Mondays

The Wait, Book 2

by Harper Bentley

Check out other titles by Harper Bentley:

The Powers That Be series:

Gable (The Powers That Be Book 1)

Zeke (The Powers That Be Book 2)

Loch (The Powers That Be Book 3)

Ryker (The Powers That Be Book 4)

Drake (The Powers That Be Book 5)

CEP series:

Being Chased (CEP #1)

Unbreakable Hearts (CEP #2)

Under the Gun (CEP #3)

The High Rise series

The Fighter

Serenity Point series:

Bigger Than the Sky (Serenity Point Book 1)

Always and Forever (Serenity Point Book 2)

True Love series:

Discovering Us (True Love #1)

Finding Us (True Love #2)

Finally Us (True Love Book 3)

True Love: The Trilogy: The Complete Boxed Set

The Wait series:

Thursdays (The Wait Book 1)

http://harperbentleywrites.com/

Copyright © 2017 Harper Bentley

Digital Edition: July 2017

Editors: Franca, Mel & Sam

Cover image licensed by Shutterstock

Cover Photo design by Jada D’Lee Designs

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior express, written consent of the author

Dedication

To Mom

Tu me manques

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1—Birdie

Chapter 2—Beck

Chapter 3—Birdie

Chapter 4—Beck

Chapter 5—Birdie

Chapter 6—Beck

Chapter 7—Birdie

Chapter 8—Beck

Chapter 9—Birdie

Chapter 10—Beck

Chapter 11—Birdie

Chapter 12—Beck

Chapter 13—Birdie

Chapter 14—Beck

Chapter 15—Birdie

Chapter 16—Beck

Chapter 17—Birdie

Chapter 18—Beck

Chapter 19—Birdie

Chapter 20—Beck

Chapter 21—Birdie

Chapter 22—Beck

Chapter 23—Birdie

Chapter 24—Beck

Chapter 25—Birdie

Chapter 26—Beck

Chapter 27—Birdie

Chapter 28—Beck

Acknowledgments

About the Author--Sneak Peeks

Prologue

I once read that you don’t fall in love with a person; you fall in love with how they make you feel when you’re with them.

And I think I agree with that.

See, I’d once felt amazing when I was with my husband Mason and I’d been deeply in love with him.

Then I didn’t and I wasn’t.

Then there was Beck. He’d made me feel safe, assured me that we’d make it through everything together no matter what.

He’d given me hope, made me feel as if I was it for him, and I’d fallen in love.

And then he’d changed his mind.

Two years later, I was still waiting for the bad feelings to overtake the good ones so I’ll stop being in love with him.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Annnnd still waiting.

I’m really not a whiner, but right now, the way I see it, life sucks. Men suck. Love sucks.

…

…

…

Okay, I’m a whiner.

Whatever.

I love my wife.

I do.

But after everything that’s happened, I knew I wasn’t in love with her. I’d tried, but if it’s not there, it’s just not there.

I’d stayed because I thought we could make it work and it’d also been the right thing to do. She’d been sick and she’d needed me. And I did make a promise to love, cherish, and honor her through sickness and in health, so there was that.

But it was getting harder and harder every day to stick to those vows after all she’d done, all she’d said to me, the drugs, the hateful words, the cheating.

It was a lot to take in; a lot to let go of.

Jesus. This all makes me sound like a dick, but I’m honestly not a bad person.

Even though I was in love with another woman.

Fuck.

I take it back.

I am a bad person.

Chapter 1—Birdie

You don’t get to choose who you love.

And that sucks.

Sucks, and any variation of it, had become my new favorite word. My best friend Jaden hated it. She said it made me sound crass. I asked her who the hell I was trying to impress by being un-crass. She just rolled her eyes.

I told her if she’d gone through everything I had, she’d like the word too.

Because losing my husband of not even two years to an inoperable brain tumor sucked.

Being a widow at age twenty-four sucked.

Having my husband cheat months before his death and getting the woman pregnant sucked a lot too.

And, sadly, the woman losing the baby a week after Mason’s death, and the pain in knowing that every part of him was now truly gone really sucked.

 What sucked even more is I’d understood why he’d felt the need to “live it up” in his last months by doing those things.

And wasn’t I the altruistic one? Go me!

Anyway, that all just—you guessed it—sucked.

But I digress. Back to love and choosing.

I’d loved Mason Chapman from the first time I saw him our sophomore year of high school. I didn’t consciously choose to love him. I just did. I’d married him and dreamed of starting a family with him.

And then he was gone.

I also didn’t choose to fall in love with Beck Griffin. But my falling hadn’t been the same as with Mason. It had actually been quite unexpected. I’m sure my circumstances, as well as his, pushed us toward each other, seeing how we’d met when his wife was awaiting a heart transplant, he’d found out she was a drug addict and also that she’d cheated on him to get the drugs. Add everything together, and you’ve got two traumatized people looking for answers.

Then he, too, was gone.

After Beck left me, I had so many questions, wondering what had gone wrong. I know Jaden was as sick of my asking, “Why did he come into my life only to leave?” or “Do you think Beck still loves me?” and “Do you think he realized he loves his wife instead of me?” as much as I was. I’d asked the same damned questions ad nauseam the entire first year after Mason’s death—which, I think it helped me avoid dealing with, well, Mason’s death, and made me love my best friend even more for her patience with me. Of course, she’d had no better answer than I did, which was always, “Who the fuck knows?”

With all that being said, you know, the questions, the hurt feelings, the wondering, here comes the ridiculous part: I hadn’t heard from Beck in two years yet I still yearned for him.

 And the fact that I was still stuck in some weird suspended animation of still loving him…sucked.

Chapter 2—Beck

I was stuck.

And I’d been stuck for two years.

Funny how time flies when you’re having fun. That was me being facetious, if there was any fucking question about it.

I could admit I was bitter, because I’d had to put some things on the back burner since there’d been more pressing matters to attend to, namely, my wife’s health. Not that I begrudged her that. Jesus, no. I wanted her to live a fulfilling life, no question about it. It’s just that when your foundation is so completely shaken by confessions of drug use and infidelity by the person your entire world revolves around, well, it’s pretty tough to make a comeback.

The last two years of my life had consisted of taking Sonya to different appointments, mostly outpatient transplant centers the first year after her heart transplant where electrocardiograms, echocardiograms and heart biopsies were performed. Over the course of the last twenty-five months, I—along with Sonya’s Aunt Gina—had kept a watchful eye on Sonya’s dosages of a cocktail of immunosuppressants, corticosteroids, anti-hypertensives, and diuretics, as well as monitoring her diet and making sure she was getting regular exercise.

I didn’t regret my choice to stay. Sonya needed me, I was her husband, and it only made sense that I be there for her.

What I did regret was the way I’d left things with Birdie.

When shit had been falling apart for me, I’d heard Bernadette Chapman crying in a stairwell at the hospital and had comforted her, but I think I’d benefitted more from it. We’d surprisingly met again at a grief counseling session where we’d become friends, leaning on each other for support, which had eventually ended up with our falling in love.

I’d told her I wasn’t going anywhere, that I was in it for the long haul. Then fucking reality had set in and I knew I couldn’t leave Sonya, not when she needed me. I knew if I’d walked out on her, I couldn’t have looked myself in the mirror because I was a man of integrity and couldn’t put my own wants before everything else. I couldn’t have lived with that.

I’d always intended on talking with Birdie to explain that but never got the chance. The last time I’d seen her, she’d run, and I’d told myself it was all for the better.

But two years later, I was stuck. Stuck knowing that I still loved Birdie. Stuck, as I lay awake at night, the pain of wanting someone I knew I could never fucking have consuming me. Stuck still trying to convince myself that I’d done the right thing, but telling myself that she’d somehow benefited from what I considered an honorable, selfless act on my part.

Then a month after the transplant, my suspicions had been confirmed when I found out that Birdie had donated her husband’s heart to save Sonya, a heart that was now beating strongly in my wife’s chest.

And I knew that Birdie, not I, was the honorable one, the selfless one. And she’d done it because she’d loved me.

Chapter 3—Birdie

God, I hated Mondays.

I’d always felt that they were nothing but the pitiful pariah of the week. I mean, the weekend could be the most amazing, fantastic time ever, then stupid Monday came trudging along and shot that all to shit, like the black sheep bastard it was.

Not that I’d had any great weekends in a while, but whatever. I still thought Mondays should be outlawed.

So, yep, it was a Monday morning and I sat at my desk letting out a determined breath, eyes glued to my computer as I examined page after page of a local financial service firm’s ledger, looking for any suspicious financial discrepancies which could be telltale signs of possible embezzlement.   

I’d been a CPA for going on three years when I’d taken and passed the Certified Fraud Examiner test last year, making my official job title Forensic Accountant. I really liked what I was doing now, finding potentially illegal goings-on within a company’s accounts, which was like figuring out a puzzle within a puzzle within a puzzle, and there could be a villain at the end to boot! Oh, and I got to travel too! Whee!

Look. Accounting’s not too thrilling an enterprise, so anything that kept my mind occupied and also presented a mystery made me extremely grateful, because having no space left in my head to think about anything other than whether a number or two had been transposed was fabulous. And since Just Don’t Think about It had become my new catchphrase, well, for what it was worth, it seemed to be working. 

When my phone dinged I took a break seeing as I hadn’t taken my eyes from the account I’d been scanning for going on thirty minutes.

Text Message—Mon, Jan 2, 8:27 a.m.

Jaden: You recovered yet? Me? Hell no. I just mixed a red plaid wallpaper with a pastel floral design in a mockup and thought they kinda looked pretty together o_O

I snorted. My best friend Jaden was a highly sought-out interior designer whose business had flourished so well that she was having to put customers on a twelve-month waiting list. And they were waiting, she was that good! I was so proud of her!

Saturday night, she and her husband Evan had hosted a New Year’s Eve party and, boy, had the alcohol flowed. Since I was only an occasional drinker, I hadn’t over imbibed and wasn’t feeling the effects two days later like she was. But they’d also been celebrating Evan’s landing a big account at the law firm where he worked, so they’d partied pretty damned hard.

 Text Message—Mon, Jan 2, 8:28 a.m.

Me: Oh no! I’ll bet Martha Stewart just experienced a full-body shudder! :P 

Text Message—Mon, Jan 2, 8:28 a.m.

Jaden: Funny

Me: That’s me. The funny one.

Jaden: So?

Me: So what?

Jaden: Have you heard from Evan’s friend yet?

Evan had invited Andy, one of his coworkers, to their party because he thought I’d like him. I was on an indeterminate furlough from dating/men/dudes/love/all that other shit for cripes’ sake and they both knew it! I mean, I’d played the game and lost, twice in less than two years, which was eight percent of my fricking life, so no more for me, thank you very much. But being the gracious friend I was—and after giving them both the evil eye—I went along with their stupid attempt of setting me up and gave Andy my undivided attention. He was okay looking, but when we started talking, and I told him about Jaden and I having gone the weekend before to a new club that had just opened, his true colors had shown. First of all, he’d looked shocked that we’d gone together without Evan, as if we were helpless without a man being there. Then he’d stated that if I were his woman—his exact words—he would’ve shown up to keep an eye on me to make sure I was “safe.” I’d laughed right in his face because I knew an insecure, controlling asshole when I saw one. When I called him on it, he’d banged a fist against his chest and replied, “I’m all alpha, baby,” which had made me cackle even harder at his misrepresentation of that fine breed of men. What an idiot. Narcissistic prick.

Text Message—Mon, Jan 2, 8:30 a.m.

Me: Oh, hell no. When he began mansplaining how I should be doing my job then told me that you and I shouldn’t be friends because you were a bad influence, I tuned him out

Jaden: He did not!

Me: Yep. Then he asked if I was submissive in bed ugh

Jaden: Good God

Me: When I mentioned I could be the aggressor at times, he shook his head and said that we’d kill each other if we were together. Then he told me he wasn’t emotionally available to be in a relationship right now before turning away and hitting on some quiet, mousy chick who gazed at him like he was some kind of god *eye roll*

Jaden: WTF What a jerk! And I’m SO not a bad influence!

Me: Well, there was that one time…

Jaden: Shut it!

Me: hahahaha

Jaden: Damn. Sorry, B

Me: Uh, tell Evan to PLEASE not set me up again, savvy?

Jaden: LOL Savvy. Lunch today? 1’ish?

Me: Can’t. I’m meeting with a CFO. There may be scandal afoot!

Jaden: You love this forensic shit, huh?

Me: I do! This time I wanna see some thieving bastard handcuffed and taken away

Jaden: Bloodthirsty much?

Me: Voracious ; )  I’ll call you tonight & let you know if I’m gonna be on the latest Cops, k? In the meantime, drink lots of Gatorade. It’ll hydrate you & make you feel better

Jaden: If I drink any more, I might turn into Usain Bolt

Me: I don’t even have a snappy reply to that, dammit

Jaden: You’re losing your touch, B

Me: My job is…Jamaican me…dull

Jaden: There’s my girl. I knew you had it in you

Me: I be jammin’ now

Jaden: Stop while you’re ahead. Love you. Talk later <3

Me: Love you too <3

Chapter 4—Beck

As an industrial engineer for a pharmaceutical company, I found my job challenging at times, so weekends were a great respite away from all the shit work I found myself doing on occasion. Therefore, Mondays used to be my worst days. Going back to work after two days of fun and relaxation made them pretty shitty. Now? I loved them because being back in the office after having been home all weekend was a goddamned lifesaver.

I know. I sound like an asshole. But hear me out.

I’ll first say that my wife wasn’t nearly the trooper I thought she’d be after her transplant.

Hang on and I’ll fucking explain.

Granted, she’d had a new heart put into her body, and I didn’t have any issues with administering her meds or going for walks almost daily with her in Central Park. Eating more healthily was good for both of us, and doing all the housework and running all the errands was a piece of cake. Obviously, these weren’t the problems.

No, my grievance was that in the last year she’d complained nonstop. I get it. I honestly get it. She’d had major surgery, and she damned well deserved to gripe afterward. But that’s not what I’m talking about. What I’m saying is, it seemed as if I couldn’t do anything right. When I did laundry, I folded everything wrong. When I made dinner, I didn’t steam the asparagus correctly. When I started the shower for her, it was either too hot or too cold. If I encouraged her and told her I was proud of her, she’d tell me I wasn’t. When I suggested we go see a movie or a play, then I was an idiot for thinking she’d want to go out. When I asked if she was bored and might’ve wanted to go back to work, she’d told me that was a “stupid fucking idea.”

Then because of the corticosteroids she’d taken early on, she’d gained a lot of weight which had always been a huge issue for her, but no matter how many times I told her I loved her and that she was beautiful, she’d tell me I was lying. If I brought her flowers, they weren’t the kind she liked. If I wanted to talk, she was busy watching one of her TV shows. Or if I wanted to take her out for dinner, it was another ridiculous idea because she had nothing to wear, and on and on and on.

That’s why Mondays had become a godsend.

If she’d only been discouraged/annoyed/upset about having surgery and recovering, I could’ve taken it. But the thing was, everything felt like a personal attack. Yeah, yeah. I’m a pussy. But, believe me, that shit gets old very fast.

I knew she was still harboring anger about Birdie, and who could blame her, because I, too, had remained angry at learning of the things Sonya had done. At the advice of my dad, I didn’t pry to get her to talk about all the bad shit so it just hung around; therefore, our relationship continued to suffer. 

In the beginning, when she’d come home three weeks after surgery, she’d seemed more willing to make us work, and the next month we’d started going to a marriage counselor. At that time, I’d been determined for things to get better, Sonya not so much, but I understood. I mean, fuck, when she’d needed me the most, I’d pretty much cheated on her, even though Birdie and I never slept together. But emotionally cheating was just as bad as physically cheating—Sonya and the counselor both let me know—which I already fucking knew.

After I’d acknowledged my mistake, the sessions had gone surprisingly well until the numerous, nameless men Sonya had fucked for drugs was brought up, and we’d hit another wall. Then the fact that we hadn’t had sex in eight months—and still counting—even after the doctor cleared her six weeks after surgery, also added to shit. Don’t think I didn’t try. I didn’t pressure her or anything, but she didn’t even want my mouth anywhere on her. When I’d go to kiss her goodbye in the mornings or hello in the evenings, she’d turn her face so that I only got her cheek. Every single goddamned time.

At the advice of our counselor, we’d tried communicating our feelings better and giving each other light touches to maybe get the spark going again—which went on for about a week—before Sonya had said it was dumb and we’d stopped. After that, she’d grudgingly continued going to counseling with me for six more months until telling me she’d had enough.

That was also the same night she’d announced that she didn’t love me anymore and that we never should’ve gotten married.

That had stung, but instead of admitting defeat, again, at the advice of my father—who’d meant well because he and my mom had a great marriage but Mom also wasn’t a drug addict—I’d sucked it up and forged ahead thinking she’d just been blowing off steam.

And now, as I’ve said, I was stuck and really didn’t know what else to do.

So there I sat in my office that Monday morning, my emotions at war with thinking I was happy to be back at work, but also aggravated that Sonya hadn’t said one fucking word to me the entire weekend. Her aunt and uncle had come to visit for New Year’s, and although they’d kept me involved in the conversation, Sonya hadn’t deigned to even acknowledge my presence. Nor had she kissed me back at midnight, which had pissed me off.

My hand rested on my phone as I contemplated calling her, making her have to talk to me. Dick move, yeah, but I’d had it.

“Fuck it,” I muttered, picking up the phone and dialing her cell.

“Hey,” she answered halfheartedly.

“Hey. I was just checking to see if Gina and Roger got off okay?”

“Yes. They left about thirty minutes ago.” I heard her sigh as if she were already bored with our conversation.

“Look, Sonya. I don’t know what else to do—”

Another sigh.

I rubbed my eyes with my thumb and finger. “Sonya, what do you want?”

A third sigh. “I don’t want anything, Beck.” She paused before continuing. “No, I take that back. I—I want to be…free.”

Clenching my teeth, I asked, “And what does ‘free’ mean?”

Another fucking sigh. “I’ve told you.”

“Told me what?”

“I—I want my life back.”

She made it sound as if I’d imprisoned her. Jesus.

“And what does that mean to you?” I ground out wondering if she meant she wanted to go back to the drugs and partying and getting so fucked up she didn’t know how many guys she was screwing to get the shit.

I heard her start to softly cry. “I’m sorry, Beck.”

“About?”

“I—I’m just sorry.”

“I don’t know what you’re sorry for, Sonya.”

I heard her mutter out a “God!” and knew she was getting agitated. But I was going to make her say what she had to say and no more skirting the fucking issue here.

“It’s just that you watch over me like you’re my dad or something,” she began.

“I’m sorry I care,” I contended blandly.

“I know, and I appreciate all you’ve done for me. It’s just that…”

When she didn’t continue, I pressed, “It’s just that what?”

“I want to go out with my friends again, shopping or to the club to go dancing. I miss—”

“The drugs?” I interjected.

She let out an exasperated breath before hissing, “That’s the fucking bullshit that I fucking hate! You’re so fucking judgmental. You act like I’m the only one who fucked up. But guess what, asshole? You fucked up just as bad!”

Ah. There was the Sonya I’d met when I’d first found out about her addiction.

I took a deep breath and let it out before responding, trying to keep my cool. “I know I did. I fucked up badly. I’ve told you that. And I’ve never judged you.”

A cynical laugh burst from her through the line. “Uh huh.”

“Maybe we can go away somewhere. Take a vaca—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” she screamed. “Can’t you get it through your thick skull? We’re no good together! We haven’t been for a long time! And I…” She got quiet and I heard her sniff several times. “I’m sorry, Beck but I don’t love you anymore. To be honest, I haven’t loved you since before I went to rehab.”

Christ.

Even after all the bullshit, I’d thought she’d come around, thought we might’ve been able to make things work. Guess that wasn’t going to happen.

I sat back in my chair and stared up at the ceiling.

“Beck? I—I met someone.”

What the fuck? How in the hell could she meet someone when she spent all day at home?

“You met someone?” was my disbelieving reply.

“Yes.”

“Who the fuck is it, Sonya?”

“We’ll talk when you get home,” she answered, her voice cracking.

I listened as she cried, heard her sniffling and gaspy breaths before stabbing a hand into my hair and shouting, “Fuck!”

From the corner of my eye, I saw several coworkers walking past my all-glass-front office hesitate for a moment before moving on. Others, I knew, were staring from their cubicles. When Dana, my secretary, got up to pull my door closed—made of fucking glass, of course—with a sympathetic look on her face, it was all I could do to keep from throwing my phone at it as it shut.

“Beck…I-I’m sorry,” Sonya whispered between sobs.

“Yeah. We’ll talk tonight. Gotta go,” I replied and hung up.

Chapter 5—Birdie

I gobbled down a chicken salad sandwich in the back of a cab on my way to Fleishman Pharmaceuticals where I was meeting with Joel Gaines, the CFO. He’d called my boss three weeks before, requesting our help, informing him that their in-house accountant had found some troubling inconsistencies in their ledgers. I’d booked the rest of this week with them to see if I could find the error, and if more time was needed, I’d arrange it, but it would cost them dearly since it would require me to reschedule a job I had in Chicago the following week and possibly the next week’s job in Boston.

The cab dropped me outside the midtown Manhattan high rise and I took the elevator to the seventh floor where at the front desk I told the secretary who I was. She took my coat then immediately called Mr. Gaines to let him know I was there. A moment later, a handsome dark-haired man in his mid-thirties wearing an Armani suit—I knew this because Evan had one just like it—appeared and held his hand out for me to shake.

“Hello, Mrs. Chapman. I’m Joel Gaines. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he imparted with a very nice and very sexy voice. 

“Ms.,” I corrected, still finding it strange that Mason was gone and I was no longer married. I shook his hand and offered, “You can call me Birdie.” When the questioning look most people got at hearing my strange nickname appeared on his face, I clarified with a smile, “It’s short for Bernadette.”

“Ah. Well, Birdie, I don’t have a cool nickname. I’m just Joel,” he said with a wink then added, “If you’ll follow me?”

I passed several offices that had a front wall of full glass on the way to his corner office where he held his hand out—on which I noted a wedding ring, boo—for me to go inside first.

“Would you like some coffee? Or a soda?” he asked.

“Not at the moment, but thank you,” I answered.

“Just let my secretary, Sandra, know if you do.” He winked again as he picked up the receiver of his phone and pushed a button. “Sandra, please let Linda know that Ms. Chapman is here.” He hung up then updated me on the situation. “This is my first year here, and I guess I’ve walked in on quite the, pardon my language, shitstorm. Linda Reasor is our in-house accountant who found the inconsistencies, so she’ll walk you through what she found and then you can take a look at the books.” Just then Linda walked in. “Linda, this is Birdie Chapman from McNamara.”

