When I begin my answer, my fingers are sharper and louder on the keys as I type, and I have to fix several mistakes.Dear Roman—I smooth my face out of its irritable expression—I am not glaring at you or anyone. I will be going alone tomorrow. I am closing my computer now.
I pressSendand shut the laptop before any responses can arrive. Then I take several deep breaths, my eyes lingering absently on my closed computer.
If that man thinks he’s going with me to hunt down Tyler, he’s nuts.
“You arethe worst boss I’ve ever had.”
“Oh, don’t say that.” Roman gives me a cheeky grin from the driver’s seat of his car as he snaps his seatbelt. “Look—I’m even being your chauffeur.”
“I will happily remove myself and send you on your merry way,” I say.
“And then what—we both show up at your ex’s in two different cars? That just seems wasteful.”
I grit my teeth and bite back my response—which, granted, would be nothing more than a growl.
When I got to work this morning, I really thought I was in the clear. Roman didn’t say anything to me; he just gave me a cheerful, dimpled smile as I passed. But somehow he was already in the parking lot when I slipped out fifteen minutes ago. I found him leaning against my car, his arms folded as he looked around, an easy expression on his face.
Like he had not a care in the world.
That look is still on his face, now that he’s somehow out-stubborned me. Not only is he coming along but we’ve also ended up in his car. I don’t even know how it happened. One minute I was arguing with him; the next minute I was in his passenger seat.
Unfortunately, he made infuriatingly reasonable points, and he stuck to them until I knew I was wasting time. So now I fasten my seatbelt with more force than necessary, glaring out the windshield.
“Be honest,” he says, his voice full of laughter from next to me. “Are you throwing a temper tantrum right now? Is that what’s happening here?”
“Of course I’m not,” I snap, rolling my eyes. “Being annoyed is different from throwing a tantrum. You’re barging into my private life. It’s reasonable to be irritated.”
He hums with amusement and starts the car. “Tell me where we’re going, please. Otherwise we’ll just drive around together until you jump out of the moving car to get away from me.”
I grudgingly give him the address, which he enters into his phone.
“I don’t even know if he still lives there,” I add. “But he’s not answering my texts or calls.”
“And how long ago did you date this guy? Was he always a coward, or did that come later?”
“He could be in a coma,” I say, throwing out the same words Juliet tried to sell me on—words I absolutely don’t believe. “Or dead. Let’s reserve judgment.” Then, after a beat of silence, I say, “I liked him a lot. We just weren’t a good fit in the end.”
I’m surprised when Roman doesn’t respond, but I prefer it this way. I haven’t seen Tyler in years, and I haven’t checked on him, either. For all I know, he lives overseas or on the moon. It seems like he’s changed a lot, too, judging by the way he defaulted and didn’t tell me about it himself. I guess there was always a bit of the easy way out to him—he was a hard worker when he had to be, but it wasn’t his preference.
The only explanation I can picture for this situation is that he got backed into a corner, some sort of desperation. Gambling, maybe, because he liked to dabble in online poker, which I hated. And my guess is that he would have gotten around to telling me—eventually.
But it wasn’t soon enough.
It only takes a few minutes for us to reach Tyler’s house—or where he used to live, anyway. There are several cars in the driveway, including one I recognize as his, and a wave of relief sweeps through me even as confusion does the same.
Who are the other people here? And why does this place look so rundown when it used to be so neat? The siding is torn in places, the mailbox leans dangerously to one side, and the hedge growth is out of control. It’s not something I would judge someone on, but it is unlike Tyler.
And for the first time, although I’ll never admit it, I’m a little bit glad I have Roman with me. Everything should be fine, but I’m walking into an unknown, and I’m not naive enough to ignore the potential dangers.
Roman isn’t either, apparently, because when we park in front of the house, he peers up at it with an uncharacteristically serious expression, his eyes narrowed slightly. As he looks backto me, though, his features ease. “Ready?” he says. “Power suit on? Big girl britches pulled all the way up?”
“Don’t patronize me,” I say, “and don’t ever mention mybritchesagain.”
His lips tug into a boyish grin that removes all traces of seriousness. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
I snort at this and then unbuckle, climbing out of the car.
Although Roman was joking, I actually am wearing my power suit. It’s slim and black, a fitted blazer and a pencil skirt, and my favorite black heels lift me four inches off the cracked pavement. My hair is sleeked into a ponytail, but now I pull the hair tie out, letting it tumble over my shoulders and down my back.
