Charles frowned. “Why do you want to know?”
Because I wanted to make sure he paid for what he’d done, but Charles didn’t need to know that. “I want to run his records, see if he’s been behaving since. How long ago was this?”
Charles swallowed thickly. “Five years. And it’s Meehan. Justin Meehan.”
I made a mental note to run his name through AngelCloud, our own database. Yes, some genius in the celestial IT department had actually named it that, probably the same eejit who thought calling our communication system “HeavenMail” was clever. Don’t ask me how, but with a little power from El and what I suspected was some seriously illegal hacking, we were tapped into every criminal database in the world. The FBI, Scotland Yard, fecking MI6, CIA, Interpol—hell, we probably had access toparking ticket records in Bumfuck, Nebraska. It was like having El’s own personal Google, except instead of cat videos and conspiracy theories, it was full of murderers, embezzlers, and people who didn’t return their library books on time. That was one thing I did appreciate about modern technology, even though I still struggled with it on a daily basis.
“It must’ve been scary for you to start a new business after that,” I said.
His face softened. “I was terrified. Initially, I didn’t want to do it. I figured no one would want to lend me money or trust me, you know? It wasn’t like people knew what had happened since I hadn’t told anyone. I’d been way too ashamed. But Charming is a small town, so, of course, nothing stays secret. Someone found out from her brother, who’d worked with Justin, and within days, the whole town knew. And they all supported me, telling me it wasn’t my fault.” His voice broke, and his eyes filled with tears. “I had suppliers assuring me they wanted to work with me, even after Justin had cost them money. I was so shocked.”
I wasn’t. Anyone could see Charles was a good guy, a truly decent one. “Did Justin ever tell you sorry? Or give you any kind of explanation?”
Charles slowly put down his fork, and the look on his face made me regret my question instantly. Apparently, I’d touched a very tender spot. Shit.
“I asked him why he’d done it if he loved me…” Charles raised his chin. “To which he said that he never did, but I was a great fuck and an even better cook, so what more could he want?”
Jesus fecking Christ, what an asshole. “You know that’s bullshit, right?”
“You’re saying I’m not a great fuck or an even better cook?”
I blinked, then couldn’t help but chuckle at his wry humor. “You’re a fantastic cook, but I can’t confirm the statement about you being a great fuck…yet.”
His smile meant everything.
NINE
CHARLES
Eamon wasn’t what I had expected at all. Yes, he was still ridiculously, devastatingly hot in a way that made my brain short-circuit whenever he smiled at me, and I had to keep reminding myself that I was a job for him and nothing more. An assignment he’d probably forget the moment this whole mess was over. But he wasn’t the glib, superficial charmer I had initially pegged him for after that disastrous first kiss and his cocky assumptions about our “good time together.”
Under that smooth exterior and those practiced flirtatious grins, he hid a real heart. A genuine one that seemed to care about more than getting laid or looking good while doing his job. I’d seen glimpses of it when we’d talked about the whole Justin mess—the way his eyes had gone hard with anger on my behalf, how his voice had turned protective and fierce when he’d called Justin an asshole. Like my pain actually mattered to him, even though he barely knew me.
It was confusing as hell, to be honest. I didn’t know what to do with a man who could flip from crude jokes about porn shows to genuine comfort and understanding in the span of a heartbeat. It made it dangerously easy to forgetthat this was all pretend, that his concern was professional courtesy, and that I absolutely could not let myself start believing any of it was real.
“You ready to go?” I asked him as I grabbed my jacket. I loved this time of year, when the nights were crisp and cold, but the days still pleasant. Winter would soon hit, my slowest season.
“Yup,” Eamon said.
I eyed his black T-shirt and jeans. The T-shirt was fitted enough to show off every muscle in his chest and arms—which was distracting as hell—but it was also thin cotton that wouldn’t provide any protection against the crisp October air. His jeans looked sturdy enough, dark denim that hugged his thighs in a way that made me momentarily forget what I was worried about, but again, no layers, no jacket, nothing that suggested he understood how nippy it was outside.
“You’ll need a jacket.”
“I don’t get cold easily.”
“It’s forty degrees out.”
I’d lived in the Hudson Valley my whole life, and I knew how deceptive these autumn mornings could be. Sure, it might warm up to the sixties by afternoon, but right now, the air had that sharp bite that warned of the winter to come. He’d be shivering within five minutes of stepping outside.
He frowned for a second, as if letting that sink in, then said, “Okay. I’ll need a jacket.”
We stepped outside at seven-thirty on the dot. As soon as I’d locked my front door and turned around, Eamon reached for my hand without hesitation, his fingers intertwining with mine like it was the most natural thing in theworld.
Right. Boyfriends.
The simple contact sent an unexpected jolt through me, warmth spreading up my arm and settling somewhere in my chest. His hand was larger than mine, completely engulfing my fingers, and the casual way he’d claimed it made my pulse skip in a way that was definitely not fake.
I hadn’t walked hand-in-hand with anyone since Justin, and even with him, it had been rare. He hadn’t been one for PDA, he’d told me when we’d started dating. Said it made him uncomfortable, that he preferred to keep things private. And as with everything else that had come out of his mouth, I had believed him without question. Of course it had been another lie, another way to keep his options open.