We exchanged pleasantries then Joel and I followed her to another glassed-in office which I saw was a boardroom where several boxes sat on a large table surrounded by about twenty chairs.

“I pulled the past five years’ worth of books for you. The company was audited the year before that, which was just before I got here, so those books should be fine, but I seem to have screwed up royally somewhere along the line,” Linda disclosed with a sigh. “I also have a laptop for you to access the records online.”

“Thank you,” I replied.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Joel said. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.” And there was the wink again before he left the room.

Linda cut her eyes at me. “He’s hot but he’s also very married.” She rolled her eyes which made me chuckle. After helping me get things sorted and showing me how to access the online records, she left so I could begin.

Two hours and one-and-a-half diet Cokes later, I stood and stretched. Walking out of the boardroom, I went to the nearest cubicle and asked a bored looking man who wore black rectangle glasses where the ladies’ room was. He pointed toward the front and I took off in that direction. When I finished, I walked out into the lobby and stood at another huge window looking down at the traffic below as I pulled my phone from my purse.

“You bagged the criminal yet?” Jaden answered.

“Getting there,” I replied then whispered, “I think it’s in payroll!”

“Oooohh! Some nerdy administrator or lowly clerk is getting ready to be bus-ted!” She giggled.

“I know! See? This really is exciting!”

“Uh, B, I was kinda kidding.”

I let out a Psh! “Come on, J. Lemme have this. You know I love this shit.”

“Yeah, but you know what would really be exciting? If you personally got to go to the guilty party, pointing and nodding at them letting them know that you know, watching them get all nervous, sweating everywhere, then take their ass to the ground. Now that would be exciting!”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m a forensic accountant not Wonder Woman.”

“It’d still be cool.”

“Uh huh. You feeling any better?” I asked.

“A little. I’m not matching plaids and florals any longer, so that’s a plus.”

I chuckled. “Good. Okay, I’ve gotta get back.” I put a hand on my lower back and stretched again.

“Call me later, ‘kay?”

“Will do. See ya.”

I hung up and slid my phone back inside my purse, and turning to go back to the boardroom, I got the fricking shock of a lifetime. My keen accounting observation skills emerged as I took in a tall, dark-haired man whose Hollywood square jaw gave him a bad boy edge, wearing a white button-up—rolled up sleeves displaying strong forearms—navy tie loosened, and black slacks with a black belt and silver buckle, staring at me with the bluest eyes I’d ever seen.   

I sucked in a breath just before he spoke.

“Birdie?” Beck asked.

Chapter 6—Beck

Back at work, I got off the elevator, returning from a late lunch with my old college roommate Paul, who’d had a rare day off as he was now doing his residency at New York-Presbyterian. I’d been thrilled when he and his wife Taylor had moved to NYC from Pennsylvania last June after he’d graduated med school. We now tried getting together when we could, which wasn’t often due to his busy schedule, but today just happened to be one of the few times he had a break.

I’d told him about my phone call this morning with Sonya and he’d shaken his head, pissed that after everything we’d gone through, she’d met someone else and was willing to call it quits with me.

“I’m so fucking sorry, man,” he’d told me. “You gave it everything you had. I mean,” he’d shrugged, “not much else you can do.”

I admitted to him that I wasn’t really shocked or surprised because everything had seemed to be building in that direction anyway. I was upset, of course. I loved Sonya and hated that things had come to this, but I was at a loss when it came to patching shit up. The past two years, it seemed that the harder I’d fought for us to work, the more she’d pushed me away. Now I realized that maybe she’d done so because she’d been in love with another man all along.

Christ.

The elevator stopped at the seventh floor, and I blew out a breath before the doors opened, trying to get back into work mode, telling myself I’d think about everything on my cab ride home then Sonya and I would talk when I arrived.

But when I stepped out of the elevator, my world turned upside down.

I’d always imagined what it would be like if I ever saw Birdie again, because, you know, in a city of eight and a half million people it was bound to happen. Yeah, that’d be me being a sarcastic prick again. Anyway, the ridiculous, romantic side of myself saw me going to her, taking her in my arms and bending her back to give her one of those great big Hollywood movie kisses, one like the sailor-nurse picture in Life Magazine. However, I was a pragmatist not a romantic, and the idea of my actually really doing that always made me chuckle.

But I’ll be damned if right then it wasn’t all I wanted to do—take her in my arms and kiss the hell out of her.

I stood frozen at the sight of her, heart pounding in my chest, God, she was so fucking beautiful, and from her expression I saw that she was in as much shock as I was. In the few seconds before I could muster up my voice to speak, I took all of her in: long, brown hair in waves cascading down past her shoulders, a tight, black pencil skirt that hugged her hips sexily, a white blouse through which I could see she wore a white camisole underneath, and high-heeled red “fuck me” shoes that had my dick twitching and my fingers rubbing at my palms, itching to touch her, wanting to make sure she was real. 

“Birdie?” I finally uttered raggedly, swallowing roughly after.

She took in a breath, her lips parting as she started to smile, then I knew she remembered I was a bastard and I watched as she composed herself, her expression immediately going blank as if a light inside of her had been turned off.

“Beck,” she replied, going for aloof and indifferent, but I knew seeing me was taking its toll on her, if her pale face was any indication.

“Birdie, I—”

“I have to get back to work,” she interrupted, suddenly all business. Moving my way, she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, which I recognized as one of her tells that let me know she was either nervous or agitated, probably a bit of both. When she got to me, she smiled perfunctorily and stated, “It was nice seeing you again,” then just kept going.

I watched as she walked through the cubicle area and at the boardroom door, she went in. I could still see her through the windows, but she didn’t miss a beat, putting her purse under the table then sitting down and clicking at the keyboard of a laptop, going right to work as if seeing me had meant nothing.

Fuck.

I’d known a forensic accountant was coming in to check the books, but it hadn’t even crossed my mind that it’d be Birdie. Hell, I didn’t even know she did that kind of thing. I stared at her a moment more until Rance Jones, who sat at a cubicle outside my office, gave me a leer and muttered, “She’s one hot piece.” I cut my eyes at him until he became embarrassed and turned away then I trudged my way into my office, wishing once again that the door wasn’t glass with a pneumatic closer so I could slam the fucker.

The rest of my day was wrecked. All I could think about was Sonya and the talk we needed to have, and then there was Birdie and her reaction at seeing me which had really torn me up.

I hated that she hated me.

Because I still loved her.

On top of not being able to focus on work, every so often I found myself getting up from my desk to look and see if she was still in the boardroom. Then trying to make my watching her not so obvious, I moved my trashcan closer to the door so I had a reason to get up, maybe take a little lackadaisical gander in her direction unconcernedly. Soon after, there was needing a drink at the water fountain in the lobby numerous times as well as acting like I had to piss almost a half a dozen times. Jesus. Hashtag stalker, anyone?

Twice Birdie had walked by my office, I assumed on her way to—then from—the ladies’ room, and I’d actually been busy but had peered up in time to see her passing. Both times she didn’t spare me the least little glance.

A minute before five, I resolved to at least tell her goodbye, but when I pulled on my wool overcoat and walked out of my office heading toward the boardroom, I saw the company’s CFO, Joel Gaines, was inside talking to her. When they shared a laugh, I frowned. Joel was a pretty good guy as far as I could tell, but he was a bit flirty with the ladies in the office, despite his being married to Yasmine, who was a total knockout. Then again, Yasmine was quite the flirt herself, having bantered playfully with me on several occasions, which I’d taken as her just being friendly. Then it dawned on me. Fuck! Did they have an open marriage? Was Joel trying to seduce Birdie? And was she flirting right back?

At this thought, I picked up my pace to the boardroom and stepped inside ready to kick his ass. He had ten years on me and was still pretty fit, but I knew I could take him.

Putting his hand on my very tense shoulder, Joel said, “Beck! How’s everything going? Did you get the numbers on the Valdaxamil adjusted?” I turned my murderous glare—which I hadn’t realized I’d been sporting—from Birdie to Joel who was giving me his million-dollar smile. “And have you met Ms. Chapman? I was just telling her that Yasmine has the same pair of shoes.”

Well, shit. He wasn’t hitting on Birdie. He’d just been making small talk. Blood pressure back to normal, I cleared my throat and nodded, my demeanor now changing from I’ll-kill-this-motherfucker mode to composed business coolheadedness. “Hey, Joel. Yes, the report is adjusted.” I looked at Birdie. “And, yes, I’ve had the pleasure of meeting Ms. Chapman.”

She narrowed her eyes, totally onto me and what I’d had in mind when I’d entered the boardroom.

When I noticed that she had her overcoat on, purse on her arm and was ready to go, I asked, “Can I walk you out?”

Who was brandishing the murderous glare now? I snorted as I saw her grit her teeth and clip out a, “Sure.”

“See you two in the morning,” Joel said as he held the door open for us to exit.

“Good night,” “’Night,” Birdie and I answered at the same time as we left.

At the elevator, she stood stick straight facing forward, both hands in front holding her purse by the strap.

“So, how’ve you been?” I asked and got a huffed-out breath in reply. Inside the elevator, on which three other people rode, I watched as she put her purse strap on her shoulder then I leaned down but just a little because at five-foot-ten, with her heels, she was almost my height of six-four, and trying again, I said quietly, “Have you been okay?”

She slowly turned her head toward me, looking up at me as if I were the world’s biggest imbecile. “We haven’t talked in over two years.” She faced the front again and shook her head, looking annoyed as hell.

I gave it another go. “I know, but I never stopped thinking about you.”

There was a ding when we reached the lobby then the doors opened. The other occupants disembarked first before Birdie took a step forward to get out as four people were waiting to get on. When I started to follow, she suddenly turned and slapped her palm against my chest.

“You don’t get to say shit like that!” she snapped, her eyes sparking in anger as she looked up at me. “You left me!” she hissed, pointing a finger in my face with her other hand. “You walked out on me! And you lied to me!”

“Birdie, I’m sor—”

She shoved as hard as she could with her palm making me take a step back inside the elevator since I hadn’t been prepared for it, and a guy waiting to get on stepped forward putting a hand on one of the doors to keep them from shutting. Then through clenched teeth, her eyes blazing, and keeping her voice scary low, Birdie proclaimed, “You can take your ‘sorry’ and go to fucking hell.”

I watched as she turned and walked through the lobby toward the exit, her heels clicking harshly on the tile floor.

“Damn,” the guy holding the door muttered.

I turned toward him and scowled then stepping out of the elevator made my way toward the exit, mumbling to myself, “Fucking Mondays.”

Chapter 7—Birdie

“Can you fucking believe it?” I yelled into my phone from the back seat of the cab I’d caught.

“That’s crazy,” Jaden answered.

I let out a huff. “It’s been over two years since we fucking talked and he wants to know how I’ve been? Is he fucking insane?”

“That’s a lot of fucks, B. Come over before you have no more to give.” She chuckled at her dumb joke. When I didn’t answer, she offered, “Evan made chili, and you know he always makes it in that huge pot so we have leftovers for the next seven years. Come eat some and make it only six. Also, you don’t need to be alone right now because all you’ll do is stew. And I wanna stew with you. Damn. I wish he’d made stew ‘cause that would’ve been funnier.”

Despite my shitty mood I snorted. “You’re such a goof. But I don’t know, J. I’m still in my work clothes and I wanna get comfortable.”

“Like you don’t have clothes over here. Come on. You can gripe Evan out for setting you up with Cro-Magnon Man.” She giggled which made me giggle too.

“God, I love you. Shittiest day of the year so far and you have me laughing.”

“Not bad. You made it two days into the new year before it got shitty. It’s a record!”

“Things can only get better,” I mumbled.

“There’s my cup-half-full girl!” she quipped making me roll my eyes. “I’ll go find a pair of your jeans and maybe a sweater. If not, you can wear one of mine. See you in a bit!”

We hung up and I thanked God once again for my best friend. If it hadn’t been for her, the way the last two years had gone for me, I’d probably have been institutionalized by now.

“Then he claimed he never stopped thinking of me. Ugh!” I groused.

Jaden shrugged. “Maybe he didn’t.”

I cut my eyes at her from where I sat on the couch. “Uh huh.” I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I’ve forgiven him and that’s all that matters.”

She stretched in the chaise lounge, her arms extending above her head, then looked at me questioningly. “No, what matters is…do you still love him?”

I sat thinking for a moment before answering. “I don’t know him. It’s been over two years, you know? And,” I canted my head toward her raising my eyebrows to get her attention so she’d hear me, “listen to me carefully before you try to push me to do something—he’s married. I saw the ring on his finger today.”

“But that doesn’t mean he’s happily married,” she pointed out.

“Jesus H. Seriously? Why’d Evan have to go to bed? He was on my side!”

“I’m on your side! But two years is a long time. Maybe Beck’s unhappy.”

“Yeah, well, the ring on his finger says different.” I got up and took my wine glass to the kitchen.

Jaden followed me stating, “Well, I say don’t make any snap judgments.”

“Put yourself in my place. What would you do?” I asked as I rinsed out my glass.

She shrugged when I looked back at her. “If I still cared about him, I’d hear him out.”

I spun to face her, throwing my hands up. “And what good would that do? Huh? Except bring me more pain!” I was so exasperated with this whole conversation and now dropped my head into my hands as I started to cry, wishing I’d never met Beck Griffin.

“Aw, sweetie, don’t cry.” Jaden came over and took my hands from my face then wrapped her arms around me. “You’re gonna be okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

I pulled back a little and as she was almost my height, rested my forehead on her shoulder. “I’d just gotten over him, too,” I whispered through my tears.

“I know. I’ve been so proud of how brave you’ve been through everything.” She smoothed my hair down my back with her hand. “But you know I believe in signs. And out of all the places you could’ve gotten a job, it happened to be at his company! I think you have unfinished business with him.” I pulled back and looked at her. She moved her hands to hold me by my upper arms and nodded. “And if all it is, is for him to finally properly apologize to you, then there you go. I mean, it’ll give you some closure, right?”

I nodded back as she dropped her hands. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. You’re right. He probably just wants to apologize. Yeah.” I ran my fingers underneath my eyes and sniffled a few times. “Thanks, J.”

“You don’t have to thank me. You’d do the same for me.”

Of course, I would. Jaden had been through so much with me, and she knew how to make me think clearly instead of letting my emotions get the best of me. Well, she usually let me get my emotions out before talking some sense into me because she knew I’d listen better.

“God. You know me so well,” I declared.

“It’s my job as your best friend. I know to let you get it all out before guiding you in the right direction; whereas, you tell me what’s up at the beginning then let me rant and rave and stomp around throwing a tantrum until I finally realize you’re right.” She chuckled.

I let out a laugh. “Oh, no. We have each other figured out. Now it’s gonna get boring.”

“Us? Boring? Never!” she scoffed.

I hugged her goodnight and took a cab home. Back at my apartment, just before falling asleep, I assured myself everything would be okay. Beck would apologize then we’d be fine. I’d finish up my job at Fleishman and never see him again.

I slept fitfully and dreamed, for what seemed like all night, that Mason was calling my name, but as I ran through a huge maze of red rose bushes, the thorns pricking and cutting my body, I couldn’t find him.

I was crying when I awoke the next morning.

Chapter 8—Beck

By the time I got home after having watched Birdie stomp away from the elevator, my mood was most definitely in the shitter.

And now I had to talk with Sonya about the disso-fucking-lution of our marriage.

Walking into the apartment, I saw her sitting at the dining table ready to discuss things. Great. I took off my coat, hung it on the coatrack then went to sit across from her.

“Hi,” she whispered.

I stared at her.

She bit her lip. “How was work?”

I continued staring wondering how things had gotten so bad for us.

From the moment I first saw Sonya, I’d been enamored, had practically fallen in love that very moment, despite the fact that she hadn’t been anything I ever thought I wanted which had made no damned sense. But I fell hard and two months into our relationship asked her to marry me. She’d said yes and I’d been on top of the world, so fucking happy.

Our first year had been great. We’d traveled some, moved to New York City for my job then she’d graduated college and become a social worker.

Then a year and a half into our marriage, I’d seen her snorting cocaine in a bathroom at a club and after that, all kinds of secrets had come out.

I realized now I really didn’t know the woman sitting across from me.

“Um, are you hungry? I could fix you something,” she offered to my silent stare.

“I’m good,” I answered.

She let out a sigh and fidgeted with the edge of the placemat in front of her, looking down at it apparently as at a loss for words as I was.

Welcome to the Griffins’! Aren’t we just a shit ton of fun!

Then she looked up. “I want a divorce.”

She may have been the one with heart problems, but that statement coming from her mouth made me feel like it was I who did.

Fuck.

We sat in more silence, me still staring at her while she seemingly tried unraveling the goddamned placemat.

“Tell me why,” I finally managed to say.

She looked up at me with remorseful guilt. Yeah, I made that shit up but it’s what I saw in her eyes.

“I—I’m in love with someone else.”

Narrowing my eyes, I waited for more details.

“We met…we met when I was in the hospital.”

And still I waited. She was the one ending this. She needed to be the one who fucking talked.

“He works there.”

Jesus. So in between waiting for a fucking heart and trying not to fucking die, she still found time to fall in fucking love with someone else.

The irony was not wasted on me.

Fuck!

But still I waited.

“He—he came in one day when you were there.”

That got my attention. “Who?”

She now twisted her fingers nervously, and looking down at them confessed, “Grant. He was my EKG technician.”

Squinting even harder at her, I tried remembering who this Grant the EKG Technician was. There’d been so many doctors and surgeons and nurses and others who’d worked on her during her stay it was hard to keep up with them all. Then it hit me.

He’d been the guy who’d come in after I’d found Birdie in the stairwell crying and had comforted her. The guy Sonya had smiled at so sweetly which had pissed me off since she hadn’t looked at me that way in a long time. She’d primped for the bastard, smoothing her hair with her hands, trying to make herself more presentable to him.

I felt my hands curl into fists where they rested on my thighs as my blood began to boil. “How long?”

“What?”

“How fucking long!” I shouted, making her jump, and was reminded of a similar scene where I’d yelled at her when I’d found out she’d been screwing men for drugs.

She started crying. “We—we’ve kind of been seeing each other since that day,” she croaked.

I brought my fists up to my temples and pushed in because I thought my head was going to explode.

Sobbing, she whimpered, “I—I’m s-sorry, Beck.”

I let out a humorless laugh. “You’re sorry.” It wasn’t fair, but I now looked at her as if she were the lowest form of being on the face of the planet. “This entire fucking time, all I’ve done is try to do the right thing.” My head went down and I massaged my temples now with my thumb and finger of my hand.

It was her turn to emit an amused laugh. I glanced up to see her scowling hatefully at me. “While you’ve been in love with someone else.”

  Touché.

“At least I fucking tried with us.” I glared at her viciously.

She let out an annoyed sound and semi rolled her eyes. “Sure, Beck.”

“And I damned sure wasn’t fucking her,” I countered cruelly. Her flinch made me glad that I’d wounded her. But my claim woke me up and I was suddenly furious. No wonder Sonya hadn’t slept with me in over two goddamned years; she’d been sleeping with Tech Guy. Placing my hands on the table, I asked, “You fucking him?” She had the nerve to look hurt that I’d asked that, which really pissed me the hell off. Pushing down on the table with my hands, I stood quickly, toppling my chair as I did and bellowed, “Are. You. Fucking. Him!”

And suddenly shit got worse—or better depending on how you look at it—because good ol’ Grant the EKG Technician came storming into the kitchen.

“Stop yelling at her!” he growled, coming straight at me, fists swinging.

I blocked his punch with one arm and landed my own squarely on his jaw knocking him the fuck out.  Asshole went down like a sack of potatoes and Sonya screamed, coming out of her chair to kneel by his side hollering his name.

Jesus Christ.

Shaking my fist out, I walked calmly to our bedroom, grabbed a duffle bag and packed a few things before making my way into our bathroom and doing the same.

Our.

This was the last time any of it would ever be ours again.

And somehow, after walking back into the living room, pulling my coat on, and seeing Tech Guy sitting woozily on the floor just before he puked everywhere, I was okay with that.

Chapter 9—Birdie

“Good morning, everyone! It’s Tuesday, January 3, at 8:35 in the a.m. and welcome to another episode of Random Thoughts Inside Birdie Chapman’s Ridiculous Head!” I thought to myself then took another sip of coffee.

I imagined an “Applause” sign flashing to cue the audience, a set director counting down, “Five, four, three,” then not speaking but flashing two fingers then one, then pointing at me letting me know I was on the air.

Huh. That was new. My brain was now hosting its own morning show.

I rolled my eyes even as the show, er, thoughts kept rolling.

No sign of Beck today, Birdie. Nothing. Nada.

Maybe he’s not coming in today, Birdie. Maybe he’s sick. Or maybe he had a wild romp in the sack with Wifey last night and decided to keep it going.

Wow. I was even cohosting with myself. Goody.

Yuck. I think I just threw up a little in my mouth envisioning the romp.

Think of cute little puppies to get it out of your head!

Okay. Puppies. Puppies. Puppies. Yes! All cute and bark-y and yippy!

But really, where is he?

That’s enough. Just stop thinking about him.

Well, you stop looking over your shoulder at his office to see if his light is on.

You stop it.

No, you stop it.

You.

You!

NOW.

Get your ass to work.

Dammit! You looked again.

STOP. IT.

You looked again!

Oh, shit! He’s here!

The fox is on the move! REPEAT! THE FOX IS ON THE MOVE! CUT TO COMMERCIAL!

I turned quickly back to the ledger I had opened on the table before me and pretended to be working, acting as if I didn’t just get caught looking at Beck’s office. Out of which Beck was walking. And heading toward me. And totally had seen me looking at him.

Shit. Shit. Shit!

And don’t think I wasn’t a teensy bit worried that I’d just parleyed with myself inside my own freaking head.

God.

There was a light knock then the swish of the glass door being opened—whoever the hell thought all this glass was a good idea was a dumbass—then Beck cleared his throat.

 I put my finger on the ledger as if marking my place and slowly turned to look up at him, eyebrows raised in question as if I couldn’t be bothered.

Nice recovery!

Shut up!

Ugh.

 Camera pans to Mr. Cool and Laidback as he states, “Good morning.”

Oh. My. God. Stop acting like he’s a guest on your show!

And even though I was losing it—yay—I still noticed that stupid sexy voice of his, not to mention the smirk he was flaunting that told me he absolutely knew I’d been looking for him.

“’Morning,” I mumbled nonchalantly, turning back to my work and not paying one lick of attention to the fact that I’d gone bonkers or how good he looked in the white button-down shirt with blue pinstripes, navy tie and navy slacks he wore. Ergh.

