Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Ironic, wasn’t it?
I hadn’t actually needed therapy before going to the psych ward. But afterward, I was probably going to need boatloads of it.
“Well, we can put that behind us now. It is time to get back to work. People have been understanding of your bug, but I think getting a little weirded out that their steadfast leader hasn’t dragged her ass into the office in days.”
“That makes sense,” I agreed. I never took days off. I gave the entire office off the day before Thanksgiving every year, but stayed at the office and worked it myself.
Along with Christmas Eve, New Year’s Eve, my birthday, and every other day I gave my employees some time to themselves and their families.
The one perk, it seemed, to not having family of my own, was being able to work those holidays without feeling like I was missing out.
“Okay,” Cam said when we were settled in the back of my town car, pulling away from the curb. “Can we talk about how hot Brock is?” he asked.
“You are a happily committed man,” I reminded him.
“Committed, not dead,” he shot back, fanning himself with his notebook. “I about fainted when I saw him. Well, not really. I was too frantic about you, but once we got a plan into place, there was swooning. That bone structure. Those dark eyes. And if anyone I’ve ever met had big-dick energy, it’s him. I bet he would give you a good tour of the sheets. A much-needed tour, I might add,” he said, giving me a knowing look.
Because when someone knew you well enough to buy your tampons on time each month, he damn sure knew when you were—or weren’t—getting laid.
“He’s working with me, Cam,” I reminded him.
“Oh, he is contract work. It’s not exactly an abuse of power. It’s a gray area.”
“I won’t be banging the hot private investigator,” I told him as the car pulled up beside our building.
“But you admit he’s hot,” Cam insisted, following me out of the car.
Oh, he was hot alright.
And while I would never speak this part out loud, it was going to be harder than I liked to admit to keep my hands to myself.
And keeping my hands to myself was non-freaking-negotiable.
CHAPTER SIX
Brock
“None of this shit makes sense,” I told Sawyer over the phone as I scanned the aisles at the bodega a couple corners away from Miranda’s apartment.
“How did no one see anything?” Sawyer asked.
“How did you question them?” Tig asked as Sawyer put me on speaker.
“I didn’t try to fuck information out of them, if that’s what you’re asking,” I said, rolling my eyes, but shooting a guilty look at a group of teens playing hooky and laughing at what I’d said. “I just casually brought up ‘all that hubbub Friday night’ kind of thing.”
“And no one remembers an ambulance or cop cars?”
“No,” I said, settling on a protein bar, then making my way over toward the coffee station.
“Yeah, that makes no sense. She was taken by ambulance to the hospital, right?”
“That’s the billion-dollar question right now, isn’t it?” I asked, pouring some caramel syrup into my cup to cut the bitter, stale scent—and therefore taste—of the coffee.
I instantly missed the fancy-ass machine at Miranda’s apartment, and the perfect coffee it produced. But I didn’t want to be around the place too much in one day, raising brows. I’d already brought enough attention on myself for one day.
And it wasn’t easy to avoid the eagle eyes of the doorman around that place, men who were clearly paid well and had if not affection, then respect, for the tenants of the building.
I needed Miranda to make up some sort of story about my presence. A boyfriend, maybe.
Though, yeah, that felt a little bit like playing with fire.
I had to keep my fucking head in the game.
Not imagining the client naked in the shower.
Or with her skirt hiked up in the kitchen after work, taking it from behind to help her unwind from a long day.
“Fuck,” I hissed.
“What?” Sawyer asked, snapping me back to the moment.
“Coffee’s hot,” I said, shaking my head at myself.
“So what now?” Tig asked.
“I’m off to see a friend about a connection to the cops. Then I am back at the apartment to oversee the new security system.”
“Keep us updated,” Sawyer said.
“Will do.”
“Oh, and Brock?” Sawyer called before I could hang up.
“Yeah?”
“Don’t fuck the client.”
The line went dead after that.
A part of me wanted to be offended. But the other part of me knew that I had a pretty awful track record. Not with active clients, of course. I went ahead and waited until we closed the case before I gave into their advances.
What can I say?
A single gentleman liked to be accommodating to the ladies.
And as tempting as all of those women had been, none of them came close to Miranda Coulter’s sexy ass.