this morning I thought, I’m going to call my daughter and check on her. If she can’t answer, I’ll leave a message.”
“I do love a good voice message,” I say, laughing. “But I’m really glad you called. And thank you for having Alexis check in with me yesterday.”
“I wanted you to know you’re always on my mind.”
“That’s really nice. I think about you, too, and hope you’re well.”
“We’ll get through this. I promise.” He takes a breath. “Take care, sweetheart. You have my assistant Frances’s number, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“If you need anything, call her. I may have to keep my distance, but I can make things happen.”
“Thank you. I will. Have a good day,” I say.
“You, too. Talk soon.”
“Goodbye.”
I collapse back into my chair and let out the deepest breath known to man. The movement settles my heartbeat a bit.
I take a moment to get myself together. Waking up in someone else’s house and being reminded that your personal space has been tainted sent me into another round of uneasiness. I’m less fearful than yesterday—I’ve accepted that Freddy’s to blame. But that doesn’t fix how exposed I feel, and I hope that feeling doesn’t linger long.
I just have to get through it.
Even if it takes boatloads of caffeine to do it.
My coffee is still hot when I take a quick sip and get started on my work. Nothing exploded or fell apart during the night, which always makes for an easier morning. I click on my personal email, hoping the detective remembered to send me the form I need to sign, and type in my username. I need to get this over and done with so I don’t have to think about it all day.
“Hey.”
I jump, looking toward the door. Troy stands with a mug in his hand and a curious look on his handsome face.
“Hi,” I say, letting my gaze linger on his exposed forearms thanks to his rolled-up sleeves. “I didn’t hear you knock.”
“Because I didn’t.”
I shake my head and go back to my computer. “I thought we discussed this.”
“We did. Theo knocks. I don’t.”
I scoff, typing in my password.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on with you?” he asks, sitting across from me.
“Nothing is going on with me.”
“You’re lying.”
Yes, I am. But I’m not discussing this with you. I try my password again. “You’re just mad that I made you wait too long last night for a response. Too bad. I was busy. Get over it.”
“I know something was going on last night, Doll.”
“What are you, some kind of seer now?”
He sips his drink, watching me over the brim with zero amusement.
“Fine. For the record, something was going on,” I say. “My friend Morgan stopped by, and we were doing a little … investigation.”
“About what?”
I smile at him. “You know as well as I do that security issues are confidential.” I laugh at the look on his face. “Aw. That doesn’t feel as good when you’re on that side of things, does it?”
“It’s a little different when I’m asking about you and your friend, and you wanted me to give you the inside scoop on a pop star’s ex-boyfriend.”
“Oh, it’s a lot different.” I laugh. “You had tea to spill. Morgan and I just carried a bat around my house.”
“And why did you have a bat?”
“I used to play softball,” I say, knowing damn well and good that’s not the answer he was looking for. “Now, if you don’t have a purpose for being here, I do have things to do today.”
“So we’re just going to pretend that everything was fine last night?”
I huff before staring at him. “I told you. Everything is fine.”
He smirks. “I do this for a living, you know. Watch people and notice when things are suspicious. And I’m really fucking good at it.”
“Well, guess what, you burly little investigator? I’m fine. Nothing was going on. I wasn’t scared.”
“I didn’t say you were scared. I asked if you’re okay.”
Shit. I retype in my password. This time, it works. “I’m getting annoyed.”
“Be annoyed at yourself. You’re the one Freudian slipping.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It’s absolutely a thing.”
“Freudian slipping is not a thing. It doesn’t even sound like a thing.” I skim my inbox—no email from the detective. I start to click out of the window when something catches my eye. “You’re just mad you don’t have all the answers.”
If he answers, I don’t hear him. I’m focused on a message sent a few hours ago.
My blood runs ice cold.
White noise crashes over my ears as a shaky hand presses the mouse and opens the email.