In my defense, I’d only seen him in casual clothing like jeans and plaid shirts over t-shirts when we’d first been together, so seeing him in business clothes was new. And I hated that he looked so good in them.

“So, how’s it going?” he asked.

I flashed my eyes up to see him nod at the ledger.

Okay, seriously? What was his deal? Did he think we were just supposed to forget everything that’d happened between us and be buddies now and just chitchat away?

I looked back down, turned the page and muttered, “Fine.”

It was during the awkward silence as I tried convincing myself to breathe and focus on work, that I found a mistake—a three-thousand-dollar mistake in payroll, which wasn’t much, but still—and had to turn the page back then forward again to check the date. I made a note that the error occurred on the 25th of April four years ago, and turning several more pages, I found the 25th of May with the same mistake. I kept going and saw it again the next two months. Holy shit! I was sure I was on to something! I felt my heart start to beat faster at the prospect of finding the problem, which made me feel alive, as if I actually served a purpose. And this was why I loved what I did. That rush of adrenaline was like I was participating in extreme accounting and it felt great!

I’d totally forgotten Beck was even in the room until he spoke. “What’d you find?”

“When does your payroll go out?” I asked excitedly as I kept turning pages.

“What?” Beck asked.

I looked up at him restating, “When do employees get paid?”

His look was questioning. “On the fifteenth and the end of each month. Why?”

I stopped what I was doing then because this was really none of his business, and his being there was keeping me from doing my job. I drew in a breath and let it out slowly before asking, “What do you need, Beck?” I didn’t say it in a mean way. I just needed him to go.

I watched him nervously run his hand down his tie noticing he wasn’t wearing his wedding band, which, whatever. Then he pursed his lips as if he wasn’t sure what to say which made the dimple at the left side of his mouth show, and I quickly looked away with a frown.

“I, uh, I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry about everything, Birdie.”

Staring at the ledger in front of me, I nodded. He’d done exactly what Jaden had said he’d do: he apologized. So looking up, I gave him a somber smile, knowing this was it. We were good now. “Thank you.”

A sudden sadness swept over me because after two years of waiting for closure, I finally got it but nothing had changed. My heart wasn’t all, “Welp, thank God that’s over! Time to move on and live your life!”

I still loved him.

But my goal now was to stop.

I sighed heavily thinking how love was so much like taking a breath. When love is strong and vital and present, our breathing is deep and full and vibrant. We’re alive. And we love. But without it, we gasp, we choke, we wheeze. We long for the air to save us, to make us whole, to fill our souls. We hope. We wait. And we exist.

I’d been existing for two years. It was time to start living.

I began looking at numbers again but when he didn’t leave, I delivered an eyebrows-raised glance back up at him, all, Anything else? I wasn’t trying to be rude, but come on. He’d broken my heart, he’d apologized so what more could he want. Jeez.

“Do you think we could, um, maybe if you’re not busy today, we could get, you know, maybe have lunch?” he stammered. When I narrowed my eyes at him, he needlessly clarified, “Together. Can we get lunch together…” His last word faded off because I’m sure the look I was then giving him wasn’t very nice, probably leaning more toward irked with a side of are you freaking crazy?! I supposed.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I answered quietly, shaking my head.

He nodded slowly, eyes on mine as he pressed his lips together again, making that damned dimple reappear. “Oh. Okay. Well, maybe sometime this week?” Before I could tell him no, he declared, “I’ll be in my office if you change your mind.”

I shrugged not knowing what else to say then jerked my head back in surprise when he grinned. Why the hell was he grinning? I hadn’t agreed to anything. Then my shocked expression immediately turned to a scowl because he winked at me. Fricking winked!  What in the world? Before I could ask him what that was all about, he’d left the boardroom.

Twisting to look over my left shoulder, I frowned as I watched him head back to his office—a walk that wasn’t one of a dejected man at all. Nope, he looked pretty upbeat, stopping to chat with a couple people in their cubicles, looking so happy and pleased that I was kind of waiting for him to do that leprechaun heel kick thing as if everything was just A-OK. 

But I had things to research, so I got back to work, again getting excited at what I’d found.

Well, that was an odd encounter, wasn’t it, Birdie?

“Oh, shut up,” I grumbled and started writing down more dates and more missing funds.

Chapter 10—Beck

Birdie could act like she was mad at me all she wanted but I knew I’d gotten through to her.

At least I thought I had. Or hoped. Yeah, hoped was more like it.

Still, as I walked back to my office I knew something had shifted between us, as if she didn’t hate me as much as she had yesterday. I wanted to do a fist pump and yell, “Hell yes!” but I maintained my sangfroid considering her hating me less than the day before wasn’t really a win, since 100% hatred dropping to 99.99% wasn’t cause for a huge celebration.

But the fact that I’d caught her looking for me when I’d gotten to work was big and made me feel like I still stood a chance with her. Not that I was all in for a relationship right now. Hell no. I’d be going through a fucking divorce ASAP and had no plans of jumping into anything other than a friendship with her. For now.

Damn, who was a cocky SOB? This guy. Thing is, though, I had managed to maybe make a .01% dent in her I despise you factor, so there was that. Also, I’d never stopped loving her. And I wasn’t going to give up without a fight because, in the immortal words of the great heavy metal rock band Tesla, “Love will find a way.” Cheesy? Yep. Words to live by? You bet.     

Inside my office, I sat at my desk and logged onto my computer picking up where I’d left off yesterday. Looking over the twelve bids I’d gotten from different vendors for packaging, then crunching some numbers, I made a call and set up the order. Next, I pulled up apartment listings knowing I’d be moving out soon so Tech Guy could move in with my wife. Christ. Life sure throws some serious shade at the worst fucking times.

It was then I remembered I needed to call my folks and let them know.

“Hey, son, what’s up?” Dad answered.

I proceeded to tell him everything, listening to his tsk’ing at the appropriate moments and his contrite “Damn” at the end.

“I’m really sorry. I know you gave it your all, but sometimes things just aren’t meant to be,” he consoled.

I couldn’t help the snort I let out because Dad had vehemently championed my giving Sonya a chance after finding out about her addiction and cheating, coaching me to “Let it go for now” and “Get her healthy” stating, “You love her and it can be fixed.” Hearing him finally give up was a fucking relief.

“Thanks, Dad. I’ll call Mom later. And I’ve got some vacation time coming up, so I might fly out to Indiana to see you guys.”

“We’d love that, Beck. Yes, your mother would want to hear this from you, so a call tonight would be good.”

Just as I hung up a message appeared on my computer.

Conversation from: Fulton Hartford

To: Beck Griffin

Fulton Hartford (Jan 5, 11:28 a.m.): Griffin, I need you to stop by my office before you leave tonight

Fulton Hartford was the company’s Chief Operating Officer, second only to Kurt Fleishman, the CEO. I read his message and felt my heart rate speed up as memories of my high school days and getting called into the principal’s office for doing some dipstick shit came racing back.

Beck Griffin (Jan 5, 11:29 a.m.): Yes, sir. I’ll swing by on my way out

I racked my brain wondering what the fuck I’d done but couldn’t come up with anything that would merit my being fired. So, sucking it up like a man—that’s more sarcasm right there—I decided to get the hell out of there, leaving for lunch so I could think some more on it.

On the way out of my office, I turned toward the boardroom to see that Joel was standing over Birdie who was sitting at the table looking down as she flipped pages, glancing up at him every so often to explain, I gathered. Hm. She’d asked me about payroll earlier, and I wondered what she’d found.

When I’d first started with Fleishman, I’d introduced a plan of combining several factory positions along with adding new machinery, explaining to Mr. Hartford that doing so would save the company over a million dollars per year. I’d felt bad that people might be laid off, but he’d assured me that with the way the company was growing, more jobs would be available for them in the new plants that would be opening. He’d then had me present my ideas to Mr. Fleishman who’d gotten behind my project wholeheartedly, and from that point, I was included in a shit ton of budget meetings; therefore, I’d known a forensic accountant—never once imagining it’d be Birdie—would be coming in this week after Joel, Linda, Larry Carson from payroll and I had met, and they’d reported some discrepancies in the books.

I decided to leave Birdie to her work and left, taking a cab to get lunch.

Back at the office, I saw that Birdie was still hard at work, which was what I was hoping for because it meant she hadn’t eaten yet.

After hanging my coat in my office, I got her a soda then carried the bag I’d brought back from lunch to the boardroom. When I went in, she was concentrating so much on the figures she was writing down that she hadn’t heard me come in, so when I set everything on the table in front of her she yelped, pushed her chair away, stood up then smacked me on the chest.

“You scared the shit out of me!” she scolded.

Fucking cute.

I grinned as I pulled a box from the Junior’s bag and opened it to display the huge Reuben sandwich inside, letting the smell waft through the room.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered, ogling the sandwich and licking her lips. Christ. I was staring at her when her eyes met mine. “You know Carnegie’s closed,” she said sadly.

I nodded. “But,” I grabbed another box from the bag as I spoke, setting it on the table and opening the lid slowly, “since this sandwich was around half of Carnegie’s price, you also get this.” Birdie’s eyes went huge at the very large piece of chocolate mousse cheesecake, and I had to purse my lips to keep from cracking up at the look of awe on her face. Grabbing a napkin from the bag, I handed it to her and teased, “You might wanna wipe away the drool.”

She absentmindedly took the napkin as she gawked at all I’d set on the table. Then she frowned. “This is for me?”

“Yep. Thought you might be hungry.”

“Oh.” She looked perplexed for a moment then suddenly grabbing her purse from the chair next to hers, proposed, “Let me pay you.”

I held my hands up to stop her. “Nope. My treat. Enjoy.” I turned and left the room before she could argue or even pull her wallet from her purse.

 I knew bringing her lunch was a very small gesture, but I’d truly felt terrible about the way things had gone between us before. So if doing some special things helped repair the damage I’d done, I was all for it.

Besides, I figured that cheesecake had to have brought her hatred level down to at least 98%.

Chapter 11—Birdie

I didn’t know what was up with Beck.

If he was just trying to be friendly, fine. But if he had any other ideas, I was going to put the kibosh on them, STAT. I’d been flying single for over two years now and didn’t have any false delusions of things working out between us.

I will say this, though. That cheesecake was so freaking good, if it’d been used as a peace offering between Joan and Bette or Taylor or Katy or Mariah and, well, everybody, their feuds would’ve ended immediately. Of course, then one probably would’ve accused the other of trying to make her fat and they’d have been right back into the thick of it.

Anyway, after eating a third of the huge sandwich then two bites of the cheesecake, I was stuffed. I now sat looking off into space held captive by the food coma I was in. Of course, my brain kept going, as usual, and I continued wondering what Beck’s angle was here. What the heck was his strategy?

My analytical mind broke it down like this:

Apologies

Yesterday he’d attempted a lame apology

Today he’d sincerely apologized

I assumed we were now square

Life would move on as it had

Bewilderments

He’d brought me a fabulous lunch

Tangible apology?

Emotional blackmail?

He wasn’t wearing his wedding ring

What was that all about?

Why did my persnicketiness insist that my mental outline be parallel, making me add a “b” here?

Mentally rolling my eyes at myself, I snapped out of my musings and proceeded to put the food boxes back into the bag which I then put in the refrigerator in the employee lounge that was next door. Going back to the boardroom, I blew out a breath then opened the books and fired up the laptop to continue with my findings.

Beck had said employees were paid bi-monthly, and as I’d checked each pay period for every month starting in August four years ago, the numbers again didn’t match up. I’m talking to the tune of one-point-three-million dollars here. I’d informed Linda I’d seen errors in payroll and expense, so she’d gotten me the payroll register and tons of receipts. Somebody had been cooking the shit out of these accounts and I was going to nail them.

Almost four hours later, I’d made it halfway through the payroll register, having checked over six-hundred employees’ salary records. Nothing. But I felt it. I knew something big was coming. I’d stood and was stretching my back when Joel came in.

“Knock, knock,” he said. “How’s it coming along?”

“Hey, Joel,” I greeted, turning toward him. “It’s getting there. I’ve narrowed down a couple areas where I see some errors.” At his raised eyebrows, I explained. “Payroll, an expense account and I think maybe a couple employee assignment problems.”

“Such as?”

I picked up my soda can and took a drink. “I’m still looking through payroll, but I’ve seen some possible inflated expenditures and I think maybe some employees have been wrongfully identified as 1099s.”

“Good work, Birdie. I knew hiring you was a good idea,” he affirmed. “Oh, my wife Yasmine is here and wants to meet you.” He nodded toward the front of the office. “She said anyone with similar shoe choices has to be amazing.” He chuckled.

  Turning my head with a smile, I had to do a double take because a very gorgeous, very exotic looking dark-haired woman was talking to Beck and had her hand on his chest. When she reached up and straightened his tie as she talked then cupped the side of his jaw with her hand after, I turned back to Joel, eyes wide.

“She’s like a momma bear,” he shared, grinning and shaking his head.

Huh.

Where he saw momma bear, I saw cougar. We definitely had the animal kingdom covered, though, didn’t we?

I turned my head again and watched as Yasmine took Beck’s hand and led him our way.

“She certainly is friendly,” I muttered, observing the way Joel’s wife and Beck talked and laughed on their trek to the boardroom. In an effort to act unfazed by their amicable actions, I took another drink, but the pang of jealousy I suddenly felt totally caught me off guard, and the breath I sucked in at that realization had me immediately choking.

“Yes, she really is,” Joel agreed then noticing my dilemma asked, “Are you okay?” I couldn’t answer or protest when he proceeded to whap me on the back with his palm several times.

“I’m fine,” I finally gasped between coughs, thankful at least that Diet Coke hadn’t come spewing out of my nose.

“Is she okay?” a lovely thickly-accented Arabian voice asked.

I held a hand up to the beautiful Yasmine and nodded as I eventually stopped coughing. Yeesh. “I—I’m fine,” I declared.

“You must be Birdie,” she guessed, smiling and offering her hand. When I took it, she stated in her alluring voice, “So very nice to meet you, jamila.”

“Thank you. It’s nice meeting you too,” I replied, in awe of her stunning looks. Her perfect eyebrows, amazingly big brown eyes and radiant golden skin made her easily the most dazzling human being I’d ever seen.

She gave me a striking smile before turning to Joel. “Ya amar, I’ve missed you.” Tiptoeing up, she kissed him sweetly.

Joel looked lovingly down into her eyes and crooned, “I missed you too, ya hayati,” before kissing her again.

Biting my lips and looking away from the private moment between the two of them, my eyes inadvertently landed on Beck’s which I quickly flitted away from his intense gaze. Ack!

“Any luck with the apartment?” I heard Joel ask and turned back to see him looking at Beck.

“Still working on it,” Beck admitted and nosy me wondered what was going on with his apartment. I’d make sure to ask him when we walked out together in a bit.

“Let me know if you need anything,” Joel extended.

“Will do. Thanks,” Beck answered. He directed a glimpse my way then back at Joel and his wife. “Well, Mr. Hartford messaged me to come by, so I’ve gotta get up to the tenth floor. Yasmine, it was great seeing you again.” Looking at Joel and me, he added, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He nodded at us as we exchanged goodnights then he left the boardroom.

The stab of disappointment that pricked me at the fact that we wouldn’t be walking out together had me wanting to smack myself in the head. Good grief. We’d been around each other for not even two whole days and, what, I was already forming an attachment to him? All because of a Reuben sandwich and a piece of cheesecake he’d brought me? Good to know I could be bought for scandalously delicious food.

“Again, it was very nice meeting you,” Yasmine interrupted what I realized was me watching after Beck as he left.

Embarrassed, I turned to her. “Yes, so nice meeting you too.”

“We must talk shoes next time.”

“Of course.” I smiled as I pulled on my coat. Grabbing my purse, I told them goodnight then retrieved my leftovers from the lounge and headed out.

Alone.

Chapter 12—Beck

I wasn’t sure what the COO wanted with me, but I was about to find out.

At Mr. Hartford’s door, he hollered, “Come in, Griffin!” when he saw me approaching because, you know, glass.

“Good evening, Mr. Harford,” I said as I went in.

“Close the door and have a seat.”

Well, fuck. This sounded serious. I hadn’t been able to come up with a reason why he’d want to see me, so after having a seat, I waited to hear why I was being demoted/written up/fired.

It seemed these days optimism wasn’t my strong suit.

“How’s everything going?” he inquired.

“Pretty well,” I confirmed. “I signed Maxwell today.”

“Good, good. John’s your man when it comes to getting proper service.”

I nodded in approval, not really knowing who John was, but I trusted Mr. Hartford’s judgment.

He leaned back in his chair, elbows resting on the arms as he steepled his hands in front of him, and glanced around his massive office. “I’ve been with Fleishman for thirty-one years.” He looked at me, eyebrows raised letting that sink in, I guessed. I knew he was in his early sixties, but he looked younger, his hair more salt and pepper than gray and his tanned face more smooth than wrinkled. “Kurt and I were at Columbia together, you know. He was a year ahead of me, both of us getting our MBAs and we became good friends. After graduating, we attempted to keep in contact but, as it happens, we got busy and lost track of each other. I was working at Scimitar and doing well for myself, making my way up the ladder as a marketing and promotions manager, two kids with another on the way, when I got the call from Kurt wanting me to come be his COO here. Of course, I jumped at the chance, not only because it was a promotion, but I’d get to work with an old buddy.”

That was cool and all, but I wondered why he was telling me this.

As if he’d read my mind, he elucidated, “The point is, it pays to know people in the business industry. Don’t ever burn bridges as it could result in missed opportunities.”

My mind swam as I wondered if I’d burned any bridges I didn’t know about.

He moved forward and put his forearms on his desk, clasping his hands in front of him. “That all being said, you’re a good kid, Griffin.” He stared at me for what seemed like an hour and I felt sweat run down my sides. Fuck. He finally cleared his throat and went on. “There’s going to be an opening for a COO in one of the branches in the next year and I’m recommending you for the position.”

I sat up in surprise, having gone from thinking I was losing my job—which would’ve been par for the fucking course only adding to the misery in my life just then—to being promoted, all in a matter of minutes.

“Thank you, sir,” I responded, thrilled that he had confidence in me.

He nodded. “We won’t know which branch since they’ll ultimately do some shifting around, but in ten months or so, you’ll have a new title.” He stood and held his hand out to me. “Congratulations, son.”

As I shook his hand, I declared, “Thank you again. You won’t be sorry.”

“I know that, which is why I immediately thought of you. I’ll be here to answer any questions you may have and to walk you through some things along the way.”

After taking the elevator down to the seventh floor to get my coat from my office, I swear I was walking on air because, Hell yes! I was going to be a chief operating officer and making a shit ton of money!

In the cab on the way to the hotel I was now staying at, I pulled out my phone to call Sonya to tell her the good news and ended up staring at it.

We were over. We were really getting a divorce. She wasn’t my person anymore. I knew I hadn’t dealt with everything until right then. And it hurt. I swallowed trying to make the lump in my throat smaller as I regarded the cell in my hand.

Then I made a call.

“Hey, Dad? Guess what?”

Paul was the other person I called to tell the good news of my impending promotion and we’d made plans to meet for a drink Friday night.

I’d also thought about calling Birdie but had tossed that idea almost immediately because I guessed we really didn’t know each other anymore. However, I knew her well enough to know she’d act happy for me since she was a nice person and all but that was about it. Although I’d brought her lunch, I still hadn’t gotten through to her. And because she clearly hated me now, it wasn’t like she was getting over that any time soon, so what was the use of hoping she’d come around.

That knowledge in the forefront, for the next two days, I deliberately avoided her and focused on my workload which felt great doing what I knew best.

Thursday after lunch, I sat at my desk looking over several reports when I heard Dana asking someone if they needed help before a man appeared in my doorway holding a manila envelope with Dana standing right behind him.

“Sir, what is this pertaining to?” my annoyed secretary asked, angry that they guy had gotten past her, I could tell.

“Beck Griffin?” he asked.

“Yes,” I confirmed, getting up from my desk and walking toward him.

He handed me the envelope and promptly left.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Griffin,” Dana offered. “He just kept going!” she huffed.

“It’s okay. Thanks,” I told her and closed my door, for all the fucking privacy it offered.

Sitting at my desk, I opened the envelope and upon pulling out the papers inside, it was revealed that I’d been served a summons for a divorce.

Awesome.

Chapter 13—Birdie

Beck hadn’t spoken to me, looked at me or even acknowledged my presence since Tuesday.

It was now Friday.

Three whole days of ignoring me.

And it had kind of started bugging me.

I didn’t know what was going on, but I had my theories:

Theory #1—He was avoiding me because his meeting Tuesday with Mr. Hartford, I think that’s the name he’d said, hadn’t gone well and put him in a bad mood.

Theory #2—He was in the middle of remodeling his apartment—Joel had asked about his apartment—and he was preoccupied with it and didn’t feel like talking.

Theory #3—He still wasn’t wearing his wedding ring, so maybe he’d lost it and he and his wife were arguing over it and he didn’t feel like talking to me.

Theory #4—Mr. Hartford had given him a huge promotion, he was getting a new apartment or remodeling his old one for the baby he and his wife were expecting, and they’d gotten new rings to celebrate and were waiting for them to be sized hence the missing ring.

Theory #5—Theory #4 was all correct, Beck felt he’d made amends with me, and that was that.

Well, that last theory sucked.

The good news was, over the past two days, I’d found ten—TEN!—ghost employees on the payroll who had all been paid three grand a week for the past forty-two weeks, which accounted for just over one-point-two of the one-point-three million dollars I’d found missing earlier. When I’d informed Joel, he’d thrown a fit, immediately calling a meeting with Mr. Fleishman, the CEO, which I attended up on the tenth floor and explained what I’d found. Because this office did payroll for itself and three other branches, I told them that if the embezzling was internal, meaning someone here, I was confident I could weed them out. But I warned that with the other offices sending in their own information, it would take a little longer to find where the misappropriation of funds was coming from. Mr. Fleishman and Joel had both encouraged me to do whatever it took to find out who was behind it, which I absolutely intended to do.

And although I’d been on a high about everything I’d found, the fact that Beck was avoiding me kept me from being wholly excited. I hated that we weren’t at least friends. I mean, we could still be friends, right? Exactly. Therefore, I intended to do something about his shutting me out.

It was time for lunch, so I donned my coat then grabbed my purse and headed for Beck’s office. I smiled at his watchful secretary who gave me a wary twist of her lips back, then seeing that his door was propped open as usual and he was on the phone, I knocked on the frame to get his attention. Without looking to see who it was, he held a finger up for me to wait a moment and continued talking on the phone, writing down information as he did. I didn’t mean to listen, but I was standing right there, so whatever.

