“Why the bloody hell would you want to be in this dark, cramped little office when you have the dream office upstairs?” As I speak, realization dawns on me, and I feel my eyes widen. “Hang on… you knew he quit?”
They exchange glances, a silent conversation passing between them that makes me want to groan in frustration.
Ugh, I hate that.
It’s like they have their own secret language.
“What do you know that I don’t?” I demand, narrowing my eyes at each of them in turn.
Misha’s the one to break first, his shoulders sagging as he admits, “We found out when we were in London. We dug deeper when we heard Morgan had to fish sit because Willow just up and left.”
I feel a pang of guilt. Why hadn’t I realized that there might be a deeper reason behind Willow’s sudden departure?
I had dismissed it as the whim of a preteen, but now…
“Do you knowwhyhe quit?”
Grey leans forward, his expression serious, all traces of humor gone from his face. “We think Hendricks was the one who stole your work and your laptop. And he skipped town with it.”
What?
“No way,” I say, shaking my head vehemently, feeling my hair whip against my cheeks. “Hendricks would never do that. He was my… friend. Or at least the closest I ever had to a friend before you lot.”
Oliver rubs his forehead, a gesture I’ve come to recognize as a sign of his discomfort. “We know it’s hard to believe, but everything points to him.”
“Do you have evidence?”
Suspicions aren’t enough.
“Not directly,” Oliver admits. “But he was there when you woke up.”
“So were you,” I point out, immediately regretting my words as I see a flicker of hurt cross Oliver’s face. I quickly add, “And now I know it wasn’t you. So maybe he was just there because he came home and saw me, like he told you.”
“Maybe,” Misha relents, but I can see that all of them have their minds set on this.
Hendricks is the primary suspect, and I’m not sure how to process that.
I look at each of them in turn, taking in their concerned expressions.
Hendricks stealing my work?
It doesn’t make sense yet… could it be true?
The thought makes my stomach churn.
Misha notices my discomfort and hands me a Twizzlers from his own bag, snapping me out of my spiraling thoughts. “Here, Bug. Take a break and eat something. You look like you need it.”
“Thanks,” I say softly, biting into the candy and letting the sweetness flood my mouth.
“We’re still trying to find more evidence as well as Hendricks’ location to visit and ask him about it ourselves,” Misha continues. “But the whole thing proves to be more difficult than we thought. At least now that we’re back, we can concentrate solely on getting you your work back.”
“You don’t have to,” I say, feeling guilt creep up my spine like an icy finger. “You have so much to do with perfecting and launching Jamie and?—”
“Princess?” Grey interrupts, reaching out to nudge my chin up with his knuckle, forcing me to meet his intense gaze. “Shut up.” He leans in and kisses me, letting me taste the salt and vinegar of the chips on his lips. It’s a brief kiss, but it’s enough to silence my protests and doubts, at least for the moment.
I do as I’m told, munching on my Twizzlers as I lean back in my chair. No matter what happens, I have a support system I can rely on. And that, I think to myself, makes all the damn difference in the world.
“Goddamn.”
