“You said you were going to buy me and the baby a house!” Johanna hollers at Nathan. “How are you going to do that when you’re unemployed? I’ll tell you one thing: You are not staying in my apartment.” She grabs her purse, wrenching it so hard from the back of the chair that it topples over.
Behind me, Nathan is arguing loudly with the ZyloPay CEO, who’s still calling for security as McCarthy sweeps out of the conference room.
At the far end of the office building, a loud, sharp bark sounds.
“Truman!” I race ahead. “Mommy’s coming, Truman!”
There, in Johanna’s office, my dog is scraping his nails against the door.
“Truman, you’re okay! My baby!” I sob into his fur as the wiggly dog jumps into my arms and licks my face, giving a flurry of happy yips.
McCarthy is wearing an odd expression on his face when I look up to see him standing there above me, silent, strong.
“You found him!” I’m smiling through happy tears.
McCarthy works his jaw.
Truman is ecstatic to see McCarthy, and he yips excitedly, his tail whipping as he stands on his hind legs, pawing at McCarthy’s dress pants.
McCarthy turns around and shakes off Truman.
“Get your stupid dog, Jenna. Someone with horrible taste in men needs a pit bull or a Doberman, not an overfed pillow.”
“Look through your stuff,”McCarthy orders when he drops his keys on the tray by the door of his penthouse. “Make sure nothing is missing.”
While we were gone, someone came by and removed the broken furniture, lamps, and electronics that had been in the living room and replaced them with brand-new identical items.
It’s eerie.
The mysterious organization fairy had neatly piled my waterlogged things. My notebooks had been left out in the rain, and the paper was rough and warped, the text bleeding and blurry.
It doesn’t matter, though, because I have Truman back.
The dog jumps excitedly into a pile of my clothes on one of the chairs.
McCarthy sits down on a couch, loosening his tie. Truman makes a flying leap onto the cushion next to the CEO and flops down on his lap. McCarthy strokes Truman’s silky ears, murmuring nonsense to him.
It’s like we’re just two normal people living in a house together, like he didn’t just go ballistic and threaten a bunch of rich men all because of my dog.
I hear my phone go off. I glance up from where I’m starting to roll up my clothes so I can stuff them into one of the dried-out totes. McCarthy’s on my phone before I can grab it.
“Don’t touch my phone.”
“I’m going to trace all these numbers.”
I snatch the phone from him.
His gray eyes go slate-dark.
I cradle the phone to my chest.
He stands up, grabs my wrists, and tries to pry the phone out of my hands.
“Stop fighting me. Give me that phone. I’m finding your stalker—or more like stalkersbecause you’re so inept that you’ve attracted multiple.”
“No one is stalking me.” I grunt as I try to twist away from him.
“Your ex-fiancé is. You told me so yourself,” he snarls.