“Two bedrooms would be better. Yes. Yes. Uh huh. Okay. Yes,” I overheard what was more apartment talk, I assumed, watching as he peered down at his desk calendar and wrote something. “Tomorrow would be great. Ten o’clock? Yes, that works just fine. Okay. I’ll see you then. Thank you.”

He hung up and blew out what seemed like a stressed breath, and when he finally turned and saw it was me at his door, I thought he was going to fall out of his chair.

“Oh, hey, I’m, um, going to lunch and thought you might, uh, wanna come too?” I offered then bit my lip waiting to see what he’d say, preparing myself for the worst. The worst being anything from his cussing me out and telling me to get the hell out of his office to his adopting that subtle change guys take on when they’ve gone from caring about you in that way—read as: they want to have sex with you and maybe even fall in love with you someday—to only wanting to be your buddy for whatever idiotic reason they've come up with, but they’d still sleep with you because they’re assholes.

Okay, I still had to work on not being bitter.

Anyway, Beck sat looking at me for so long without saying anything, I turned to go, murmuring, “Just thought I’d ask if you wanted to…”

“Birdie, wait,” he called.

I stopped, my back to him, and it was then I realized I was crying. Shit! Why was I crying? Because my Theory #5 had been correct and he was done with me. I quickly wiped the tears away, seeing that his secretary was purposely ignoring me, thank God, before turning to face him. His face went soft and he stood to put his coat on, then we went to lunch together.

So, yeah, I was on a pity lunch with my former kind of lover. Good times. But our small talk had been good so far until we’d hit a little bump. “It was blue because he used a different formula,” I pointed out, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. “And it was ninety-nine percent pure!” I added.

Beck chuckled. “Birdie, it’s supposed to be clear. They just did the blue as a kind of trademark for his stuff in the show.”

“But the real police have found blue meth before!” I protested.

“Honey, if they did it was probably just from food coloring.”

Oh, God. Why did I like it so much that he’d called me honey?

Stop it! He’s got a wife, a baby on the way and a new job! You just heard him talking on the phone about a two-bedroom apartment! Ugh.

I took a bite of my hamburger while acting as if I were mulling over what he’d said when actually I was wondering if there was a way to erase him completely from my mind so that when he achieved all these fabulous things in his life I wouldn’t give a rat’s ass.

Had I said I was bitter?

Anyway, the mulling became real when I thought of another point, so mouth full I exclaimed, “But Walter White was a genius! He could’ve made it rainbow colored if he wanted to and it still would’ve been the best!”

Beck nodded. “With food coloring,” he reiterated and added, “Plus, he’s a fictional character, Birdie.” He snorted at the look I gave him.

“He’s Walter White,” I snapped vehemently.

He looked at me as if confused at my impassioned response.

I took a drink of soda then decided to spill. “Look, this is gonna sound crazy, I know, but Netflix was my saving grace after Mason died. After…after everything. And these fictional characters helped me get through a lot during that time.” I was tearing up again.

He reached out and took my hand, his eyes full of sorrow. “I’m sorry, Birdie. Really, I am. I know you went through a lot and I get it. I was just teasing you.”

I pulled my hand from his because I was getting angry now. He had his wife. She hadn’t died. She was living because of Mason and now they had their perfect life! Beck had no idea what I’d gone through having to deal with everything by myself. Yes, I’d had my parents and Jaden there for me, but when the lights went out, I was still alone and my life had pretty much been hell there for a while.

“I’m getting a divorce,” he suddenly revealed.

What? What!

“But what about the baby?” I blurted. “And getting a bigger apartment? And your promotion?” I continued rambling.

He pulled his head back in surprise. “What baby?” At my silence, he clarified, “There’s no baby, Birdie. And I’m getting my own apartment because I moved out. And how’d you know about my promotion?”

“I guessed because I assumed your life was perfect,” I whispered.

He shook his head. “I know you think my life’s been great the past two years but that’s far from the truth.” At my dubious look, he kept going. “We, well, I tried, but we just couldn’t work it out.” He let out a sigh. “I’ve been fucking miserable.”

The French fry that was heading toward my mouth got stopped midway as I stared at him in disbelief. What the hell was he talking about? Again, his life hadn’t changed. He had everything he’d started with when we met while I, on the other hand, had lost everything. And now he was throwing it all away because he thought his life was miserable? I wanted to reach across the table and smack him.

“I know this’ll sound melodramatic and clichéd as hell,” he continued, “but the worst part about it all? When your heart is somewhere else, every moment away from that person feels like a living death.”

“Then you shouldn’t let her go,” I shared, irritated that he was still talking about his wife and the perfect life he was tossing aside. Grabbing my napkin, I looked around at the other patrons as I wiped my mouth in annoyance.

I heard him laugh low and whipped my head back to glare at him, irked at his sob story. “I didn’t want to let her go,” he admitted.

“Then don’t.” I threw my napkin on my plate. “I’m finished,” I bit out, digging through my purse for my wallet.

“Birdie?” he called.

I let out a breath and gave him my most apathetic look. “Yeah?”

“This is about you.”

Narrowing my eyes, I tried figuring out where I fit into all this until it dawned on me what he was saying. He was blaming me for their break up! “Fuck you, Beck.” I tossed a twenty on the table then stood and pulled on my coat.

He stood too and grabbed me by the shoulders, looking confused as he shook his head. “What?”

I tried moving away but he held me where I was. “Let me go,” I whisper-hissed, trying not to make a spectacle in front of everyone.

He leaned down and got in my face. “I said I’m talking about you.”

Okay. I’d had enough. Screw not making a scene. Throwing his hands off of me, I yelled, “And I said, fuck you!” 

I was at the curb hailing a cab when he caught up with me. “Why’re you being like this?” he asked.

Turning to face him, fists clenched, I told him, “If you want to blame me for your divorce, that’s fine. You and I had a thing. It’s over. If your wife can’t get past it, I’m sorry.” I jumped in the cab that had stopped, slamming the door behind me without giving him a chance to respond. Then giving the cabbie the address, I was relieved when we took off.

I didn’t bother looking back.

Chapter 14—Beck

On the cab ride back to the office, I chuffed out an unamused laugh at how wrong things had gone in my trying to tell Birdie that I still loved her. That’s what I got for trying to push things ahead instead of sticking with just being friends. But I’d been so shocked when she’d asked me to lunch that I got ahead of myself.

“Jesus,” I mumbled pulling my phone from my pocket. I still had her number from two years ago, and it was a longshot that she’d kept it, but it was worth a try. Dialing the number, I heard it go to a default automated voicemail message. All right, I’d text then since she didn’t want to speak to me.

Text Message—Fri, Jan 6, 12:49 p.m.

Me: I’m sorry. Nothing I said came out right. I meant being away from YOU was like a living death. Everything I said, I was talking about you…

When she didn’t answer after several minutes, giving up, I started to put my phone away when it buzzed.

Text Message—Fri, Jan 6, 12:55 p.m.

Birdie: That was all romantic and shit, but I think you have the wrong #

Me: Is this Birdie?

Birdie: Nope. You got Jason here

Me: Oh. Sorry about that

Birdie: No problem. Good luck getting her back, man

Me: Thanks

I guessed if Birdie and I couldn’t patch things up, Jason and I could become pals. Fuck.

The rest of the ride, thoughts ping-ponged around inside my head as I tried figuring shit out. I knew I needed to talk to Birdie right away, explain everything and let her know how I felt about her. Not that I thought she’d fall into my arms and suddenly everything would be perfect between us. No, there was a lot we had to talk about, a great deal of hurt and betrayal that had to be addressed, but for now, I just needed her to know. I mean, shit. I’d held it in for two years, denying my feelings for her while trying to make things work with Sonya. And that made me sound like a goddamned flake. But I’d be damned if I was going to continue feeling guilty any longer since Sonya and Grant the Tech Guy had started their fling long before I’d even given Birdie a second thought. But I felt I had to get everything out and explain things to her, or I’d go crazy. For the past several days when I’d been avoiding her, I’d found myself falling back into denial mode—the same mode I’d employed for the past two years—hoping that what I felt would magically go away which was fucking distressing. When my feelings hadn’t disappeared, I’d gotten sick of keeping it all inside and decided she needed to know now.

Ping-fucking-pong.

But after all the ruminating, I found I was prepared for whatever she had to say. If she still loved me and there was a chance for us, halle-fucking-lujah. If not, at least she’d know how I felt and I’d walk away having laid it all out there.

Damn. Look at me, adulting and shit.

At the office, I didn’t stop to take my coat off and headed right for the boardroom, but as I got closer, I saw it was empty.

“Hey, Beck,” Joel called. I turned to see him walking toward me. “I hear congratulations are in order. Fulton told me about the COO position. Good for you.” He grinned as he shook my hand and clapped me on the shoulder with his other hand. “Always like to see Fleishman promoting from the inside.”

“Thanks, Joel.” I nodded toward the boardroom. “Hey, you haven’t seen Birdie, have you?”

“She called and said she had some work to do at her office but she’d be back here on Monday.” He shrugged. “You and your wife got big plans for the weekend?”

“Just going to see an apartment tomorrow,” I disclosed. I’d been using the company’s broker, which he’d recommended and the company was paying for, which was cool, and had narrowed down my choices to the one I’d be checking out in the morning and one other. And, obviously, Joel didn’t know about my imminent divorce but I didn’t feel like getting into it right then. All he knew was I was looking for an apartment and if he wanted to assume it was Sonya and I, then so be it.

“Good, good. Again, let me know if I can help.”

“Thanks.”

Back inside my office, I pulled up a few accounts that needed my attention and worked on them until two. A couple minutes later, I noticed movement outside and saw Dana wave then mouth, “Have a good weekend,” and remembered she had to take her five-year-old son to a dentist appointment as I waved back. Then seeing how I was caught up and then some, I packed it up and headed out.

“McNamara, how may I direct you?”

“Birdie Chapman,” I answered then listened to the swanky background music playing over the phone as I waited.

“This is Birdie Chapman. I’m unable to take your call right now. Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you. Thanks.”

She wasn’t at work or at least wasn’t answering her calls. I called back.

“McNamara, how may I direct you?”

“Yes, I just called for Birdie Chapman. Is she in?” I inquired.

“One moment,” the woman said leaving me to listen to a jazzy saxophone piece. “I’m sorry, but Ms. Chapman is out of the office. May I connect you with her voicemail?”

“No, thank you,” I said and hung up.

A man on a mission, I gave the cab driver Birdie’s apartment building address and upon arriving took the elevator to the fifth floor. I could hear a talk show on the TV through her door when I knocked. A few moments later when an older woman answered, I didn’t know if it was Birdie’s mom, an older sister, or her Aunt Martha who was visiting from Timbuktu. And it hit me that I didn’t know a whole lot about the woman I loved.

“Can I help you?” the attractive woman asked. She had long, brown hair and green eyes like Birdie, so maybe it was her mom.

“Uh, hi,” I said, looking a bit over her shoulder into the apartment to see that everything was different. I knew Birdie’s friend was an interior designer, so maybe she’d changed things up for her. “Does Birdie Chapman live here?”

The woman frowned. “No? I’ve been here for going on almost two years now.”

“Oh,” I muttered. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

The woman smiled and closed the door and I turned to walk toward the elevator. Of course, Birdie had moved. She wouldn’t have wanted to stay in the same apartment she’d shared with her husband, I guessed. As I waited for the lift doors to open, I wished I’d paid more fucking attention because for the life of me, all I could remember about Birdie’s designer friend’s name was that it had something to do with a gemstone. That, and the fact that her friend was about the only link I had at the moment in trying to find Birdie, pissed me off. I did know Birdie’s dad ran a sandwich shop but I didn’t know the name of it or even her maiden name to find him. And the thought of checking every sandwich shop in NYC, which would’ve been an impossible mission, made me even angrier at myself for being so oblivious when we’d been together two years before.

 “Fuck,” I mumbled as I got on the elevator, making a man who was already on it give me a look, arched eyebrow and all.

I gave up just before midnight having scanned through dozens of websites trying to find her dad’s restaurant and also her friend’s name, I was nearly cross-eyed. But I had learned how to make a Monte Cristo sandwich and gotten some good ideas for decorating my new place.

Perfect.

I met the leasing agent the next morning at an apartment building on West 101st Street, an area New Yorkers called Manhattan Valley. Although the neighborhood had seen rougher times, due to gentrification, its reputation had improved immensely. Besides, I kind of liked its colorful past along with the hodge-podge of buildings that gave the place a cool vibe. It was also fairly close to work and just blocks from Central Park, Paul and Taylor’s apartment was nearby, and from what I saw, there didn’t seem to be a lot of foot traffic, so I was hoping it meant the place was quiet, all of which was amazing. Of course, I’d be paying out the nose for it, but it appeared to be worth it.

“Large living area.” I followed the agent into the second-floor apartment letting her do her thing. “Fireplace, exposed brick. Dining area.” She pointed at a space ahead and just off to the right of the living room then walked forward. “All-new hardwoods, new stainless-steel appliances and granite countertops,” she said when we entered the kitchen. “Bar stools come with.” She opened a door showing a laundry room. Motioning to another door on the left, she stated, “Bedroom or den.” Going to her right, past the kitchen bar and out to walk down a hallway, she stopped at an open door. “Tiled bathroom with shower and tub.” At the end of the hall, we reached a bedroom. “The master has a walk-in closet and its own bathroom,” she said still walking, then opening a door went inside. “Glass shower, marble floor, double vanity,” and yada yada yada. She’d basically told me everything on the phone when we’d gone over my online application the day before, so none of what she was showing me was really a surprise.

I took my time looking around again and felt a twinge of sadness. Don’t get me wrong. The place was great. It was the fact that I was closing a chapter in my life that’d been pretty fucking emotion-filled for the past two years that got to me.

“I’ll take it,” I said as I looked out the living room window down onto the street.

“There’s not a gym in the building, but there’s one about four blocks away. There are also lots of restaurants in the area,” she continued. Thinking she was used to having to “sell” these places, I let her babble on about all the amenities. “Pets are allowed and rent also includes heat and water.”

Downstairs, after negotiating a bit, she told me my application had been approved, handed me the keys and said I could move in immediately. Sweet. I’d have to send Fleishman’s broker a gift basket for making this so easy.             

Once outside, I decided to walk to Central Park to see how long it took: eight minutes at a casual stroll. Nice. It was a cold January morning and snow was on the ground, but people were still out and about in the park, jogging, walking or sledding on the appropriately named Sledding Hill.

I headed back to try out the keys to my new apartment thinking I’d made a good choice. The woman walking in front of me who was wearing running tights that made her ass look incredibly fabulous had me thinking I’d made a very good choice. As I got to checking her out even more, I felt my heart start beating faster.

No. It couldn’t be her.

But when she ran up the steps at an entrance of the apartment building right next to mine, I saw it most definitely was.

“Hey,” I called.

Imagine Birdie’s surprise when she turned to see me grinning up at her. Then imagine her even bigger surprise when I walked up the steps, took her in my arms and kissed the fool out of her.

It was fucking epic.

Chapter 15—Birdie

Holy cow.

I was on the stoop to my apartment making out with Beck.

And it was fantastic.

I hadn’t been kissed in over two years, had almost forgotten how it worked, but when my lips finally caught on to what was up, I was not disappointed.

Best kiss ever.

When he pulled back, I was afraid to open my eyes for fear that I’d only imagined it. Then I heard him chuckle and, well, things kind of went downhill from there because, you know, reality.

He’d blamed me for his divorce. He still loved his wife and was miserable without her. What was it he’d said? He was experiencing a living death being apart from her?

Gag.

Then why for God’s sake was he kissing me?

Both my palms were already on his chest, the blue bag I carried was looped around one arm and I would’ve whacked him with it, but it held precious cargo. But using the position of my hands to my advantage, I shoved hard, once again catching him off-guard like I had in the elevator at Fleishman, and he had to take a couple steps down, which gave me time to punch in the security code, get inside the building and close the door behind me.

“Birdie!” he yelled, sounding so desperate, that, damn it, I stopped and turned to see him looking at me almost in a panic. “Don’t go!” he called. Upon seeing my hesitation, he pleaded, “Please! Let me explain!”

Ugh.

Against my better judgment, I opened the door and let him inside. “Look, Beck, I don’t really want to hear about how much you love your wife,” I muttered as I opened my mailbox pulling out mostly junk. Riffling through it, I continued being blasé, which I knew was coming off as rude, but I couldn’t stop myself. “Or about how every moment away from her feels like a living death…how you’re miserable…and you don’t wanna let her go.” I tore a credit card application in half and tossed it along with several flyers into the trashcan nearby and looked up at him, challenging with a shrug, “So if you still feel the need to explain things, your call.”

I started up the steps to my second-floor apartment feeling vaguely triumphant. I felt a little bitchy too, but triumphant nonetheless. I mean, he’d hurt me, had practically destroyed me when he’d walked out on me when I’d really needed him, and now he wanted to wax all melancholy about how he loved his wife? I didn’t think so. When he didn’t reply, I thought maybe he’d gone, but the creak of the old stairs let me know he was still behind me, which got me thinking.

“How’d you know where I live?” I asked kind of snottily, glancing suspiciously over my shoulder at him as I stepped onto the landing then walked to my door, unlocking it. He remained silent and when I turned back to him, I saw an almost dangerous yet playful look on his handsome face which made my eyes go wide. “What?”

He smirked as he nodded for me to go inside my apartment ahead of him, and still he hadn’t uttered a word.

Inside, I set my bag on the table then unzipped my jacket and took it off, throwing it over the back of a chair. “Do you want some coffee? Hot chocolate?” I asked, heading into the kitchen. Opening a cabinet, I pulled out two mugs setting them on the counter then turning, ran right into him. “Beck!”

“You done?” His eyes burned into mine as he backed me against the counter.

Confused, I frowned and asked, “Done?” The backs of my palms rested on the countertop as he boxed me in.

Putting his hands down on either side of mine, he got right in my face and said, “Gotta admit, it’s cute, but your attitude needs to go, Birdie.”

Shit. He’d let me spew my meanness and was now calling me out on it.

I puffed out my chest a little and looked him in the eye. “I just meant I can’t do anything to help you get back with your wife. I’m sorry if I came off…bitchy. But I really can’t help you.”

“I need you to listen to me, Birdie. Can you do that?” When I rolled my eyes at his talking to me like I was a child, he moved a hand up to grasp me at the back of my neck, his fingers sliding up into my hair.

At his warning look, I muttered, “All right, jeez.”

The side of his mouth twitched as his eyes danced with amusement at my obstinacy, I supposed, right before he knocked me for a loop.

“When I said I was talking about you at lunch yesterday,” he paused, probably to make sure I was paying attention, which made me want to belt him for speaking so slowly as if I couldn’t keep up, “I meant, you’re the reason I was miserable.”

Okay. I’d had enough. Bending at the knees, I ducked under his arm and headed to my door to let him out. I didn’t quite make it because he grabbed my hand, and pulling me into him, wrapped his arms around me so I couldn’t go anywhere.

“I was miserable because I wasn’t with you, Birdie. You’re why it felt like a living death because I love you and I wasn’t with you,” he explained.

Giving him a fixed stare, I whispered, “You love me?” At his nod, I panicked a bit and blurted, “Well, let me go.” Looking puzzled, he dropped his arms and I spun to go back into the kitchen. “So, coffee or hot chocolate?” I called distractedly.

“Birdie…”

“Which one, Beck?” I insisted, my back to him waiting for his answer.

“Coffee.”

My mind was racing as I inattentively prepared the coffee, glad I’d made it a million times before because right then, I was on autopilot. Holy crap. What he’d just said wasn’t something to be taken lightly. God. As I went through the routine of water, filter, grounds, my heart seized up a little because this was huge.

I’d loved him. Granted, I’d fallen for him in a time of great turmoil, but it was still love. And now he was telling me he loved me too. Did I want to go there again? Could I go there again? Did I even trust him? Also, was he only telling me he loved me because he was getting divorced and didn’t want to be alone? If he still loved me and had been so miserable, why hadn’t he found me and told me or at least given me some closure since he said he’d tried making his marriage work? And why had it all come out only now, when I happened to be working at his company? Was it because it was convenient?

So many questions! So much to freak out about!

I turned to see him watching me closely, looking a little freaked out himself, which made me feel better, and letting out a breath, I settled down a little.

“You still take it black?” I asked. At his nod, I jerked my head at the dining table. “Go ahead and have a seat. And get the stuff out of the bag, would you?”

As I got the cream from the fridge, from the corner of my eye, I saw him take off his jacket. Next, the bag crinkled and he mumbled reverently, “Levain?”

“Cinnamon rolls, pumpkin ginger spice bread and oatmeal raisin cookies,” I answered as I poured cream into my cup then put the carton back inside the refrigerator.

“That’s where you were coming from?”

“Yeah. It’s only about two miles away, so I justify getting to eat anything I want from there since I exercise by walking to get it.” I chuckled as I poured our coffees, placing our cups on the table, then went back for forks, two small plates, napkins and a knife for the bread. “It’s become a Saturday morning ritual,” I explained as I sat. When I felt him staring, I scowled. “I don’t eat everything in one day! It lasts me for the week, you know.”

He snorted as he used a fork to place a cinnamon roll on my plate then one on his. “Fuck, this is good,” he groaned after taking a bite.

I basically did the same at my first bite and we sat in companionable silence—amidst our noisy food groaning that is—for several minutes.

“How long have you lived here?” he asked.

“Almost two years,” I said, licking glaze off my thumb before taking a drink of coffee.

He finished his roll then reached for a cookie, splitting it in two and taking a bite, let out a low growl of pleasure. “These are amazing.” I nodded in agreement because they most definitely were. After taking a drink of coffee, he stated, “Bet I can read your mind.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep. You’re thinking, ‘Is he gonna pay me back for eating all my shit?’” He smiled when I huffed out a laugh.

I took the last bite of my cinnamon roll. “Totally what I was thinking,” I quipped before reaching for a cookie myself, glad that he was keeping the conversation light for now.

“I never stopped loving you, Birdie.”

So much for keeping it light.

He gazed at me for a moment. “And stop thinking that I’m only telling you this because I’m getting a divorce and don’t want to be alone. That’s not it.”

He’d always been able to read me so easily, but I was pretty sure my skeptical look had given me away.

“I’ve thought a million times about calling you, but I knew if I heard your voice, it’d just make things harder, which is selfish, I know. So I thought if I just ignored it, it’d all go away. It didn’t.” His eyes were full of anguish as he spoke, and it was then I knew the full depth of his feelings; he’d been hurt by everything too. “I know it sounds contrived, but I was in so much fucking pain after I left you. I kept telling myself I was doing the right thing by staying with Sonya.” He ran his hands over his face. “You know things had been fucked up between Sonya and me for a while, even before I met you. But, and I hope you understand this, I had to stay with her.”

