Guilt chokes the words.Shame threatens to drown me.
I pull my hands from his grasp, the loss of his touch leaving an echoing emptiness.I stumble away, seeking the solidity of my desk.My fingers curl around the edge, head bowed, unable to bear the weight of his gaze.
“Him?”Matthew repeats in disbelief.“James, you mean?The same man who threw you down on this desk?”He slams his palm against the polished wood.
I flinch.The vibration courses up my arms, a physical echo of the violence.The image of James’s face twisted in rage, his hands gripping my shoulders, the sharp pain as I hit the wood… it all comes rushing back.
I take a shaky breath, forcing the memory down.
“Shit,” Matthew mutters after a stretch of silence.“I’m sorry.I didn’t mean to…” He reaches out, but I jerk away before his hand makes contact.
Anger spikes.Anger at James, at what he did, and at Matthew for bringing it all back.
“Why did you come to see me, Matt?”I ask, squaring my shoulders.
“What?”He looks taken aback.
“Yesterday, you couldn’t get away from me fast enough after you found my engagement ring.”
Matthew runs a hand through his hair, briefly squeezing his eyes shut.“That’s not fair.”
When he says nothing else, I break the silence, my voice brittle.“You know what?It doesn’t matter.”
“It’s complicated, Amy.”
My eyebrows shoot up.“How original.”I cross my arms.“Well, thanks for dropping by, Mr.Warren.I should get back to work while I still have a café to run,” I say, my tone final.
Matthew opens his briefcase and pulls out a blue folder.He stares at it, jaw clenched, then places it on my desk.
He pulls his business card out of his blazer pocket.“You have until tonight to decide,” he tells me.He grabs a pen, scribbles something on the back of the card, and slides it into the file.“I know you’ll make the right choice.”
Then, without waiting for a reply, he walks out.
The late afternoon sun can’t reach the small, windowless office.The room sits in twilight, illuminated only by the glow of the desk lamp.The blue folder lies open, the dense legal language of the lease agreement intruding on my sanctuary.
And there, resting on top of the documents, is Matthew’s business card.
I pick it up, turning it over in my hands, fingers tracing the raised lettering:Matthew Warren, Senior Counsel, Blackwood & Dunn.Then, I flip it over, my gaze fixing on the scribbled message:
I will try to help.Statehouse, Edgewater Hotel.8pm.
Help me?
Or ruin me?
Questions swirl.Confusion, anger, and a flicker of something that feels dangerously like hope.
I drop the card back on the documents.
Lease Agreement.
Maddy’s Place.
I should probably read it now to see if there’s a way out.Instead, I lean back in my chair, staring up at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the chaos that has taken over my life.
“I thought those last two ladies would never leave!”Helen says as she walks in.
She plops down onto the couch, kicking off her shoes and curling her legs under her with a sigh.“What you got there?”She nods towards my desk.
