“I want vodka,” says Hannah.
“Don’t have any of that, honey.”
Otty asks, “Edibles?”
“Well, we were about to go to bed.”
“Oh, no. I’m out.” I step back, bash into the still-open screen door, and catch myself on the frame. “We need to split.”
“Yep.” Hannah’s shoving at me to move out of her way so we can get out of this place right this moment.
“What? Why?” Otty’s clueless.
“You don’t have to go, girls!”
“You know what, we’ll talk soon!” I say over my shoulder.
“Want to come for coffee in the morning?” Dad’s grinning when he yells out the door.
“I’ll make sure to be gone!” Ms. Barcom-Tancredi calls from behind him.
“We’re good!” I yell as Hannah and I each grab one of Otty’s arms and run like hell.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
Grant
I’VE DONE THE RIGHTthing. I know this.
Yet, for the rest of the week, through the hours and hours I spend going through data, meeting with Dorothy and her staff, and then the investors, I can’t stop being pissed.
How the hell can Rae possibly think we could be more?
That’s what annoys me the most. She knew what we were. I was clear with her from the start. What we had was a power exchange, not romance. It was a game. A way to get our rocks off and enjoy ourselves.
It’s Friday evening, and the meeting with Dorothy and her investors was a huge waste of time. It was painful to watch her defend her decisions and management style to a group of people who have no idea what this company even does.
Thankfully, no major decisions have been made. In the meantime, the work I’ve done here feels ineffectual at best. How the hell did the information leak if no one broke into the system? Dane Wabash still hasn’t sent us his proof, so there’s still a chance he’s bluffing.
I’m at home, looking over videos of the lobby and buildingentry logs. Literally staring at lists, times, days, and black-and-white videos of every entrance to the building.
Nothing.
My mind wanders to Rae’s laugh out on the canoe. How it started high and light but then evolved into this belly laugh when she passed a certain point. Just the most joyous sound I’ve ever heard. I feel it, even now, in my body. When I blink my computer back into focus, I have to literally wipe the smile from my face with my hand.
Not for the first time today, panic settles over me.
The job that I took on as a favor to a friend has turned into a nightmare. A failure.
And Rae. Every time I think of her—which is way too often—the panic comes back. Like forgetting something or missing a last plane out. Shit.
I stand up from my desk, which overlooks my front porch, and a slice of Dorothy’s porch to one side. Back in the kitchen, I go to make another coffee and then realize it’s probably ten o’clock at night and decide to switch to beer.
Through the wide window, I can see lights on next door. Malika and Dorothy are probably getting ready for bed.
Rae’s probably at the club. I should go. Check in on her. Make sure she’s being taken care of. Or call Lucas, at least.
I’ve got my phone in hand before it occurs to me that she is none of my business now. I know this with absolute certainty. Except the idea, when I let it come, of finally finding someone to commit to, well, it doesn’t make me panic nearly as much as the notion of losing her. Am I just too chickenshit to follow through?