I looked down into my coffee cup for a moment knowing I absolutely understood. I’d known all along. My anger toward him just hadn’t let me see it. I peered up at him and nodded. “It’s because you have integrity.” Relief shone on his face as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “I get it, Beck. But I was just so…hurt. I felt betrayed. It was a lot to handle, losing you. Then losing Mason and…giving his heart to your wife.” Tears welled up in my eyes and before I could blink them away, I was in Beck’s lap.

“I know and I’m so goddamned sorry.” He kissed my forehead. “And what you did for Sonya was…Jesus, words can’t even say how kind, how fucking generous it was of you to do that.” His arms tightened around me and he kissed the top of my head. “But I was in an impossible situation, Birdie. Even though I loved you, what kind of man would I be if I’d left her after she’d had surgery? I couldn’t have lived with myself.”

I sniffed as tears streamed down my face, nodding again because he was right.

“I made a vow to Sonya and I tried to honor it. Fuck, I tried.” He shook his head. “But knowing about the drugs and that she’d slept with other men, it was hard.” As he played with my fingers, I knew he was reliving those moments in his mind. He rested his chin on the top of my head and divulged, “You need to know I was prepared to be with her for the rest of my life.”

“I know,” I murmured. What he was saying now had my brain on overload.

“Even though I loved you.” I felt him blow out a breath against the top of my head. “I tried to stop. God knows I did.” We sat there for a while until he spoke again. “When I saw you at Fleishman, my heart fucking stopped. Everything I felt for you came welling up again.” He cleared his throat. “Of course, you were mad at me as you had every right to be.” His shrug made me pull back and look at him. “I just want you to know how sorry I am about everything.”

He’d answered all my questions and I’d forgiven him, so there really wasn’t much else to say.

“She’s been having an affair with the guy who did her EKG. She’s in love with him.”

“What?”

He shrugged again. “She deserves to be happy.”

Wow. I rested my head against his chest to think more on that while he continued fiddling with my fingers. His wife was really just something else. God.

“And the thing is, Birdie? I really didn’t know her. She hid a lot from me.” He pushed his chest out to get me to look up at him. “Then yesterday when I tried finding you, I realized I don’t know a lot about you either and I hate that.”

I frowned. “I guess I don’t know a lot about you either.”

He shook his head as he gazed down at me. “How can you be in love with someone when you don’t really know who they are?”

“I have a theory,” I disclosed. At his questioning look, I went on. “I think we fall in love with how we feel when we’re with someone, but not with the actual person.” He narrowed his eyes, so I expounded my point. “I mean, we can love someone, of course. I just think the difference in loving or being in love is the way you feel.”

He was quiet for a minute before he spoke. “That makes sense.” He reached for a cookie pulling it close to look at it. “Like, right now, this cookie makes me feel awesome. I think I’m in love with it.”

I smacked his chest and chuckled. “You’re ridiculous.”

He snorted then took a bite. “And you’re in love with me.” He chewed for a moment then his look turned serious. “You are in love with me, right?”

“I didn’t think I wanted to be,” I admitted and bit my lip, hoping he’d understand.

“We can take this slow, Birdie. We can just be friends first. If you want to try it…”

“I’d like that.” God, yes, I’d like that because this had been a lot coming at me. “And you need to know,” I repeated his words, “that I was prepared to never see you again.” I looked up at him to make sure he understood the gravity of what I was saying. “I’d come to terms with the possibility that I wouldn’t, and I was okay with it.”

“I get it.”

“That’s why this has to be slow, Beck, because I’m still in that mindset.”

His startling blue eyes looked into my green ones and he said, “Okay.” Then he gave me a sweet cookie peck of a kiss and helped me off his lap as we stood. “Now, how about you walk me home.”

I snorted. “I got my four miles in today. I’m good.”

He pulled my jacket off the chair and tossed it to me then put on his own. Grabbing my hand, he said, “Come on.”

Outside, he grinned at me as we walked down my stoop then up the very next one. Then punching in the code, he unlocked the front door.

“You live here?” I laughed.

“As of today,” he confirmed, pulling me inside and up to the second floor where he took his keys from his pocket and unlocked his door admitting, “And I honestly had no idea you lived next door.”

Jaden would have a field day about this being a sign, I thought, rolling my eyes. Then I looked around his apartment and exclaimed, “This is practically a mirror of mine!”

“I wonder,” he mumbled, still holding my hand and leading me down the hallway. In the bedroom, he went to the window. “That yours?” He pointed at the window across from his.

“Oh, my God! It is!” Seeing the leer he gave me, I beat him to the punch. “And I expect you to put on a strip show for me every night!”

“You can count on it,” he cracked with a wink.

I reminded myself that we were only going to be friends for now.

For now.

Chapter 16—Beck

After walking Birdie back to her apartment, in the cab to my hotel, I called Sonya to tell her I’d be by the next day to pick up some stuff. She said she’d be sure to be gone when she heard I’d probably be bringing Paul. Ah, guilt. The wonderful creator of chickenshits.

I next called Paul who was actually off tomorrow, so I talked him into helping me move my things.

“Look, Beckerhead, it was nice knowing you and all, but I draw the fucking line when it comes to moving shit.”

I laughed. “Yeah, well, I remember helping you move last year.”

“You drank beer while the moving guys brought everything up to the apartment!”

“And it was great. I did help Taylor a couple times, though.”

He huffed out a laugh. “You screwed in a hinge on a cabinet door.”

“And sprained my wrist doing it. I should’ve sued.”

“Jesus, you’re a pussy. What time?”

We met at what was now Sonya’s apartment at eleven the next morning and moved the rest of my clothes, some books and other shit like toiletries and a couple boxes of knick knacks.

It all fit into my Jeep and his Explorer which was kind of sad.

“That it?” he asked.

I raised my eyebrows sheepishly. “I think so.”

“I like it. It’s like you knew one day it’d come to this,” he joked which really struck a chord.

“Fuck. I think you’re right.”

He clapped me on the back. “Nah. You loved her. You’re a good guy and she fucked it all away.” He looked up at the building. “Fuck her.”

Normally, I would’ve come to Sonya’s defense but not anymore since what he said was pretty much true. I nodded then we got into our cars and left.

I pressed the call button outside Birdie’s building that afternoon.

“Yes?” she answered.

“Delivery,” I responded.

It took her a minute to realize it was me, I think, then she replied, “Sorry. Wrong apartment. Bye!”

I stood there wondering if she was playing when I heard the door buzz so I knew she was. I opened it and went up to the second floor to see her giggling in her open door when I got there.

“Funny,” I mumbled, holding up a bag. “Guess I’ll just take this chicken pho, brisket bahn mis, beer and go.”

“No! I’m starving! Get in here!” she squealed, opening her door wider for me to go in. “It smells so good!”

She got out plates—while I tried not staring at her ass in the yoga pants she wore—and was scarfing down her meal in no time

“Damn. I should be recording this,” I said, mouth hanging open acting as if I were witnessing something spectacularly crazy as I watched her eat.

She laughed. “Look, I worked all morning and only had a cookie.” She took a bite of her sandwich. “Good lord, this is good.”

“You worked on Fleishman’s books?” All I saw on the dining table where we sat was a laptop.

She nodded as she wiped her mouth with a napkin. “I can remotely access them with a program McNamara uses.”

“What exactly is it you’re looking for?” I could tell she was conflicted, not sure whether she should spill the details. It wasn’t like I couldn’t ask Joel, but I let it go for now since it obviously made her uncomfortable.

After taking a long pull from her beer bottle, she set it down, and suggested, “How about we get to know each other better instead of talking shop?”

“Sounds like a good plan.”

“Good! I’ll go first! Middle name?” she asked, picking up her sandwich to take another bite.

“Hamilton.”

“Really?”

“I told you Beck was Mom’s maiden name. Hamilton is another family name.” I shrugged. “Now you, plus maiden name.”

“Bernadette Elizabeth Winchester.”

“I like it. What’s your dad’s restaurant’s name?”

“Sub Atomic,” she said with a grin. “Dad was gonna be a chemical engineer but changed his mind and went into nutrition instead. Have you ever eaten there?” I shook my head. “I’ll have to take you sometime. His subs are the bomb.” I rolled my eyes at her cheesy joke making her laugh. “Okay, so you asked two questions, so I get two.” She narrowed her eyes for a moment. “What city did you grow up in and who was your childhood best friend?”

“A small town called Porter just east of Pittsburgh,” I began when she interrupted.

“Did you play any sports other than baseball?”

I chuckled at her eagerness to get to know me. “Football and basketball.”

“What was your mascot?”

“We were the Panthers.”

“The Porter Panthers. Cool. Best friend?” she remembered.

“Josh Hutchinson.”

“The guy from Hunger Games?” she spouted excitedly.

I laughed. “I think that guy’s Hutcherson or something.” I let out a Psh sound. “You think I’d be wasting my time working at Fleishman if my best friend was an actor? Hell no. I’d be his manager and be hauling in the big bucks.”

With a giggle, she said, “Okay, okay, smartass. Do you still talk to him?”

“I’ll put it this way, I got in a lot of trouble hanging out with Josh. Last time I talked to him, it was right after we’d graduated high school and he’d been arrested for stealing a car. He was out on bail and had to wear one of those ankle monitor things for tracking.”

“Wow. Probably a good thing you weren’t with him, huh?”

“Yeah. Last I heard, he’s in prison now for burglary. We did have fun, though.” I shrugged at the judgmental look she gave me. “We were bored kids in a small town.”

“Well, now he’ll be bored for the next five to ten,” she said matter-of-factly.

God. Fucking cute. This just being friends thing was going to be tough.

“You asked seven, so I get seven.” She scoffed and I held up my hand, putting a finger up with each example I gave. “Where’d you grow up, best friend, other sports, mascot, Hunger Games, do I still talk to him, probably good I wasn’t with him, huh? Seven.”

“You should’ve been a lawyer with that memory.”

 I chuckled and focused on keeping my hands to myself because what I wanted to do at that moment was bend her over the table and fuck her brains out. Yeah, yeah, I know. I was a horny guy who hadn’t had sex in two years. Sue me.

The rest of the afternoon was spent asking and answering all sorts of questions and getting to know each other better. I hadn’t even realized how late it’d gotten when she asked if I wanted to order something for dinner.

“Nah, I should probably get back to my place and put some things away,” I said.

“I can help if you want,” she offered.

“Thanks, but I kinda wanna do this alone, you know, make it mine? But I’d love if you came for dinner maybe Wednesday? I’ve got furniture being delivered Tuesday, so I’ll actually have a table to eat at.”

“I’d love that,” she said, walking me to her door. “Hey, maybe I could get your number? Just in case?”

Ah. This was perfect. I’d thought of asking for hers but didn’t want to push. We put each other’s contact information into our phones then she walked me down to the building’s door.

“Oh! Another thing? It might sound kind of dumb, but when you get back to your apartment, maybe you could, like, flash your bedroom light twice to let me know you made it okay?”

“You want me to flash you?” I smirked and waggled my eyebrows. “And can we get walkie talkies and call each other on them after our parents go to sleep and plan to sneak out?” I teased.

The look she gave me was too damned adorable and not being able to help myself, I pulled her in for a hot, wet, deep kiss. When I moved my head away, I think I was in just as much shock as she was, so I quickly told her goodnight and got the hell out of there before she could cuss me out.

Once in my apartment, I decided some mollification was in order since I’d crossed a line. So doing her bidding, I went into my bedroom and flipped the light switch twice. She did it back but at a slower rate and I laughed that I could see her waving at me.

And I was glad we were friends.

For now.

Chapter 17—Birdie

Monday morning, I thought maybe Beck would text and we could take a cab to work together. But he didn’t, so I stuck to my usual routine.

When I got to Fleishman, he was already in his office sitting at his desk. His jacket was off and I saw that he wore suspenders. Holy cow. I normally thought they looked kind of dopey on guys, but Beck made them hot. 

“Hey,” I said when I stopped in his doorway.

“Hey, honey,” he answered and I felt my stomach go all flip-floppy.

“You wanna have lunch today?” I asked.

His face went soft and I knew he liked the idea. “I can’t, sorry. I have to meet with my lawyer today.”

I leaned into his office and whispered, “Oh. The divorce?”

“Yeah,” he whispered right back leaning toward me with a grin. “The divorce.”

I rolled my eyes and stood straight again. “I didn’t know if you’d told anyone yet and was trying to be discreet.”

He shrugged. “I’m not wearing my wedding ring so I think they’ll figure it out soon enough. Especially when they see me making out with you in the board—” He stopped himself and scrunched up his face as if he’d made a terrible faux pas. “Sorry.” He started mumbling, “Friends, friends, friends,” as he looked around on his desk for something to occupy him.

“You’re so bad,” I said with a chuckle and turned to go.

“But Birdie?” he called. I spun back to him with raised eyebrows. “You come in here wearing those tight skirts that cup your heart-shaped ass so nicely then top it off with the fuck-me shoes and, well, don’t think I don’t wanna bend you over my desk and fuck you right this very moment.”

Well, wow.

I felt my face flush at the smoldering look he was giving me. Was it hot in here? I think it was hotter from when I’d gotten off the elevator to now.

“Okay,” I breathed out not knowing what else to say.

“Fuck,” he growled, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath then blowing it out as if he was running out of patience. When he opened his eyes, he ordered, “Get to work before I make good on what I just said.”

I bit my lip before replying, “Okay.” At his warning look, I left his office and headed to the boardroom, stomach full of butterflies, murmuring, “Friends, friends, friends,” the whole way.

“Hey, hottie!” I heard someone call just as I pulled the door open.

Oh, yay. My daily Rance Jones catcall. Whoopee. He’d practically fallen over himself my first day at Fleishman to shake my hand and introduce himself. He wasn’t bad looking, his auburn hair cut similarly to Beck’s, short and spiked up at the front, but his delivery was terrible. And although he seemed like a nice guy, his creepy factor made me know not to trust him.

“Good morning, Rance,” I muttered.

 “Wanna go to lunch today, gorgeous?”

“I’ll probably work through it. Sorry!” I called as I went through the boardroom door not bothering to look back. Yeesh.

I set my laptop on the table then hung my coat on the rack, and digging through a few boxes, found the ledgers I needed and placing them on the table, got to work.

An hour later there was a knock at the doorframe and Linda came in telling me good morning and handing me a much-needed cup of coffee.

“Thank you,” I said, taking a long sip. “Just how I like it. Thanks for remembering.”

“No problem,” she answered. “Any luck yet?”

“Getting closer. I caught a couple 1099s which Joel is taking care of, but I’m still trying to catch who entered the ghost employees.”

“That completely blows my mind,” she commented, shaking her head. “Okay, well, let me know if you need anything, okay?”

I nodded and got back to the books.

“Hey, baby,” I heard Beck say what seemed like hours later. Looking at my phone, I saw that it was after twelve. It was hours later. Dang.

“Hey,” I replied and rubbed my eyes with my thumb and finger. “You heading out?” I looked up at him, so handsome in his suit.

“Yeah. How about Mariucci’s tonight? Seven’ish? I’ll pick you up.” He winked.

“Oh, I don’t want you going that far out of your way,” I retorted with a chuckle.

“Always so thoughtful,” he smiled and lightly ran a finger down the side of my face. “I’ll see you tonight.” He bent and kissed the top of my head before leaving.

I turned to check if anyone had caught us and came upon two pairs of eyes peering from their cubicles at me. One was Rance, Mr. Nosy himself, and the other was Bored Black Glasses Guy whom I’d asked where the restroom was on my first day. Embarrassed, I quickly looked away.

All of a sudden, my stomach growled, and though I’d meant to work through lunch, I decided to take a break and run to the deli around the corner. Just as I got my coat on and grabbed my purse, my phone rang. Beck.

“Hey,” I answered, looking out at the office to see Black Glasses Dude watching me so I turned my back.

“Hey. I sent Dana to get you a sandwich, if that’s okay. I told her you liked Reubens, so that’s probably what you’ll get.”

Aw! How thoughtful was that?

“Oh, gosh, thank you. I was just heading that way but I’ll get a soda instead and wait for her. That’s so nice of you, Beck. I appreciate it.”

“Anything for you, honey.”

And there came the butterflies. “Hey,” I said softly. “Good luck at your attorney’s.”

He chuckled. “It’s not anything that needs luck, babe, but I appreciate the sentiment. I’ll see you tonight.”

“’Kay. Bye.” Just as I disconnected the call, Dana showed up with a bag that smelled divine.

“Reuben on rye with a dill pickle on the side and homemade potato chips. Enjoy!” she said with a smile then went back to her desk as I hollered out a thank you.

“He said everything looked good. He’s filed a response to her petition, so things should go smoothly. I gave him a copy of our income taxes, a list of assets and what I wanted, so we’re all set.”

I’d asked Beck how things had gone with his attorney as we sat at a table for two in the Italian restaurant that night.

 “I’m glad it’s gonna go easy. A couple of my friends have told me their nightmare divorce stories and I don’t want that for you,” I said.

“Me either.” He chuckled. “So how’s everything going with the books?” he inquired.

“Pretty well,” I stated aloofly.

 “Look, Birdie, I’ve talked to Joel, so I know what’s going on. Ten ghost employees? Damn.”

I was surprised that he knew what I was doing but relieved at the same time. At least I didn’t have to hide it from him anymore. “I know! Someone’s definitely been cooking the hell out of the books. I can’t wait to catch them!”

“How much longer do you think it’ll take?” he asked just as the waiter approached and took our orders.

After the waiter left, I explained, “I don’t know. With the other three branches’ books combined with your branch, it’ll take this week and probably part of next. I should be in Chicago right now but had to postpone.” His quizzical look had me asking, “What?”

“Do you travel much with your job?”

I nodded excitedly. “Yes, and I found out I kinda love it! In the past year, I’ve been in Boston—supposed to be going back soon—Denver, Atlanta, and Baltimore.” When he frowned, I questioned again, “What?”

“You travel alone?”

“Well, yeah. Why?”

“Beautiful woman, traveling alone in big cities?”

Now I frowned. “Put that machismo away right now, Beck. I’m a grown woman. I can handle myself.” I rolled my eyes at his lack of faith in me.

“I know you can. But I’ll tell you like my dad told me when I wanted to get a motorcycle.”

I interrupted him. “What does getting a motorcycle have to do with this?” I was officially annoyed.

He chuckled. “I always wanted a bike when I was in high school but Dad kept saying no. He’d say it wasn’t that he didn’t trust me, it was that he didn’t trust the other drivers to see me. That’s all I’m getting at. I know you’re tough and can take care of yourself. I’m just talking about the psychos that abound is all.”

“I appreciate your concern and all but I keep an eye out for any and all ‘psychos.’”

He reached out and covered my hand with his. “I’m not trying to piss you off, Birdie. But I can’t help being concerned.” His sapphire eyes held mine. “I’d like to spend,” he cleared his throat, “a lot of time with you and I worry, that’s all.”

“Oh.” Well, that was sweet and I felt bad for griping him out. “Just so you know, I always carry pepper spray and if I fly somewhere, I make sure to buy a canister first thing.”

He squeezed my hand before letting it go, then with a wink, drawled, “Good. Can’t have my best girl going unarmed.”

All right. I needed a time out.

“I need to use the ladies’ room,” I told him. “I’ll be right back.”

He stood when I did, like the gentleman he was and I couldn’t take it anymore. Just outside the restroom, I pulled my phone from my purse and dialed Jaden.

“Hey! How’s dinner going?” she answered.

“I’m gonna sleep with him.”

She was silent for a moment then yelled, “What!”

I was prepared for her response and already held the phone away from my ear before bringing it back to tell her, “J, he’s hot. You’ve seen him. Hot, right? And so charming. And he says the sweetest things. Like just now, he was asking about my traveling alone, and when I started to get pissed, he explained that he just worried because he didn’t want anything to happen to me since he wants to spend a lot of time with me. Isn’t that sweet? Tell me it’s sweet!”

She laughed. “Yes, B, it’s sweet. But I thought you were gonna try the friends route first before getting into something serious?”

“I’ll just say this. Today at work? He wore suspenders. And he’s still wearing them.”

“Oh, well, go for it, then. I mean, suspenders! Those are like insta-seducers on the right man!”

I jerked my head back in surprise because I’d thought she’d be way harder to convince. “Really?”

“No! God. Seriously? What’s wrong with you?”

“What do you mean, what’s wrong with me? Nothing! You know I still love him! And what would be wrong with sleeping with him tonight?”

I heard her let out a sigh. “Not a thing. I just want you to be sure you’re ready to take that step with him is all. If you’re ready, then do the deed. I just don’t want you to jump the gun and get hurt again.”

“I know. But I think we’re okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “Wait. You don’t think I’ll look like a slut if I sleep with him too soon, do you?”

She let out a cackle. “Honey, you’re the farthest thing from a slut there is. You’ve known him for over two years and haven’t slept with him yet. And you love him. He’s told you he loves you. So I say go for it.”

I blew out a breath. “I think I will. Thanks, J. Love you. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“You’d better. Love you too.”

I hung up and went inside the bathroom to check my makeup then made my way back to the table where our appetizer, baked clams, had just arrived.

“This looks great,” I said as I put my napkin in my lap. I picked up a clam, pulled out the meat with a fork, dipped it in the sauce, and made a guttural sound as I ate it. “These are delicious.” When he didn’t respond, I glanced up to see him staring at the clams angrily. “What’s wrong?”

“I got a text from Sonya.”

“What happened?”

He let out an irritated breath. “She wants a fucking t-shirt I have.”

Well, okay then.

 “We agreed on a no-fault divorce, even though she fucking cheated. And now she texts about wanting my insurance to cover her after the divorce then she goes on a rampage about alimony, which all of this shit has already been fucking arranged. And the kicker? She said she wants my Jeep.”

Oh, shit. Everyone knows you don’t mess with a man’s vehicle. Yikes.

The waiter brought our entrées and Beck and I both sat and stared at our meals having lost our appetites.

“You wanna get out of here?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

I took a drink of wine and seeing our waiter, held my hand up. When he came over, I asked if he could box everything up.

“Yes, madam. Is everything okay?” he questioned.

“It’s wonderful. We just have a bit of an emergency and need to leave,” I explained.

He gave me a gracious tilt of his head before taking our plates. A moment later, another waiter came by to retrieve the clams to box up.

“Are you okay?” I asked Beck quietly.

“Fucking pissed,” he ground out then downed the rest of his wine.

Once we got our food and paid the check, we left. The valet hailed us a cab and we headed back to our apartments. I kept quiet because there was really nothing that could be said that would help. The only thing I knew to do was hold Beck’s hand and rest my head on his shoulder, so that’s what I did.

