“Why not? The guy tried to kill me.” My unspoken words hang between us. I don’t know if I can confront him. Liam grimaces across from me as I lick my lips nervously. “We can’t do more without information. You don’t even know where he is.”
“But I’ll find out,” Liam declares confidently, and the goosebumps blanketing my body calm some. I take a huge breath and hold it for a long few seconds before exhaling through my nose. “Asim has already come after you, which means he won’t have any qualms going after Delilah, either. I know you haven’t thought about it, but she’s in a delicate position, herself . . . and Asim, he’s a wildcard. Everyone in his family is.”
“I know,” I grumble. I pinch the bridge of my nose in frustration as memories of only half an hour ago race through my mind. “She forgot we were having lunch. She’s holed up in her office right now. It’s a mess there. I’m worried about her.”
“You should be. If her father’s exploits are made public, she’s ruined. I think you should let her focus on Knitted Hearts while we track down Asim.” His suggestion holds weight, and I rub my hand down my face in exasperation. If she’s preoccupied, it’ll keep her safer, and I’d rather keep her as safe as possible. “It’s not like you’re married. You won’t go down with her should things go south. And Delilah’s probably got her own hands in several pies. If you try to do something, it might conflict with whatever securities she has in place.”
Marriage? Married to Delilah? We might not be married today, but one day we will. Even if Liam is right, I can’t sit by and do nothing.
I’ll do whatever I can to protect her, no matter the costs. Whether Asim or her father . . . Delilah won’t have anything to worry about.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-ONE
DELILAH
“Ifinally did it.” I throw myself into my office chair with a horrendous groan. “I organized all of those damn files!”
Pride burns through my muscles, or is it just carpal tunnel from typing and organizing papers for three days straight? I don’t know, but I tap my heels on the floor and stretch my arms above my head as a massive smile spreads across my cheeks. One wouldn’t normally be smiling this big, but to be finished with that grueling task is worth a bit of celebration. “Woo! Now, I can pull together a defense if I need one.”
Even though my defense is throwing my father under the bus, I couldn’t care less. He did this to himself, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t pulling all this together to save myself. I don’t want to be blamed for any of this, so I’ve been grabbing every bit of evidence that I can against him.
I stand up to round my desk, my computer already cold, and my purse hangs on the latch by the door. Looking around my office, now clean and tidy compared to the disorganized mess it’s been for the last couple weeks, I run my hand through my hair in satisfaction, and another smile tugs at my lips. God, this feels nice.
I can’t do more than be ready for whenever shit hits the fan. My father’s wrongdoings might not even come out, and I’ve come to realize that’s what I’m most hoping for. I don’t like being stuck between a rock and a hard place. Hell, this situation has been stressful not just because it’s my job and reputation at risk, but because my father’s the one who’s behind it all. I never thought he’d be capable of something this foul. In the end, though, I’m as protected as I can be.
“Excuse me,” a man’s deep voice echoes from the other side at the door, and he takes a step in the frame. A delivery man stands with a beautiful bouquet of flowers in one hand and a wrapped box in the other. “Delilah Gallagher?”
Gallagher?
But I nod as surprise steals my voice, and the delivery guy walks into my office to set the gorgeous arrangement on my desk. It’s small, not outrageous, and colorful. He holds out the box, and I eyeball the card on top warily. Left alone in my office, I lean on the edge of my desk to pluck the card from under the ribbon.
Delilah,
Please wear this and come to La Musica de Soleil at 7. I’ll be waiting.
Keenan
Interest plagues my brows as I look at the front and back of the card, but there’s nothing else written.
That’s suspiciously vague. I set down the card next to the flowers. I can’t name them, but I caress the orange, purple, and white petals with a delicate touch. The box in my other hand gets heavier suddenly, and I pop the top before taking a big breath and holding it. I peek inside, and surprise replaces the air in my lungs. I place the top on my desk and reach in with an eager hand and grin.
A beautiful, sleek pair of black heels with high ankle straps sits in the box, and excitement blossoms in my chest. I gasp as affection and happiness worm through my veins. The soft velvet shines as I pick them up. The wide heels click together, and I close my eyes to savor the thoughtfulness Keenan must’ve had in picking these out.
They’re amazing. I don’t have anything to wear them with, and I’m certainly not dressed for an amazing date night. I set the shoes on the desk to hold up the box, but realize it’s a bit too big to just be a fancy shoe box.
I reach into the box to poke the lining at the bottom. It’s thick. It’s luxurious. And it’s definitely too airy to be a single layer. Twisting as curiosity stains my tongue, I put the box on my desk to pull the fabric out. Gasping at the beautiful dress that unfurls, my mouth dries and my eyes sting.
The dress gathers delicately from one hip to the opposite shoulder, where a gold clasp settles. It’s the only adornment, and I think about the fancy women back in the films I used to watch with my grandfather. I don’t have many memories of him, but I do remember that the most. In a way, I guess it sort of reminds me instantly of the dress I wore a few weeks ago. The same one I impulse bought on a whim. This one’s fancier, with the top scooping down to give a great look at the girls. It’s classy, but it’s sexy as can be too.
It’s perfect.
Holding the dress to my front, I grin broadly down at myself as I hold out the skirt that hangs just below my knees. I grab the shoes and head for the bathroom tucked into the back corner of my office. Excitement rolls through me, and I shut the door to strip quickly. I tremble at how soft the dress is, carefully bunching it up to step inside.
“Oh, is this tailored?” I ask myself as I pull the dress up over my chest. I shiver in delight as the clasp settles perfectly against my shoulder. Staring at myself in the full-length mirror behind the door, I can’t help but stare at myself for a few seconds. I’m in total and complete awe. This is the kind of crap in the romantic movies, and Keenan did it. It makes the hopeless romantic in me tickled to death. This dress is so perfect it gives me goosebumps. I slip on the shoes, tighten the buckles around my ankles, and take a quick glance in the mirror. Wow, the shoes really tie the look together.
I kneel down and pull my makeup bag from under the sink, and set it down on the top of the sink. Unzipping the makeup bag, I wipe what little I have on my face off quickly. I worry about my hands trembling, but suddenly, they stop. My excitement becomes dense and stuck in my chest, right in the center, and causes an achy feeling to shoot over me. I can’t do much about my hair, here; this bathroom is for touch-ups and making sure I’m presentable for meetings. There’s not much room in here anyways. I’m lucky I can change in here without bumping a limb against a wall.
Still, against my better judgment I try to do something cute with my hair. But before I even realize it, time has flown by. Gasping before shuffling quickly into my office, I check the time on my phone and curse. “Shit! It’s six-fifty. I’m going to be so fucking late!”
