Peyton.
My hands clenched even more tightly beneath my desk. There was a time when I thought she could be redeemed, but what she’d done at the church had been the ultimate betrayal. My wedding day humiliation was glaringly public; in full view of the whole world, simultaneously. And it was thewayshe did it, too. Walking the entire length of the aisle, only to flee so dramatically at the very last moment. Embarrassment for the sake of embarrassment, at the highest levels.
I was crazy to think there could ever have been an “us.”
Spinning the story in my favor should’ve been easy, under normal circumstances. A nervous bride, harboring deep anxiety. A silently supported mental illness, that I’d been so graciously patient about. I could report on how much I’d loved and comforted her, but the stress had simply been too much. And now Peyton was spending some time away, at one of the best retreats in the world. Healing. Getting better.
Shit, the explanation practically wrote itself.
No, wedding day jitters could be easily explained. What couldn’t be explained were the spinning tires of a bright red motorcycle, roaring past us as it rained gravel into my mother’s hair. High-definition footage of this spectacle had aired on every news channel, for a week straight. Memes were birthed overnight. Bad ones, featuring a shocked, stupid look on my face.
Right now, I was the laughing stock of social media.
All media, really.
Ungrateful bitch.
I’d been so distracted in the weeks leading up to my wedding I’d missed all the warning signs. And I’d been too nice, too generous. I’d allowed my beautiful fiancée to do anything she wanted, whenever she wanted. There was never a leash. I’d given her far too much in the way of control.
That, I vowed immediately, was a mistake that wouldneverhappen again.
“Mr. Prescott?”
The tightness in Elaine’s voice dragged me back to the present. I was staring downward, into my two clenched hands. Rivulets of blood ran down my fingers, where the nails had dug in. I hadn’t done that since childhood.
“There are a few things I can try from here,” Elaine said, attempting to save her own life by not sounding the slightest bit placating. “But whoever did this was good.”
Better than you,I thought bitterly.
“I mean not just good,reallygood. Seriously talented.”
“I know he’s good,” I growled. “I hired him.”
“Of course, sir.”
She was still typing, still clicking away. Her sharp brown eyes shifted left and right so fast I couldn’t keep up with them.
Sighing, I forced my hands to unclench themselves. The blood that dripped from my fingertips hit the floor in an oddly symmetrical pattern.
“What do you need from me, Dr. Romero?”
“Grant me a few hours,” she replied. “I’ll report back when I know something more.”
“Fine. Don’t keep me waiting.”
The connection closed, and I slid the piece of electrical tape back over the eye of my monitor’s built-in camera. No use in taking chances. I’d already taken enough.
“It’s Theo,” I sighed, turning around.
Roman’s clean-shaven face remained unchanged, his expression as impassive as when I’d asked him to step up and take Colson’s place in the chain of command. He hadn’t wavered then, for even a second. He didn’t waver now.
“He has the data?”
I fought my lip from curling back in disgust. “It’s likely, yes.”
“He’ll be making a copy, then.”
“Maybe,” I allowed. “But so far, he hasn’t yet. The digital flags that would’ve marked such an event weren’t returned in the data packet.”