“That fucking…” Beck snarled once we were inside my apartment. “It’s not like I’m not gonna help her.” He was pacing, so I sat at the bar and let him get everything out. “That was never an issue. I’ll provide her insurance. I’ll give her a fucking monthly stipend of alimony.” He jammed a hand into his hair and looked up at the ceiling for a second before yelling, “But she’s not gonna fuck with my Jeep!”

When he didn’t say anything else, just kept walking back and forth, I questioned, “Does she have her own car?”

“That’s the fucking craziness of it. I bought her a brand-new SUV not two months ago, trying to keep her goddamned ass happy. Lot of fucking good it did.” He kept walking and suddenly stopped. “Oh, fuck no! If she thinks she’s gonna take my Jeep and give it to that tech she’s been fucking, she’s got another thing coming!” he roared.

I remained silent because, again, there was nothing I could say to make it better. I mean, I was pretty sure she couldn’t take his vehicle, but I was no lawyer. After several minutes went by, I asked gently, “Do you want to be alone?”

He turned his furious gaze on me and I held my breath until it softened as he came back to me from where he’d been inside his angry head. “Yeah. I need to call her. And I’ve got to get out of these clothes.” Not the suspenders! I had plans for those, damn it! “I’m sorry, Birdie. I know I spoiled our evening.”

I stood and went to him. “You didn’t spoil anything. I just wish I could help.”

He pulled me into him, wrapping his arms around my waist. “You’ve helped by just listening.” He leaned down and gave me a chaste kiss which was disappointing but I knew his mind was on other things. “I’ll text you later.”

At my door, he gave me a quick peck as he held my chin in his fingers then he was gone.

Chapter 18—Beck

“Why the fuck are you going after my Jeep, Sonya?” I asked once I’d calmed down some, having changed into jeans and a t-shirt with a plaid button down over it which made me feel more relaxed.

“I thought I’d sell the SUV to have money since I’m not working,” she replied.

I gritted my teeth. “That Jeep was a gift from my parents when I graduated from Penn State. You’re not fucking taking it.”

“Calm down, Beck. Jesus. It was just a thought.”

“And the t-shirt? Really?” I huffed out a humorless laugh.

“We bought them on our honeymoon. I just think it’s weird for you to keep it.”

She was talking about a black “Mr. Right” shirt for me with a matching pink “Mrs. Right” for her we’d bought in Atlantic City on our honeymoon. “I’ll give it to the fucking Salvation Army then, Christ. Are you gonna continue to be petty through this whole fucking divorce?” I asked.

“I’m not trying to be petty, Beck,” she replied snottily. “I just want to make sure I’ve covered all the bases.”

“Look, the SUV is paid for. All you have is rent and I’m sure Tech Dude can handle that.”

“Grant and I want to get a bigger place because, well, we just do…”

“What’re you saying, Sonya?” Fuck. Was she pregnant?

“I’m just saying we want a bigger place is all, God.”

“Are you gonna marry this guy?” I asked, curious as to how long I’d be paying alimony.

And here’s the deal. I didn’t have a problem paying her alimony. Matter of fact, my lawyer had drawn up a pendente lite form while I’d been there today which was a motion for me to pay her temporary maintenance while our divorce was pending. What I did have a problem with, though, was paying Grant the Tech Guy. Yeah, yeah, I know I had no control over how the money was spent, it was the law that said I had no say, blah blah, blah, but the law sometimes fucking sucked.

“Probably,” she whispered.

“I only want you to be happy, Sonya. You haven’t been happy in a long time, so I hope this guy can do that for you.”

“He does.”

I wasn’t in love with her, hadn’t been for a long time, but that still stung a little, made me wonder why I hadn’t made her happy. But then I realized it didn’t matter.

“Good. Now, am I gonna get any more texts demanding shit? I’m trying my best to do right by you. I’ll keep you on my insurance until you get on his, you’ve got money coming to help you until this is over, and I’ll burn the fucking t-shirt.”

She chuckled. “I was just having a moment. Sorry. And, Beck? I really am sorry about everything. I did love you. And we did have some good times.”

“I’m sorry too. And, yeah, we did.”

We sat there in silence—what were the words that could repair the brokenness between us—until I finally spoke.

“Goodnight, Sonya.”

After we hung up, I looked around at the boxes in my living room. My furniture was coming in the morning and the building superintendent was letting the delivery men in, so I cleared out an area hoping it was large enough to hold the things I’d bought.

Then I realized I was hungry because I hadn’t eaten at the restaurant and Birdie had our food.

Text Message—Tues, Jan 10, 9:14 p.m.

Me: How about a late dinner?

Birdie: Sounds good. Here or there?

Me: Since you have a table, there ; ) See you in a few

I locked up then walked the thirty-or-so feet to Birdie’s stoop and pushed the buzzer. She didn’t bother saying anything, just buzzed me in. At the top of the stairs, I saw her at her open door, chin resting on her hand that held it, a gorgeous smile on her face.

And I fell harder for her than I had before. She was so good. Kind. Caring. Beautiful. She’d been through hell but had come out stronger. She was a survivor who hadn’t complained about her situation. No, she’d made it better. She’d challenged herself. And the love I had for her was deep, powerful, intense, unlike any I’d ever experienced before.

And I was done with being just friends.

Her widening eyes at my approach let me know she sensed my mood.

When I made it to her, I pulled her inside the apartment with me, closing the door and pushing her back against it. Then I kissed her long and hard and it was fucking great.

When I pulled back, she blinked slowly as she looked up at me.

“Wow,” she murmured.

Wow was fucking right.

Chapter 19—Birdie

Holy cow.

It was really going to happen.

Beck and I were finally going to sleep together.

As he’d approached me from the stairs, the look on his face had been so intense, his lust-filled eyes piercing mine that all I could do was stare. Then he’d grabbed me, taking me with him inside my apartment and had kissed the heck out of me.

His hands now dropped to my waist and he picked me up, making me yelp in surprise. I circled my legs around his waist then he kissed me roughly again. God. There was so much need in his kiss, so much want, desire, and I’m sure my own kiss radiated all of that right back at him.

He carried me to my bedroom, and putting a knee on the bed, lay me down before him.

On his hands and hovering over the top of me, he looked down. “Baby,” he said in a low voice and I felt a spasm between my legs at just hearing it. “I fucking love you.”

“I love you too,” I whispered back.

Now, I’d love to say that we took our time, whispering sweet nothings and taking each other’s clothing off slowly, one piece at a time, our gazes never parting, our passion building as we caressed and stroked each other languidly.

But I’d be a huge liar if I did.

What really happened was, just after I affirmed my love for him, we were all over each other, tongues twisting together frantically, hands tearing clothing off like crazy until we were both naked.

“Do I need a condom?” he grated, settling on top of me, the weight of him pressed into the cradle of my body.

“No!” was my lustful cry.

“Fuck,” I heard him groan as he coiled his forearm around the back of my knee and stretching my leg up he plunged powerfully inside making me draw in a sharp breath. “Are you okay?” he ground out not moving and I knew it took a lot out of him to stay still, but he was worried about me. God, I loved him.

“Yes, baby, I’m more than okay,” I breathed, my hands going to his back to pull him down for a kiss.

I hadn’t had sex in over two years and he was very large, so I made that kiss last as I adjusted to his size. Once I was there, I moaned against his lips, “Move, please!”

Drawing his hips back, mouth still on mine, at that moment, with the first thrust he made, I knew I would never be the same.

“Oh, God!” I called, coming hard as my slick core pulsated around his thick cock.

I heard him utter another Fuck before he braced himself on both hands and began pounding into me, taking me so hard that I had to grab his wrists to stay in place.

It. Was. Amazing. 

Watching his face, I could tell he was trying to make it last, but I was pretty sure he hadn’t had sex for a while too, so putting my hand between us, my fingers on either side of his cock and thumb at my clit, I stroked him as I worked myself, helping us both along.

“Gonna come,” he growled, his hips pistoning forcefully.

I climaxed just before he did, and both of us cried out, my body arching up off the bed as I watched him gritting his teeth, his neck muscles straining as he made one last strong thrust before burying himself deep.

He collapsed on top of me, our bodies shiny with perspiration, both of us breathing hard as we lay there completely used up.

“That,” he said between breaths, “was goddamn incredible.”

“I,” I sucked in air, “agree.”

Once we finally caught our breath, he pulled back from where he’d buried his face at the side of my neck just over my shoulder and gazed down at me.

“You make me so fucking happy,” he announced and I thought that was better than any declaration of love I’d ever heard.

I smiled up at him. “You make me happy too.”

“I’m sorry I was so rough, it’s just that—”

“I know, Beck. It’s been a long time for me too. And do you hear me complaining? Uh, no. I came twice! I’ve never come twice before!”

The proud look that canvassed his face made me giggle then he bent to kiss me sweetly. His lips moved away to roam over my neck where he kissed, nipped and licked his way down. One of his hands came up to grasp my breast then I felt his hot breath on my nipple. When he swirled his tongue around it, I arched into him, moaning loudly when his mouth closed over it and he sucked.

“Beck,” I moaned, feeling my womb clench. Dear God, he was going to make me come again. Gah!

His mouth moved to my other nipple, sucking it in as well, and just when I was about to fall over the edge he stopped and slowly drew his tongue down my belly eyes on mine as he kept going lower.

My heels dug into the bed forcing my hips to come up off it, which I swear was involuntary, as my body reacted to his teasingly slow torture. I heard his dark chuckle just before his mouth was suddenly on me and that was all it took.

“Beck!” I cried as I climaxed, every muscle inside me locking up as I shattered into a million pieces right there in front of him. Because of him. Each nerve ending feeling as if it were on fire as waves of utter bliss flowed through me. Holy God.

“Mmm, baby, I love the taste of you,” he said as he lapped at me before slowly making his way back up my body, continuing the unhurried torment he was deliciously inflicting upon me.

His mouth landed on mine again and he kissed me senseless—the man could fricking kiss!—when suddenly he turned me to where I was on my belly. Pulling my hips up, he ran his hand over my lower back then across each side of my ass as he muttered, “Fucking gorgeous.”

And then he was inside me again. My head fell back on my shoulders as he filled me over and over again and I let out a husky moan at how good he felt. He then curled an arm around my waist and splayed his hand across my belly just as the fingers of his other hand wrapped themselves into my hair and he pulled me to my knees roughly as he drove up hard inside.

Leaning down next to my ear, he growled, “This tight pussy is all mine. You hear me, Birdie. Mine.”

“Yes,” I breathed out as he pumped inside me then stilled.

“Tell me,” he rumbled in a gruff voice.

“It’s yours, Beck. Only yours.”

I could tell this pleased him as he resumed driving his hard cock inside. His fingers on my stomach moved down between my legs and at his touch, I orgasmed yet again, letting out a gaspy scream amazed at how easily he orchestrated every part of my body to do his bidding. Damn.

When his thrusts got tighter and faster I knew he was on the verge of coming. Palm to my back, he guided me down to the bed, then both hands on my hips he pulled me back to meet his every thrust. Then driving in hard, he hit his peak with a groan, emptying himself inside me before practically falling to the bed on his side, arms holding me tightly, as he whispered, “I love you.”

And we were out.

I awoke an hour later to soft kisses on my shoulder. Turning toward him, I put a hand on his face and we gazed at each other for several moments before we both started laughing. So much for that romantic moment.

But it was romantic because we were sharing something. What, I really didn’t know, but by God we were sharing it.

When our laughing continued, I asked through my giggles, “Why are we laughing?”

“I don’t know,” he answered and snorted.

We finally stopped long enough to shower then ate our Italian food. When we finished, we went right back to bed and after one last spectacular lovemaking session, slept through to the morning.

Chapter 20—Beck

I awoke to the most stunning woman I’d ever laid eyes on and watched her sleep for several minutes, so happy that we’d found each other again.

I also felt like the luckiest son of a bitch on Earth because she was fucking wild in bed. The way she responded to me was absolutely perfect and I couldn’t have been more thrilled.

As I watched her sleep, I reflected on what my life had been until her. I’d thought I’d been happy but I was so wrong. This right here, lying in bed next to her watching her wrinkle her cute little nose as she slept, this was pure fucking happiness. I felt complete, whole, as if the last puzzle piece had finally been found.

And I couldn’t wait to start my life with her.

Grabbing my phone, I saw it was six, so twisting back to her, I kissed her forehead.

“Hey, honey. It’s time to get up.”

“No,” she groaned and turned over.

I snorted. Birdie Chapman, who was one of the busiest women I knew, always on the go, wasn’t a morning person. How fucking cute was that?

“Baby, you need to wake up.”

“What time is it?” she groused.

“Six.”

“My alarm goes off in forty-five minutes. Let me sleep.”

I chuckled and kissed her shoulder. “Okay, sweetheart. You sleep. I’ll see you at the office.”

After dressing, I went into her kitchen finding a pen and paper then wrote her a note and left it on the pillow I’d slept on. I left her place making sure the door locked behind me, then back at my apartment I got ready for work.

“Hey,” Birdie called from my office doorway.

I stood and went to her, kissing her right there in front of God and everyone. She was blushing when I pulled back and I laughed.

“I want everyone to know you’re mine and that I love you,” I stated. “I actually want to tell them now.” I started to step out of my office when she grabbed me by the arm pulling me back.

“Beck!” she whisper-hissed. “They think you’re still married and I’ll look like a tramp!”

“I’ll tell them I’m divorced.”

She rolled her eyes, then looking at me, smiled. “Thank you for my note. You make my life better and I love you too.” She leaned in closer keeping her voice low. “And five orgasms?” She pulled back and bugged her eyes out at me which made me snort. “I don’t think I’ve ever had that many in an entire month!”

Of course, that was a huge ego stroke and I loved it. “My girl likes how I fuck her,” I said, laughing when her mouth fell open in shock.

“You can’t say things like that here!” she snapped quietly.

I looked around the office to see that no one was paying any attention to us at all, their morning coffee not having kicked in yet.

“Baby, no one cares.” I looked out at the cubicles again noticing there was one pair of black-glasses-wearing eyes on us. When I narrowed my eyes, Birdie followed my gaze.

“That guy always seems to be looking at me. It kinda creeps me out,” she shared.

“He’s pretty strange. Always talking about Stephen King and his books. Like, throws that shit out there when you’re not even talking about it. Maybe I’ll have a chat with him.”

“No! I think he’s just bored, so any action catches his eye.”

I kept looking at the guy, who’d looked away the second our eyes had met, wondering what his deal was. I’d have to call Curt in HR and find out.

“Well, I’ve got to get to work and so do you,” she said, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“Do you wanna go somewhere for lunch or I can have Dana go get us something. Your choice.”

“If Dana doesn’t mind, that would be great. How about a roast beef this time?”

“Sounds good. All right. Go get ‘em, baby,” I encouraged then laughed when she dodged my kiss when I bent down. But I did get in a nice little butt pat as she left my office, which garnered me a dirty look making me laugh.

“You getting any closer to finding the culprit?” I asked Birdie. We were in the boardroom having lunch.

“I’ve got all the 1099s worked out. They’ll have to contact the IRS and make payment arrangements for them. I’ve matched receipts to the expense accounts, which I’m thinking most of that money might be lost.” She shrugged then took a drink of soda. “And as far as payroll goes, I’m still trying to make the connection among the ten ghosts. I’m not really working with the books anymore as much as I am calling on the bank accounts and mailboxes where the checks have been going.”

I shook my head. “Did the ghosts get paid for December?”

“Yeah, which means the culprit is still around unless someone’s quit or been fired either here or at the three other branches. I’ve got reports coming on that also.”

“Damn, you’re good,” I said, then taking a look out of the glass into the main room and seeing that no one was watching, I kissed her.

“Beck!” she scolded playfully and threw a potato chip at me. I caught it in my hand and ate it which had her shaking her head.

“Oh, I called the super and my furniture has been delivered. How about you come over tonight and help me arrange it?”

She smiled brightly, liking the idea. “That sounds fun!”

“Then we can christen each piece afterward,” I added, loving that just as she opened her mouth to protest, at the thought of what I’d suggested, she then bit her lip and drew in a deep breath, getting turned on. God. My girl was fucking hot.

“That sounds like even more fun,” she replied, gazing at me seductively as she licked her lips.

“You think you can handle it?” I asked.

“Mm, you give me five orgasms again, and I can handle anything, baby.”

Fuck, she got me hot.

“All right. Lunchtime’s over,” I said, standing and adjusting myself before gathering my trash to throw away. She giggled as she did the same, sans the adjusting, then bit her lips to keep from laughing when our eyes met knowing what she did to me. “You think I can’t find a closet somewhere or an empty office where I can fuck you?”

Her eyes got big but then her eyebrows went up as if she were game. “Is there such a place?” 

I couldn’t tell if she was being serious or messing with me, so squinting my eyes, I said low, “You need your ass spanked.” I heard her gasp at what I’d said as I finished off my bottle of water. Good.

Don’t get me wrong. I loved that she was becoming more comfortable at saying dirty things that turned me the fuck on. But there was a time and a place, damn it. “Get back to work, honey,” I said, giving her a quick peck before going back to my office, cursing under my breath as I went, at the fact that my girl had almost made me pop a fucking boner at work. Like I was some goofy teenager who popped wood at the drop of a hat.

Text Message—Tues, Jan 11, 12:26 p.m.

Birdie: Sorry

Me: For?

Birdie: You know

Me: ?

Birdie: Beck

Me: Birdie

Birdie: You’re gonna make me say it?

Me: ; )

Birdie: Okay. You asked for it. I’m sorry I almost got you hard. There, happy?

Me: I’d be happier if you were in here underneath my desk making it all better

Birdie: You need some gum scraped off under there?

Me: Smartass

Birdie: Joker

Me: Tonight

Birdie: Tomorrow

Me: I’m not playing a fucking word association game here, Birdie

I snorted out a laugh shaking my head because she was something else.

Birdie: Oh. Sorry

Me: Go catch your bad guy

Birdie: Go…do whatever it is you do

I’d explained to her exactly what my job description was the day we’d asked questions.

Me: My hand, your ass, tonight. You answer back anything smartassed and I’ll leave pretty pink marks too

Birdie: Yes, sir!

Knowing her, that was meant to be smartassed but I let it go. She’d find out tonight what her smartassedness got her.

Chapter 21—Birdie

I was pressed against Beck’s wall at the head of his bed, my legs wrapped around his waist, and he was on his knees, driving up into me hard and deep, and when my core spasmed around him, I let out a throaty moan at how good he made me feel.

After work, we’d taken a cab together home then when I’d changed into yoga pants and a long-sleeved t-shirt, I went to help him move his furniture. There was a sofa, loveseat, coffee and end tables for the living room, a dining table and a new king-sized bed. We spent an hour arranging everything just so then ordered delivery from the Thai restaurant down the street. We’d already eaten but had just made a couple minor adjustments in the placement of the end tables.

“It feels like home now,” I said, hands on my hips, proud of how good everything looked. He’d chosen pieces that were just like him, bold yet with a sense of quiet dignity to them, and they fit perfectly into his apartment.

He plopped down onto the couch and called, “C’mere.”

I sat next to him as he turned on the huge TV he’d installed on the wall over the fireplace. He turned it to a basketball game and we watched for a few minutes before I said, “You weren’t really serious today, were you?”

Keeping his eyes on the game, I saw his lips twitch and the sides of his eyes wrinkled a little with his shift in expression. He was laughing at me because I’d thought he’d been serious! Well, I’d show him.

“Just so you know, I had an old boyfriend who was into kink, so, been there, done that,” I totally lied.

Before I knew what was happening, he’d pulled me across his lap and had my yoga pants down in a flash. Then I felt a smack! against my cheek and let out a yelp.

“What’re you doing?” I shouted.

“Bad girls get punished. I warned you, Birdie.”

“You have got to be—Ouch!” He was seriously spanking me. And I didn’t quite know how to feel about it.

“There’s a time and place to be naughty, baby,” he uttered.

“I wasn’t being—Oh!”

I tuned in to what he was doing. After each smack, he rubbed my ass cheek to soothe it, so it wasn’t too bad. And actually, to my surprise, I found it had started to turn me on. So I decided to experiment to see if I was really into it.

“You know I’m a smartass, Beck.” Smack! “I can’t help it if I’m sarcastic.” Smack! “Oh, my God, I think I really like this.” Smack!  Proving that being spanked had genuinely aroused me, I felt myself get soaking wet after his last strike.

Sliding his hand down my ass then curving his fingers up between my legs and let out a groan. “Fucking soaked. Jesus fuck.”

He’d stood, pulling me up with him and kissed me deeply leaving me swooning afterward. “My baby likes it rough,” he muttered as he jerked my pants off then tore my t-shirt over my head. Unbuckling his belt and then unbuttoning his jeans, he’d bent me over the arm of the couch and fucked me hard, smacking my ass a few more times which had me gushing. Gah. When I’d come a second time, he’d picked me up and carried me to his bedroom and now there we were.

“You feel so fucking good,” he rasped out, pushing up inside me, my back still against the wall as he held my eyes with his, both of us as connected as two people could be.

“Fuck me,” I breathed out, leaning forward to kiss him.

“God, I love you,” he mumbled against my mouth, our eyes open gazing into each other’s which was somehow so erotic and sensual that I felt the stirrings of another climax coming on.

 Moving away from the wall, he turned and lay me on the bed, staying inside me the whole time. His thrusts then became measured, deliberate, and as he brushed the hair off my forehead that’d stuck there from my perspiration, he pressed his lips against mine kissing me softly. Moving a hand down between us, his fingers worked their magic making me come again in no time, but I kept my eyes on him, watching as he climaxed, the striations in his shoulder muscles bulging, teeth clenching and neck muscles straining and thought it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

“I have to go to Chicago tomorrow,” I told Beck the next day at lunch.

My boss had called that morning and said the company I’d put on hold there needed me for the rest of the week and possibly the next Monday and Tuesday. I had to go because I’d already put them off for Fleishman.

We sat in the boardroom eating and I saw him frown. “I’ve got some vacation time if you want me to come with you.”

“I’ll be busy the whole time and won’t really be able to do anything,” I replied.

I knew it was bad but when Mr. Ruiz had called I’d felt relieved to be leaving and I hadn’t known how to feel about it so I’d called Jaden.

“What’s up, bestie?” she’d answered.

“I’m kinda freaking out.”

“Is the bad guy a murderer too?” she squealed.

Good God.

“No! Listen, Mr. Ruiz called a few minutes ago and said I need to go to that job in Chicago.”

“Okay.”

“And I was kind of happy to be leaving.”

She was quiet for a moment before asking, “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know! You’re supposed to tell me!”

“Are you wanting to get away from Beck?” she asked carefully.

“I don’t know,” I whispered.

“Isn’t it working out?”

“No, it is. It’s been great. It’s just that, well, this is gonna sound weird and all, but I think I got used to being alone and I kinda miss me time, I guess.”

