We drive in blissful silence for several minutes, and I find myself wishing Pineridge was hours away instead of just across town. Two adults with history and baggage and complicated feelings, we might as well be in high school again with how firmly he holds my hand.
“Fine,” I say. “You are temporarily authorized.”
“I’ll take what I can get.”
When Jake pulls up to our apartment building, the spell breaks. He steps out and circles around to open my door. I take his offered hand as I climb out, allowing the skin contact to linger for as long as I can manage.
“Thanks for the ride,” I say.
“Anytime,” he responds as he lets go of my hand again.
His arm lifts slowly, hovering in the universal gesture that says he wants to hug me, eyes searching mine for permission. Despite wanting nothing more than to feel his arms around me, I hesitate. Maybe because four years of distance has weakened my boldness at physical contact. He takes my hesitation as rejection and settles for an awkward side hug, both of us patting each other’s backs like we’re burping colicky infants.
What a bust.
He steps into his car, and I watch him drive away until his taillights disappear around the corner. Then I make my way to my apartment, where I press my back against the door and exhale slowly.
I need to uncover what Tim is planning before the presentation. I won’t let anyone hurt him.
Chapter 22
The following morning, summer rain peppers my umbrella as I trudge to work, my brain buzzing with half-baked schemes to unmask Tim’s true intentions.
At the anniversary party, he had practically announced that Jake would never get the promotion, his smug confidence sending alarm bells ringing through my head. Whatever his plan is, it can’t be good for Jake or his career. Since my stubborn ex-boyfriend refuses to listen to reason, it falls squarely on my shoulders to pry—no, investigate the matter.
I need solid evidence—something irrefutable that even Jake can’t dismiss with that irritating head shake he does when he thinks I’m overreacting. Watch and wait—that’s my only real option. Sooner or later, Tim will slip up, revealing his hand like the villain he is. I just have to be there to witness it, ready to pounce like a cat on a particularly juicy mouse. My first order of business would be chummying up to him enough to make him drop his guard and forget I’m even paying attention.
The rain intensifies, and I dodge puddles that threaten to ruin my favorite ankle boots. But tiny droplets splash against my calves regardless of my careful footwork.
I’m halfway through the main lobby, my umbrella leaving a trail of miniature lakes behind me, when Amanda’s voice cuts through the ambient chatter.
“There you are,” she calls from my right.
I pivot to face her. There’s something especially unsettling about Amanda today. Her crooked expression reminds me of when my mom caught me with my hand in the cookie jar when I was a kid. She seems way too pleased with herself, as if she’d won first prize at the county fair and can’t wait to show off her blue ribbon.
“Judy wants to see you,” she says.
My stomach clenches into a tight little ball. In my limited experience at Lanter Bridge, impromptu meetings with Judy rarely end with high-fives and congratulatory cupcakes. And Amanda’s politeness only appears when she knows she has the upper hand, her fake courtesy more alarming than outright hostility.
After a moment’s hesitation, I force my feet to move, following her toward the elevator bank. My anxiety mounting with every second, I ride the elevator beside her, maintaining as much distance as the small metal box allows.
“What’s this about?” I ask as she casually leans against the wall, my finger nervously twisting a strand of hair that escaped my rushed morning styling.
“You’ll see,” she replies, her smile widening.
Despite my best attempts to pry more information from her—including outright asking if I’m in trouble—not a single additional word passes her lips. My mind reels with possibilities, each scenario worse than the last. I’ve been careful since the anniversary party fiasco, keeping my interactions with Jakeminimal and professional. There was yesterday’s car ride, but nobody could have known about that.
The snooping incident, the most likely cause of this summons, plays back in my head as Amanda catches me glancing nervously at her. I haven’t found anything incriminating yet, and she has no concrete proof of what I was really doing in that conference room.
The elevator chimes our arrival, doors sliding open to bustling tenth floor. We make our way through the maze of cubicles, Amanda leading confidently while I trail behind like an anxious duckling. Rounding the corner to my workspace, I freeze mid-step, the blood draining from my face as I process the scene before me.
At my desk, Judy stands next to Tim, both of them intently examining the contents of an open folder he’s holding. As I watch in growing horror, she nods repeatedly while he gestures emphatically, clearly explaining something that has captured her complete attention.
I try to swallow, but my mouth goes dry. They’ve done something—orchestrated some kind of ambush. My career might be imploding before my eyes, and the worst part is that I have no idea what prompted this intervention. No matter how hard I wrack my brain, I can’t figure out what crime I’ve committed this time.
Without knowing the charges against me, defending myself will be like trying to hit a target blindfolded—painful, embarrassing, and almost certainly doomed to fail. I take a deep breath and force myself to close the remaining distance to my desk.
“Miss Lake,” Judy says, sliding off her designer glasses and letting them hang from a delicate chain around her neck. “Something troubling has been brought to my attention.”
