“Give back every cent you stole from me, and I’ll call off the detective,” I said.
Hoffman glanced at the card again and let out a derisive snort. “Seriously? This is a joke. And not even a good one.”
He crumpled up the card and threw it on the ground.
Defeat threatened to crush me.
But then Wyatt appeared by my side, radiating a calm authority that was both comforting and super sexy. “I’m Wyatt,” he said, his dark gaze drilling into my ex. “Of Wyatt Investigations. I’m the detective Ms. Gray hired.”
I barely managed to hide my surprise.
Hoffman glanced from the discarded business card to Wyatt. I nearly laughed at the expression of shock on his face. Somehow, I fought off the temptation.
“I suggest you listen to Ms. Gray,” Wyatt continued. “I’m very good at what I do.”
I waited a beat to let those words sink in before I spoke.
“Time’s ticking, Hoffman,” I said, feeling more confident now.
I turned on my heel and followed the path back to the clubhouse, holding my head high and not looking back, not even for a second.
Chapter
Five
Wyatt followed me as I made my escape from Hoffman, but once inside the clubhouse he was waylaid by two women who obviously knew him. I kept walking, not once slowing my pace. When I cast a quick glance over my shoulder, I saw the women fluttering their eyelashes at Wyatt while he watched me leave him behind.
Despite the way his gaze warmed my skin, even from a distance, I didn’t break my stride. As grateful as I was for his help, I couldn’t handle any more humiliation that day. I didn’t want him knowing my embarrassing history with Hoffman, and I didn’t need to be reminded of the way we’d first met.
Hot or not, Wyatt was now out of my life, and that was for the best. Even if the hopeless romantic in me was sobbing with disappointment.
Once through the front door, I made a quick trip back to the rhododendron to retrieve my clothes. I wasn’t about to risk changing in the bushes again—who knew who would catch me this time—so I simply picked up my clothes and tucked them under my arm before making a beeline for the bus stop. Seconds after I arrived at the stop, the bus pulled up to the curb with a squeal of brakes and a mechanical sigh.
I thought I heard someone call my name as I stepped on board,but I stuck to my guns and didn’t look back. I was committed to moving forward.
I closed my eyes during the bus ride, trying to restore a sense of calm. Not that calm was my default state. I wasn’t sure that the plan was going to work out, but at least I’d given it a shot.
When I got back to the Mirage, I decided I should text Jemma with a mission report.
It was then, as I stood on the building’s front steps, that I realized I was missing my phone.
I tipped my head back and let out a roar of frustration. Two startled pigeons flapped their way off the stairs and into the air.
“Smart birds,” I said, watching them fly off. “Steer clear of Emersyn. My bad luck might be contagious.”
With a sigh, I trudged into the Mirage. Jemma didn’t work past six p.m. most days, so maybe I could use the burner phone to call her and ask her to drive me back to the country club that evening. I’d most likely lost my phone in the bushes out front, so chances were good that I wouldn’t have to set foot in the clubhouse again. Although, with my luck, I’d dropped it in the inner sanctum. And it had probably hopped, skipped, and jumped right into the swimming pool.
But maybe my luck wasn’t quite as bad as I thought. When I entered the lobby, I spotted Jemma perched on the padded bench near the mailboxes. She was leaning to the side, peering at a laptop sitting on the knees of a girl in a wheelchair. I didn’t know the girl, but I’d seen her around the building a couple of times, whizzing past me as she rolled through the hallways. She looked to be in her midteens and wore her dark hair in multiple braids that were wound up into two buns on top of her head. She had warm brown skin and wore purple-framed glasses that matched her Converse sneakers.
When Jemma spotted me, she jumped up off the bench. “Emersyn! How did it go?”
“Not great,” I said with a heavy sigh as I flopped down on thebench. “But I gave Hoffman the card. Then I went and lost my phone.”
Jemma sat down beside me. “You don’t need to worry about that.” She held up the burner phone, which she must have fetched from my apartment with her key. “Someone already texted to say they found it. Although…if Hoffman has the business card, then he’s the only person with the number for this phone.” She frowned. “Maybe he’s pranking us. He said his name was Wyatt. That’s pretty fishy, now that I think of it.”
I grabbed the phone. “Wyatt has it?”
“There really is a Wyatt?” Jemma asked. Her eyes widened, and she bounced in her seat. “Is he hot? Please tell me he’s hot.”