“But you love him?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re in love with him?”

“Yes.”

“But you want some time on your own? Right?”

“Yes!” I repeated.

She chuckled. “You’re fine, B. Everyone needs a break now and then.”

I let out the breath I’d been holding as I’d waited for her to tell me I was a terrible person. “So just because I want some alone time, that doesn’t mean I’m gonna be turning into the next Condoleezza Rice, right?”

“I don’t know. There’s still time.”

“Shut it,” I said with a giggle. “So, again, just wanting to make sure, you don’t think it’s bad that I want to get away for a bit?”

“Nope. It’s perfectly normal. Hey, remember when I went to see my Aunt Liesl right before Christmas?”

“Yes.”

“That was an, ‘I’ve gotta get away’ trip.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Sweetie, you didn’t need that crap to worry about. But Evan and I had gotten into a huge fight, so I needed a break. But it’s all good now.”

I’d frowned. Jaden and Evan rarely fought. “What was it about?”

“It’s really dumb.”

“Tell me.”

I heard her sigh. “I had a dream he cheated on me with Leslie Mann. You know how he thinks she’s hot. Hell, I think she’s hot. So when I woke up, I instantly punched him in the arm and told him he was a jerk. That’s how our day started. Nice, huh? Anyway, he asked why I hit him and I told him about my dream. And you wanna know what he asked? He asked if they were doing it doggy style because, and I quote, ‘that would be awesome.’”

“Oh, no.”

“Yeah! So I yelled at him telling him he was a cheating asshole. Then he yelled back saying I was a fucking lunatic and it just escalated from there.”

“There was escalation from that?”

“I didn’t talk to him for three days and on the fourth, he apologized. Then promptly asked if I’d done the laundry yet. That started another argument so I was sick of it and ended up going to Aunt Liesl’s for a week until he called, begging me to come back. And we’ve been good ever since, after promising not to get mad about stupid dreams anymore.”

“I’m glad you guys are good. I love you both and would hate to have to choose who to be friends with if you broke up,” I said with a snort knowing I’d get a rise out of her.

“Uh, that’s not even funny, Bernadette.”

I laughed. “You know I’d always pick you.”

“Damn straight!”

“Anyway, so just to be clear, you don’t think I’m being weird by wanting some alone time?”

“No, not at all. Go to the Windy City and relax, well, as much as you can after working all day.”

“God, I feel so much better. Love you. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Love you too. Bye!”

Jaden had made me feel better but when I’d told Beck, I’d felt bad again.

“We can fly out together,” he’d suggested excitedly which broke my heart because I didn’t want to hurt him, but I also didn’t want to keep anything from him. “My parents are in South Bend, Indiana, so I can rent a car and drive to visit them. It’s only like an hour and a half from Chicago.”

“We can always tell each other the truth, right? Isn’t that the kind of relationship we want?” I asked. At his nod, I proceeded. “I’m going to say something that’s probably going to hurt your feelings, but I in no way mean for it to. And I want you to know first and foremost that I love you, okay?”

He was catching on to what I was going to say and narrowing his eyes, told me, “If you don’t want me to go, that’s all you have to say, Birdie.”

I sighed. “But I want to explain why so you know it has nothing to do with you.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, he looked at me indifferently, waiting for me to go on.

“You have to understand that I was alone for two years. Two years. I came and went as I pleased and the only people I was somewhat accountable to were my parents and Jaden. And now that you’ve come back into my life, my not having as much alone time as before is just taking some getting used to.”

He acted like he was picking a piece of lint off his slacks and I hated that I was hurting him. God.

“I’m saying I just need a little time to myself. Does that make sense?” I finally asked.

He nodded looking past me as if I weren’t there.

Wow. He was kind of behaving like a big baby.

He stood up and glared down at me. “I’m behaving like a big baby?”

Oh, shit. I’d said that out loud. Eek!

“I didn’t know that listening to what you were saying then pondering over it made me a big fucking baby!” He raised his voice at the end and “baby” came out pretty loud.

Glancing nervously out into the cubicle area I saw a few people look our way, including Black Glasses Dude, of course.

I stood, and putting my hands against his chest to keep him from leaving, I said, “I’m sorry. But you were being so quiet, I thought you were pouting. Please say you understand that I need this time. And that you won’t hold it against me.”

“We’ll just talk about it when you get back,” he said and left the boardroom.

I watched him go into his office, then come out wearing his coat and he left. I didn’t see him for the rest of the day.

Joel came by at a quarter to four asking me to accompany him to the tenth floor, that Mr. Fleishman had called an impromptu meeting for an assessment of my latest findings. I quickly gathered some notes, and after Joel shared that he’d reported the false 1099s to the IRS and that they were working out a plan to make amends, it was my turn.

“A great deal of overcharging appears in the expense report over a four-year period—around fifty-thousand dollars’ worth—and I think the company may just have to bite the bullet on it,” I explained sadly stating that there was no way to recover the missing funds because no one had a clue where they’d gone.

“And the ghost employees?” Mr. Fleishman questioned.

“Direct deposit on five of the accounts has been halted, and the company’s attorneys are employing the proper channels for investigating the bank accounts and post office addresses,” I explained.

“And you’ll be leaving us for several days?” he asked.

“Yes. McNamara already accepted the job in Chicago before I came here, so I need to get out there to help them out.”

We spent the next hour talking about who had access to payroll and could’ve created the ghost employees. I said it was usually someone in payroll who was the guilty party, but that anyone could’ve stolen login information to enter the false data or even someone who was computer savvy enough to hack into the system could do it and the company would be none the wiser. I again explained that if it was someone from one of the other three branches, it would take more time for me to find them.

Joel stayed to talk with Mr. Fleishman so I took the elevator down to the seventh floor where I immediately saw the light off in Beck’s office which made me sad. I thought about texting him, but thought he’d probably had enough of me for the day.

Just as I reached the boardroom door, Linda came around the corner. “Oh, hi, Birdie,” she said following me inside.

“Hey, Linda. How are you?”

“I’m good, thanks. I’ve got a question for you. My daughter’s driving to Maryland for the weekend, she’s about your age, and I’m a little leery of her going alone. I thought I’d ask what you took when you traveled alone?”

I grabbed my purse to show her my keys. “I carry a small container of pepper spray on my keychain.” I dug around but couldn’t find my keys. I set my purse down and went to my coat, looking through the pockets but got nothing. “Huh. I’ve seemed to have misplaced my keys. But, yeah, I’d have her at least carry something like that.”

“Great. I’ll check into it. Thanks so much. I hope you find your keys,” she said as I followed her out.

“Me too,” I mumbled as I headed to the elevator to see if I might’ve taken them with me for whatever reason up to the tenth floor. But when I got there, neither Joel nor Mr. Fleishman had seen them.

I took the lift back down and went to look in my purse again when I saw my keys on the floor underneath the table. Strange. I picked them up then looked out into the cubicle area, but no one was glancing my way including Black Glasses Dude which was a shock.

I put my keys back inside my purse then changing my mind, decided to text Beck.

Text Message—Tues, Jan 11, 4:58 p.m.

Me: I’m sorry about everything. What I said was rude and I apologize. I love you. Please don’t be mad.

He never replied.

Chapter 22—Beck

After I got home, I called Paul but when he didn’t answer, I assumed he was working. I next called Mike Monroe who I occasionally played pickup basketball with, who answered on the first ring.

“What’s up, Beck?”

“Hey, Mike. Anything going on tonight?”

Mike was twenty-nine and single but he’d dated some absolutely stunning women. At a party, I’d once asked him why he hadn’t settled down yet, and he’d drunkenly explained his “Thirty-five Plan,” which amounted to things he had to accomplish before turning thirty-five. First, he had to be at least a six-digit millionaire, which, as a hedge fund manager, he was well on his way, secondly, he’d outlined his idea of the perfect woman to me who sounded more like a robot maid, but to each his own, and lastly, he had to be running for Congress and “Winning all the votes.” I’d laughed but honestly, I felt like he would achieve all three goals. Mike also knew everything that went on in NYC, which was my reason for the call.

“Hell yes! Now, stick with me here, okay?”

Fuck. What was I potentially getting mixed up in?

“There’s a fashion show tonight.” I let out a groan. “I told you to stick with me, dude!”

“All right. Tell me about this fashion show,” I conceded, getting out the scotch and pouring myself a glass.

“Again, stay with me for a minute. So this fashion show is made up of Victoria’s Secrets model rejects which sounds funny as fuck but these chicks, Jesus Christ. They’re smokin’ hot, Beck. Perfect bodies: huge tits, long legs, tight asses. And the best part about it? Are you ready for this? They put on a runway show in tiny lingerie, right? All the stuck-up New York elite make their appearance to get on page six and all that bullshit. They leave by ten then all fucking hell breaks loose. There’s another raunchier show. And I’m telling you, these chicks are dying for fame and they’ll do just about anything to get it. And I mean anything, brother. So, you in?”

Hell, I might as well. Birdie wasn’t an option tonight since she needed her fucking alone time. “Sure,” I answered, finishing off my scotch.

“I’ll have a limo pick your ass up.”

“New address, man. And I’m getting a divorce.”

He let out a loud laugh and said, “That’s my man! Fuck marriage right now! Gimme your addy and the limo will be there promptly at ten to pick you up.”

The limo arrived on time and upon getting in, I saw a buffet of various high-dollar liquors ripe for the taking. I poured myself a tumbler of Dalmore Quintessence, this particular blend probably cost just under a grand, then I sat back, relaxed and sipped on the most expensive—and fucking delicious—whiskey I’d ever had.

Thirty minutes later the driver stopped, got out and opened my door at the 69th Regiment Armory, or the 69th as it was called, a damned famous landmark in New York City history. But most notable as of late, it’d been the location of the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show. And now it was hosting it’s less famous, naughty little sister’s fashion show, Mike’s words, not mine. Anyway, I noticed some of the more well-known jetsetters around town leaving as I approached the entrance. Mike was right. He was always right.

Once inside I saw the place was packed, but Mike had told me where he’d be, so I made my way to his table.

“Beck!” he said as he stood, giving me a guy hug. “It’s been too long!”

“Yeah, it has,” I replied as we sat at his table that edged the runway.

“What’re you drinking?” he called over the noise.

“I liked that fucking Dalmore you had in the limo,” I answered with a laugh.

“It’s yours!” he promised, then some dude who looked like he might’ve been Mike’s personal assistant or butler or manservant or whatever title he went by, came right over due to some signal Mike had made that I didn’t catch, and not two minutes later, the guy set a couple tumblers and a fucking bottle of the Dalmore in front of me.

Yeah, I wanted to be Mike when I grew up. Jesus.

Several of the guys who played in our pickup games started showing up and soon our table was full, and pretty damned rowdy. I was having a fucking great time when the lights and music suddenly changed and someone announced that the show was beginning. Looking around, I saw a few women in the audience and wondered if they were from modeling agencies.

Then the show started and holy fucking hell. Mike had not lied. These women were unbelievably beautiful and their bodies were amazing. All I could do was stare as they made their way down the runway, each more gorgeous than the first. There were so many camera flashes, I wondered how the fuck they could even see where they were going but they somehow managed to make it gracefully down the runway and back.

“Fuck!” Noah Oaks yelled from where he sat next to me. He was a cardiac surgeon and had given me a lot of advice when Sonya had been in the hospital. He was also one of our post players, and at 6’8” he was hard to miss just sitting there, but when he stood and went to the stage, taking the hand of one of the models who smiled shyly at him and helping her walk down the steps, he was a sight to behold. I don’t know where they disappeared off to, but I was sure it probably wasn’t back at his country estate where his wife and four kids were.

I noticed a lot of men doing that then, going to the stage and leading the models away, and realized that this was nothing but a fucking escort service that, according to Mike, came to town once a year.

When the show ended, I laughed seeing Mike surrounded by several of the girls, all vying for his attention. Apparently, he was well-known here and had probably helped launch many a modeling career, or at least that’s what I figured. Mike was a good-looking guy, but I couldn’t be convinced that these chicks were swarming him for any other reason than his money.

“Well, hello, handsome,” I heard from my left and looked over to see perfect thighs and a taut abdomen staring me in the face. Looking up, and just past a pair of flawless tits encased in a shiny violet bra, I saw a Margot Robbie clone smiling down at me. Holy fuck.

“Hi,” I answered. “Would you like to sit?” I asked, standing and pulling out a chair for her. When I sat, I grabbed a tumbler and poured her a drink handing it to her.

“What’s this?” she asked, sniffing at it.

“That right there,” I nodded at the probably two fingers of whiskey I’d poured for her, “is about a hundred bucks.”

She looked at me skeptically then took a sip, scrunching up her face at the taste.

“Not a big whiskey drinker, huh?” I commented.

“No. I don’t drink a lot.” She shrugged. “Mostly just water.” Holding her hand out to me, she announced, “I’m Blair.”

“Beck,” I said, taking her hand and giving it a shake.

“I like the name, Beck,” she said with a cute giggle.

“Thanks,” I answered, not knowing what else to say. Feeling my phone buzz in my pocket, I pulled it out and saw it was Birdie calling. I let it go to voicemail noticing she’d also texted several times. Putting my phone back, I asked Blair, “So what do you do other than model?”

She laughed. “That was my next question for you, minus the modeling part.”

“I’m an industrial engineer for a pharmaceutical company.”

“I’m going into engineering too,” she said.

“What branch?”

“Civil. I wanna build tunnels because they’re sexy,” she smiled as she divulged this interesting bit of information and gave me a wink.

Damn. I looked down at my whiskey thinking she was the whole fucking package and then some.

I wasn’t prepared when she stood, and I turned at the movement just in time to have a face full of tiny, shiny violet panties in my face. Sweet Jesus.

“Pull your chair out, Beck, so we can get to know each other better,” she said with a pouty look and who was I to disobey.

The minute I backed my chair from the table, she straddled me and said, “This is much better.”

Now, if you’ve never had a pair of perfect purple-covered 34DDs staring you in the face, you’re definitely missing out. And you’re seriously fucking missing out when the purple part suddenly disappears leaving nothing between you and perfectly gorgeous tits staring you down.

I’ll admit, I was feeling pretty good from the whiskey, but I wasn’t drunk. And I should’ve immediately made Blair get off my lap but I hesitated because, well, tits.

Finally coming to my senses, I took her by the waist helping her to stand and standing myself, I handed her the bra.

“You’re beautiful and so fucking tempting, but I can’t,” I explained.

She laughed as she clasped her bra in the back. “It’s okay, Beck.” She spun in a circle, and her perfect ass jiggled a little as she did so. I let out a groan at the sight of it. “You sure you don’t wanna have a good time with me?”

God. So fucking tempting. But I loved Birdie and didn’t want to screw shit up between us anymore than it already was.

“Sorry, Blair,” I answered.

She looked disappointed for a second and then a little conflicted before she spoke. “I’m sorry, but you seem like a good guy, so I’m just gonna tell you the truth.” I narrowed my eyes wondering what she was going to divulge. “My name really isn’t Blair and I’m not going into civil engineering.” She twisted her mouth to the side after confessing. “They tell us to read you guys then tell you what you want to hear because,” she shrugged, “we might just hit the jackpot.”

Huh. This was all a huge fucking racket, even more than I’d thought it had been.

“What’re you looking for, Blair, or whatever your name is?” I asked.

“A chance.”

Fuck. How fucking sad.

“You seem like a smart girl…” I hesitated wondering what her real name was.

“Bonnie. I’m Bonnie.”

“You seem like a smart girl, Bonnie. I hope you figure that out before this shit ruins you.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Well, good luck, Beck.” She held her hand out and I shook it.

“Good luck to you too, Bonnie.”

I watched as she walked away, that gorgeous ass of hers getting lots of second looks as she made her way through the crowd then disappeared. I moved to where Mike was entertaining at least six girls.

“Hey, I’m heading out,” I told him.

He held a finger up to the girls and stepped toward me. “You sure? That chick you were with was fucking hot!”

I chuckled. “Yeah, I’m gonna turn in.”

He looked over his shoulder making contact with his butler guy. “Samson will take you to the limo then Lars will take you wherever you wanna go.”

“Thanks, man. Good seeing you. We need to play soon,” I said but he was already heading back to his harem.

I let out a laugh as I shook my head, then followed Samson outside and had Lars take me home.

Chapter 23—Birdie

My flight was scheduled for seven, so I was at the airport by six to check in.

Sitting in the departure lounge, I checked my phone for the six millionth time only to see that Beck still hadn’t replied. I wondered how long he’d be mad. This was our first fight, so I guess I’d be finding out soon enough how long he could hold a grudge.

I nibbled on the bagel and sipped at the coffee I’d gotten at one of the small restaurants in the food court as I people watched, which I’d always loved doing, wondering what kind of lives everyone had. But as I finished eating and had almost drunk all my coffee, I soon grew bored because there weren’t a ton of people in the airport at that hour. Checking my phone, I saw there was still thirty minutes before we could board, so I settled in to play a mindless game on my phone. Just then I saw the woman seated across from me stand and toss her New York Post onto one of the seats to the side then she ambled away. I got up and grabbed the paper hoping it’d help to pass the time until I boarded.

I read several articles in the news section, feeling it was my duty to know a bit of what was going on in the world, before finally flipping to the pièce de résistance, Page Six, the gossip section. The headline read “A TITillating Evening” over a picture of a bare-breasted gorgeous girl—I had to look twice thinking she was Margot Robbie—with her nipples pixelated out, smiling at the man on whose lap she sat and whose face her boobs were about to smother. 

I read the article about what they called “reject models,” who in my eyes were just as beautiful as any model I’d ever seen. Poor girls. There’d been a fashion show last night at the 69th and I read that it had raised a lot of money for several charities. I scanned a couple other stories, “Famous animal lover under fire for dating avid hunter,” “Neil Patrick Harris outshined by co-star at premiere,” before glancing back at the photo of the Harley Quinn lookalike when something caught my eye. Looking more closely, my heart skipped a fucking beat as I realized the man in whose lap the woman sat was Beck!

What the actual fuck?

So that’s why he hadn’t answered his phone. He’d obviously been busy with boobs. Huh. I snapped a picture of the image with my phone then texted it to him.

Text Message—Wed, Jan 12, 6:48 a.m.

Me: I see you were busy last night, which is why you didn’t text or call me back. Stick to not doing either. I’m good with it

Then I hit “send.” 

“Ms. Chapman, we’re so happy you’re here,” Mr. Solomon, co-owner of a nationally known software company greeted me when I walked into the office building. He was very tall and appeared to be in his late sixties or early seventies, and he reminded me a lot of Prince Philip. 

“Hello, Mr. Solomon. I’m happy to be here.”

He guided me to the elevator making small talk, asking me if my flight had gone well and how the weather in New York City was. On the twelfth floor, we disembarked and he led me to an empty office where boxes of ledgers were stacked on a table.

“As you know from our chats, we’ve somehow misplaced almost eight-million dollars.” He let out a sarcastic laugh as he pulled one of the books out of a box. “Gloria Martin, our in-house accountant, will be in shortly to assist you with any questions you may have. And please feel free to come see me in my office,” he pointed to the corner across the large cubicle area, “if you need anything else or call my secretary at extension 101.”

He left me to do my thing and when Gloria came in. She was a lovely redhead slightly on the heavy side but she carried herself well. After introducing herself, she shook her head sadly. “I’m going to tell you right now the culprit is the CFO, James Solomon, Jr., Mr. Solomon’s only son. Neither Mr. Solomon nor his partner, co-owner Jefferson Rothwell, would listen to anything I said. As a matter of fact, I’m shocked that I still have a job as angry as Mr. Solomon was at me. But James is his only child and he wouldn’t have it. I’m telling you, it’ll be like a damned flare gleaming out at you when you see it. Let me know if there’s anything you need. My extension is 357.”

She left me to it and, boy, was she right. After only thirty minutes, it all stood out like a sore thumb.

First of all, James, Jr. was making over eight-hundred-thousand dollars a year as the company’s CFO, while his father and the other owner were being paid two-hundred-thousand each. And secondly, I’d never seen so many workers’ compensation claims in my life. It appeared that good old Junior had filed at least twenty-five false claims over the past five years and was pocketing that money as well. So not only was he stealing this money, he was costing the company hundreds of thousands of dollars in insurance payments, which was also considered insurance fraud. 

I picked up the phone receiver and dialed Gloria’s extension.

“Gloria Martin, how may I help you?” she answered.

“Hi, Gloria, it’s Birdie. Can I get you to come here, please?”

“You bet.” Thirty seconds later, she came inside the office smiling and nodding. “You caught it all, didn’t you?”

“Not to discount your or my skills, but I think a first-year accounting student could’ve caught this.” She chuckled. I looked at her and shook my head. “He’s the highest paid CFO I’ve encountered. And how in God’s name has he not been caught with all the workers’ comp claims?”

She huffed out a laugh. “Right? I think it’s all been pure luck.”

“Looks like it.” I let out a deep sigh knowing I had some very bad news to report. “Would you mind coming with me to talk to Mr. Solomon?”

“Not at all,” she stated, and followed me to the large corner office. “Mr. Rothwell’s in today,” she whispered, nodding at the opposite corner office. “Do you want me to see if I can get him in there too?”

“That would be great,” I replied, dreading having to tell such a nice man as Mr. Solomon was, that his only son was a thief.

But that was part of my job. For the most part, I found it fun because it was challenging and sometimes even exciting when I solved the problem. But then there were times like this when what I’d found would likely break someone’s heart.

When Mr. Rothwell entered the office, I introduced myself then we all had a seat and I proceeded to tell them the same thing Gloria had tried telling them from the start.

After leaving the meeting, in a cab back to the Park Hyatt, I called to book a flight home the next day, thinking this had really been a wasted trip. In my hotel room, I cried. Poor Mr. Solomon. I’d felt horrible having to tell him the truth about his son but it was my job. The way his face had fallen when I’d shown him the numbers had broken my heart. And the son hadn’t even been there since he and his family were vacationing in the Bahamas with stolen money, no doubt! Ugh. Sometimes I really hated people.

I showered and changed into jeans and my favorite NYU hoodie. It was cold, but I walked exactly one block over to a tavern where I had the best freaking char-dog in my life along with a cold beer and watched basketball on TV. It was great. When I finished, I walked the other direction, past the hotel and a block over to the historic water tower, going inside to check out the art gallery. I’d stayed until it closed at 6:30 then walked back to the hotel, but not wanting to go to my room just yet, I went up to the seventh floor and at the swimming pool sat in a lounge chair watching a couple children playing in the water while their mother looked on.

Even though the kids were screaming as they played, I felt a simple sort of peace, which I knew was the result of the fact that I’d turned my phone off after sending my last text to Beck, meaning I hadn’t had to deal with reality. It was now in my hoodie pocket but I hadn’t felt like turning it back on. So I hadn’t.

An hour later I finally went to my room and decided I had to face the music. Turning on my phone, I waited for the home screen to appear and wondered what would be worse: Beck having texted back to tell me he was in love with the Harley Quinn lookalike and they were running away together, or if he hadn’t texted or tried calling me back at all. I decided that nothing from him would be worse.

When my phone was fully on, I entered the password, and pulling up the home screen saw that I had fourteen text messages and five missed calls. That was nice and all but still didn’t ease my mind because maybe none of them were from Beck.

“Suck it up, Birdie, Jesus,” I muttered, forcing myself to hit the text button.

I sighed in relief when I saw that every message was from Beck.

Chapter 24—Beck

I hadn’t heard from Birdie and was about to come unglued. I’d left at least five voicemails and texted countless times yet had gotten nothing back.

I’d checked all the news stations to make sure no planes had crashed, that’s how worried I’d been, and I wasn’t happy that she hadn’t had the common decency to call me back.

“Fuck!” I yelled, then got up from the couch and walked through my apartment, holding my phone and willing it to do something.

It was eight o’clock here and Chicago was an hour behind, so maybe she’d gotten caught up at the company she’d been hired by. I decided to give it another hour before taking action. What that meant, I wasn’t sure, but if it meant calling Chicago’s finest and putting them on the case, then so fucking be it.

On the fourth trip down the hallway and into my room, looking out the window, I noticed that her bedroom light was on. Had she flown back tonight? She’d told me she might be there through next Tuesday.

I called her again and when she still didn’t pick up, I’d had it. Pulling on my jacket, I left my apartment and made my way to her stoop and up, where I buzzed her apartment at the door. Nothing. I tried several more times and when she still didn’t answer, I wondered if maybe she’d accidentally left her bedroom light on. That was probably it. But back at my place, I walked down the hallway to my bedroom, and opening the blind, saw that her fucking light was out.

Something was buzzing on my chest and I swiped at it to get it to stop, then a loud clank woke me. Shit. I’d fallen asleep watching a ballgame which was now over and something else was on. I sat up feeling disoriented when it hit me that I’d been waiting for Birdie to call. Now where the hell was my phone?

Looking around, I saw it on the floor under the coffee table and realized that’s what I’d accidentally knocked off my chest. Picking it up, I saw I had four missed calls, all from Birdie. I stood and dialed her back, pacing as I waited for her to pick up.

“Hey,” she answered.

“Birdie? Are you okay?”

There was a pause before she asked, “Yes, why?”

“Where are you?”

“I’m in Chicago. You know I flew out this morning.” She sounded annoyed. “I’m coming back tomorrow since their accountant had already known what the problem was, but I guess they just needed me to verify that she was right.”

“Does Jaden have a key to your place? Or your parents?” I asked.

“Yes, they all do. Why?”

“I thought maybe you’d come home because your bedroom light was on earlier, so I went over and buzzed your apartment. But when you didn’t answer, I thought maybe you’d just left your light on. Except that when I came back here and looked, it was out.”

“What? That’s weird. Let me call Mom and Jaden to see if they’d gone by. But I don’t know why they wouldn’t have answered the buzzer. I’ll call you back.”

She hung up and walking back to my bedroom, I looked through the blinds to see her bedroom was still dark. Fucking weird. My phone rang a couple minutes later.

“What’d you find out?” I asked.

“Nobody went by! Do you think someone broke in? Or maybe the super had to get in because he smelled a gas leak? Oh, my God! This is totally creeping me out now!”

“What time does your flight come in tomorrow?

“I leave here at two, so,” I heard her talking to herself, calculating when she’d land.

“Just before six,” I answered for her.

“Oh, yeah, that’s right.”

“I’ll call your super tomorrow to see if he might’ve been there. If he wasn’t, you’re to come straight here when you get in and we’ll go check it out. And, Birdie? You’re staying with me and are not to go there by yourself until we get it figured out, do you hear me?”

“You don’t have to be so bossy,” she muttered.

“I do because I know you.”

And that made me smile because I actually knew her well enough to know that she’d do whatever it took to get to the bottom of things, including busting down her apartment door and going in guns blazing just to find out what was really going on.

“Beck? I just thought of something but it’s going to sound really bizarre to you, so just listen, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I had a meeting yesterday on the tenth floor after you left. I was up there for a little over an hour and when I got back to the boardroom, Linda came by and asked what I carried for protection when I traveled because her daughter has to go to Maryland by herself this weekend. I reached inside my purse for my keys to show her the pepper spray I’ve got attached to the ring but my keys were gone. I checked my coat pockets and they weren’t there either. So thinking maybe for some ridiculous reason I’d carried them to the tenth floor with me, I went back up to check but they weren’t there either. When I came back down and went back into the boardroom, they were on the floor under the table.”

“What are you saying?” I asked.

“I think someone took them while I was in the meeting, made copies, but didn’t get them back in time. So when I went back up to the tenth floor, that gave them a chance, so they went to the boardroom and just tossed them in there on the floor.”

“Are you sure they weren’t on the floor when you looked for them the first time? Like maybe they’d fallen out of your purse and were under it but you didn’t see them?”

“I don’t think so. Linda was in there and she didn’t see them either. Do you think maybe that Rance guy would do that? He’s kind of stalkerish,” she asked.

“I don’t know if he has the balls to do something like that but I’ll fucking check into it,” I bit out, angry that someone was possibly fucking with her.

We were both quiet for a moment until she said, “Do you want to explain the picture in the Post?”

“Will you believe me when I tell you the truth?”

“Would you lie to me?”

“Never,” I declared.

“Okay, let’s hear it.”

I explained how I’d been angry at her for what she’d said at the office and decided I needed a guy’s night out and that my friend Mike would hook me up. I then told her how sad it was that those girls were basically whoring themselves out in the hopes of making it big.

“That is sad,” she agreed.

We were quiet for a moment, so I said, “I’ll let you go so you can have your alone time that you need. And, Birdie?”

“Yes?”

“I know we now live right next to each other through some strange twist of fate, but I fucking swear I won’t purposely smother you. I’ve got a life too and I don’t have to be with you all the time. I just…like being with you.”

“I like it too. I’m sorry I freaked out on you. But this is scary stuff, Beck.” She paused before blurting, “You’re getting divorced so you should probably date other women to see what else is out there besides me.”

That made me laugh. “I know what’s out there and I don’t want it. I want you. But if you want me to date around to prove you’re what I want, I’ll do it. Which would be fucking insane by the way, but whatever you need, Birdie, I’m willing to work with you to show you that I love you.”

“Can we talk about it when I get back? There’s already too much going on, what with Rance breaking into my apartment! Ugh!”

“You don’t know for sure that it was him. But we’ll get it figured out, okay?” I promised.

“Okay.”

We were quiet again when she whispered, “Beck?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, honey. ‘Night.”

Chapter 25—Birdie

Despite all the worries I had, I’d slept like a rock. When my alarm had gone off at seven, I’d reset it for nine. At nine, I reset it for ten. At ten, true to form, the reset had been for eleven. When I’d finally forced myself to crawl out of the spectacular bed—which I now considered my new best friend—I’d immediately made coffee then sat at the window drinking three cups while gazing out at Lake Michigan. What a view!

I’d also looked several times at the text Beck had sent that morning, smiling each time I read it.

Text Message—Thurs, Jan 13, 5:28 a.m.

Beck: Good morning, sleepyhead. Don’t worry. We’re gonna figure everything out and kick ass while we do. Have a safe flight and I’ll see you tonight. I love you as much as a Levain cinnamon roll <3

When I’d finally been awake enough, I texted him back.

Text Message—Thurs, Jan 13, 11:23 a.m.

Me: Thanks, sweetheart. That’s a lot of love. So as not to be outdone, I’ll see your cinnamon roll and raise you an oatmeal raisin cookie. I love you, Beck <3 See you tonight.

Checkout from the hotel was at noon, two hours before my flight, but with luggage in tow, it wasn’t like I could do any sightseeing; therefore, my only choice was to take a cab to the airport and wait. Well, I could’ve had a spa treatment at the hotel, but I wasn’t really in the mood, so O’Hare departure lounge it was.

At the airport, I praised the Almighty when I saw a Starbucks. Then after making it through security and checking in, coffee and multigrain bagel at the ready, I got as comfortable as one can get in an airport lounge. I ended up linking my laptop to my phone’s hotspot since the airport’s WiFi was only free for the first twenty minutes and kept asking for my credit card information, and remotely accessed Fleishman’s ledgers hoping that something, anything, would jump off the page at me.

And lo and be-freaking-hold, something jumped big time. How I hadn’t noticed before, I had no clue. But looking for the kabillionth time must’ve been the winner because I now saw that every ghost employee had the same four number combination in their social security number just in random places.

Alexander Reid’s number was 094-7x-xxxx. Gretchen Ware’s was xxx-x0-947x. Londell Chaney’s, xx0-94-7xxx, and so on. Those numbers surely had some significance. Maybe they were numbers in the perpetrator’s own SSN or his address. They could even relate to his birthdate. Whatever it was, I was on to something and excited to explore it because the scammer was good but it was time for them to be taken down.

Boarding was called for my flight, so I packed up my laptop and got in line with my boarding group. As the plane took off, I smiled that I was one step closer to cracking the case.

I’d planned on taking a cab to Beck’s and was totally surprised to see him waiting for me at the arrival gate. Without thinking, I dropped my carry-on and ran to him, jumping into his arms.

“Hey, baby,” he said against my neck as we hugged.

Pulling back, I smiled at him before kissing him hard. “I missed you,” I murmured against his lips.

“I missed you too,” he replied, eyes dancing in amusement at my change in demeanor, I was sure. “Let’s go see if we can catch a bad guy,” he said with a chuckle taking my hand, and after getting my suitcase from baggage claims, we took a cab to his apartment.

Once there, we’d gone over to my apartment to check it out and for me to pick up some things. I was prepared for my place to be trashed, knife slashes through my furniture and a rabbit cooking on the stove, but nothing appeared to have been touched.

“And you’re sure the light was on?” I asked as I packed some things.

He cut his eyes at me looking annoyed. “Yes. And your super said he didn’t stop by, in case you want to ask me that again too.”

“Sorry. It just doesn’t look like anyone was here,” I stated as I opened my closet door then let out a gasp.

“What?” he said, jumping up to see what had scared me.

“I know it’s silly, but this shirt?” I touched a gaudy, bright, emerald green, sequined blouse I’d worn exactly once to a party with Mason and that I now used as a prominent divider between my work and casual clothes. “It’s always exactly centered and now it’s three inches to the right.”

“Then someone was here and they were looking for something,” he replied.

“But what?”

“Probably your laptop or something you’d use to record your data from Fleishman.”

I shuddered thinking that an unwelcome asshole had been inside my apartment.

Back at Beck’s, he pulled the blinds on his bedroom window all the way up, and we set up shop, me on his bed sitting cross-legged and on my laptop trying to make sense of the four numbers I’d found, and him reading a Sports Illustrated as he sat in a chair facing the window, watching for the light to turn on in my bedroom.

“I made sure to let everyone know you wouldn’t be back until Monday, hoping whoever broke into your apartment would think you were gone and maybe break in again,” he informed me.

“Clever,” I replied, grinning back at him.

By ten o’clock, we were both worn out because I hadn’t found the link to the numbers and the light hadn’t gone on in my bedroom.

“Damn it,” he mumbled, getting up with a heavy sigh and closing the blinds.

We showered together, me on my knees in front of him at the beginning, making him roar as I took every last inch of him deep to the back of my throat, then swallowing all that he gave me. Then him at the end, hoisting me up to where my legs were over his shoulders, my back against the wall, hands propped against the ceiling, and his mouth on me, making me cry out in ecstasy. Twice.

He’d given me a sweet kiss on the cheek the next morning, leaving me to sleep as he went to work.

I’d gotten up at nine, using jetlag as a lame excuse for sleeping in, and after pouring myself a cup of coffee, sat at his dining table scouring Fleishman’s employee accounts yet again looking for a connection to the numbers but found nothing.

Beck called at lunch to see how I was doing.

“My eyes are crossed and I’m bald from pulling my hair out. What about you?” I asked.

He chuckled. “About the same. We’ll have good-looking kids, huh?”

I laughed and felt a warmness in my belly thinking about having kids with him.

“I saw some pork chops in your freezer. Okay if I thaw them out for dinner?” I questioned.

“Sounds good. Need me to pick up anything on the way home?”

“Mushrooms, asparagus and potatoes?”

“I can do that. I’ll see you in a bit,” he said.

“’Kay. I love you, bye,” I replied and we rang off.

By the time he walked in, I had the pork chops thawed, salads with a homemade vinaigrette dressing waiting and water boiling for the potatoes.

“Hey, babe. Here are your things,” he said setting a bag on the counter then giving me a kiss.

“Thanks,” I responded, as I opened the bag of potatoes and began peeling them into the sink. “How’d work go?”

“Good,” he called from his bedroom where I knew he’d gone to change into jeans. “What can I do?” he inquired as he came back to the kitchen.

“You can cut up that onion and garlic,” I nodded toward the cutting board where I’d placed them.

“On it.”

“Tell me more about this Rance guy. I’ve scoured my brain trying to figure out what 0947 relates to. Maybe it’s how many girls he’s pissed off with his catcalling.”

Beck snorted. “I don’t know a lot about him. He’s worked in finance at Fleishman for probably six years. He dated a girl in payroll for a while, Tammy something or other, a first-class bitch, before she broke up with him and transferred to another branch.”

“Hm. She was in accounting.” I pondered that as I cut up the potatoes then put them in the water I had boiling on the stovetop. “Eh. I got nothing,” I admitted after a few minutes. “What about Black Glasses Dude? You find anything out?”

He shrugged as he cut up the garlic. “Like I said, he talks a lot about Stephen King. Keeps to himself a lot. What now?”

“Sauté the garlic, onion and mushrooms in the canola oil,” I instructed. “What’s his job title?”

“Data analyst.”

That didn’t add anything to the case. “God, I’m going to make a connection soon,” I announced angrily.

“I know you will, babe.”

“Can you spoon some of that on here, please?” I asked watching him stir the pieces around the skillet. I held a bowl out to him and he put a couple spoonsful in it. “Thanks.” I cut pockets in each of the pork chops stuffing them with two tablespoons of the mushroom mixture and securing them with toothpicks before putting them in the oven to roast.

I next prepared the sour cream mushroom gravy and had it simmering on the stove as I mashed the potatoes and Beck sautéed the asparagus.

“We make a pretty good team,” he mentioned as I plated the pork chops covering them with a bit of gravy then he did the same with the potatoes.

“We’re like Martin and Lewis,” I agreed.

“Smith and Wesson,” he added.

“Fey and Poehler.”

“Black and Decker.”

“Laurel and Hardy.”

“Porter-Cable.”

I laughed. “How come mine are all comedy pairs and yours are guns and tools?”

He raised an eyebrow and held his hands up as if presenting himself. “Uh, guy, Duh.”

This made me laugh harder and I thanked him before kissing him.

“Why the thanks?”

“You made my shitty day so much better,” I called as I took our plates to the table. When I walked back to the kitchen, he was staring at me. “What?”

“Griffin and Chapman.”

“Yeah,” I said with a nod. “I like it.” I picked up the salad bowl and he grabbed the asparagus and as we walked into the dining room, I amended, “Of course, Chapman and Griffin sounds a little bit better.”

He laughed as we sat down to eat. “I was thinking they both kind of sucked. We’ll just stick with Beck and Birdie then.”

I nodded. “Birdie and Beck it is.”

“That was great,” Beck said when we finished dinner.

“It was. What’d you make for dessert?” At his confused face, I sniggered. “Just kidding. I made brownies.” We cleared the table and I asked him, “What’s Black Glasses Dude’s name?”

“Well, this is where it gets even weirder,” he began as he started loading the dishwasher. “He tells everyone to call him Frank Dodd, but his real name is Francis Baker.”

I cut the brownies and made two plates. After warming them in the microwave, I added vanilla ice cream, and carrying them to the table called, “Come eat dessert. I’ll take care of the dishes afterward.” Sitting at the table, I repeated the name he’d said. “Frank Dodd. Why does that sound familiar?”

He pulled his phone from his shirt pocket and looked it up. “Frank Dodd is a character from Stephen King’s The Dead Zone who raped and murdered women and a nine-year-old girl. He killed himself wearing a raincoat in the bathtub by ramming his mouth down onto a pair of scissors.” He looked up at me. “Fuck.”

“If he’s the one who made copies of my keys…”

“You’re not going back to that apartment until the locks are changed.”

Chapter 26—Beck

Saturday, Birdie called her super to explain what happened and he was fine with my changing out her locks as long as he received keys to them also. So off to the hardware store we went.

Thirty minutes later, the locks were all changed out.

“I’m still not comfortable with you staying here alone,” I said, testing the deadbolt once again.

From where she sat on the couch clicking keys on her laptop—probably back in Fleishman’s books—she assured, “I’ll be fine. And you’re right next door.”

I hated being such a good sport about her needing her space, but what else was I going to do? Chain her to my bed?

Could I do that?

Legally?

“Oh, hey. Paul, my college roommate? Called yesterday to let me know he and his wife Taylor are having a barbecue next Saturday. He invited us. Think you can make it?” I asked.

I saw a trace of panic cross her face for a split second before she rallied and said, “Oh, sure.”

What the hell was that all about?

My eyes narrowed. “You good?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You looked a little horrified there for a moment,” I replied with not quite a chuckle.

“No, I’m fine.” I looked at her wondering what was going on. “What?” she asked.

I drew in a breath and let it out. “You know how you said you wanted us to be honest with each other?” She nodded. “I’m getting the feeling this isn’t working for you.”

She jerked her head back and frowned. “What’s not working for me?”

“Us,” I deadpanned.

She started crying and my fucking heart sank. After all we’d been through, two years of being apart then finally coming back together, she wanted out.

I sat on the coffee table facing her letting her cry, which went on for a few more minutes. She grabbed a tissue from the box on the end table using it to dab at her eyes. When her eyes met mine, she started crying again.

I stood and went right into my Something’s-Fucked-Up pacing.

“Do you not want to be together?” I asked as I traipsed back and forth across her living room.

“I do,” she said with a sniff.

“Are you not in love with me?”

Sniff. “I am.” Sniff.

“Then what is it, Birdie? I don’t know what’s going on inside that head of yours!” I accidentally raised my voice making her start crying again. I went to the couch, picking her up and cradling her on my lap. “What is it, honey?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“I think you do. Honesty, remember?”

Looking up at me with tear-filled eyes, she let me know what was wrong. “I’m scared all the time, Beck, and it’s ruining everything.” She began crying harder and I let her.

When she’d settled down some, I asked, “What are you scared of, baby?”

On a sobby hiccup, she answered, “It’d be easier to ask what I’m not afraid of.”

I snorted because that was too fucking cute. “Tell me.”

She shook her head as she took a cleansing breath and laid it all out there. “I’m scared you’ll go back to your wife. I’m scared you’ll find out I’m not what you want and leave me. Again.”

Ouch.

“I’m afraid to meet your friends because what if I love them and you and I don’t work out and I lose them too. Which makes me also afraid to introduce you to my friends, who’ll love you and then hate me when we don’t work out. I’m afraid I’m not doing my job well enough for Fleishman. I’m scared they’re going to think I’m incompetent. Which makes me scared that my boss might start thinking the same thing. I’m scared that being alone for too long has rendered me incapable of being in a normal relationship. And I’m afraid that my needing space will drive you away.” She wiped her nose. “Now I’m scared that you think I’m nothing but a scaredy-cat crybaby who’s not confident enough to be with you. And finally, I’m terrified that because I need my space you won’t be around when Frank Dodd decides he’s going to rape and murder me.”

That was a lot to be afraid of, I had to admit. As I thought over what to say to her, I held her as she continued crying.

I cleared my throat. “Okay, first of all, you’re going to have to get it through your head that I’m completely and irrevocably in love with you, Birdie. I don’t want anyone else and I’m not going anywhere until you tell me you don’t want me anymore.” I kissed the top of her head. “About our friends, I plan on keeping you around until I need a fucking cane to walk, so neither of us is going to lose them. And Fleishman? You’re rocking the shit out of things. Joel has told me he’s entirely impressed with the work you’ve done. They all have nothing but good things to say about you.”

She looked up at me as if she didn’t believe me and I nodded. “It’s true. I’m sure they’d hire you again in a heartbeat, but I doubt they want to be in another position where they’d have to.” I chuckled. “As far as needing space, I get it. You take all the time you need. I told you we’d go slow but I may have jumped the gun a little on that.” When she snorted, I took a deep breath glad that she was snapping out of this. Putting my hand under her chin, using my fingers, I turned her to look at me. “And I think you’re the strongest and bravest person I know. You’ve gone through more in your short life than most people do in an entire lifetime. I’m so proud of you for the way you came through it all. You’re my fucking hero, baby.” I brushed my lips against hers. “And Frank Dodd isn’t going to lay a goddamned hand on you. You hear me?”

She still had worry in her eyes but it had lessened a lot.

“Everything’s going to be fine, okay?” I told her. She nodded then blew her nose which made a honk sound. “And that’s fucking sexy. Why would I want to leave you when you can do that?”

She was overcome by giggles and I laughed with her.

And I was glad she’d gotten that all out because when she’d been in Chicago I’d thought things had begun to feel a bit shaky between us. I was hoping now, with all that settled, we could move forward to live our spectacular life together.

Chapter 27—Birdie

I loved Beck Griffin.

In a few short minutes, he’d made me feel better about things than I had in years.

When I’d been in Chicago, I’d felt that things were coming to a head with us and we might not make it, but we’d stayed strong and now we were moving forward, thanks to him.

Monday morning when Beck and I arrived at Fleishman together, I’d felt eyes on me. Looking across the cubicles, I saw Frank Dodd, aka Black Glasses Dude, staring hatefully at me.

“Look at him,” I whispered to Beck who’s head immediately shot up as he scanned the place and saw what I was talking about.

“Stay here,” he said and made his way through the cubicles toward Frank’s.

Of course, I didn’t listen and tagged along behind wondering what Beck was going to do.

“You got a problem, Francis?” Beck asked when he reached Frank who was now standing.

“It—it’s Frank.”

“I don’t care what it is,” Beck spit out. “You need to return Ms. Chapman’s keys immediately.” He held his hand out as if the guy would just suddenly produce them and willingly give them up.

Instead I saw Frank’s mouth open in shock before he clamped it shut and I knew he’d taken them because that was the look of a guilty man.

“I—I don’t have her k-keys.”

“Tell you what. You stay as far away from her as possible. You don’t speak to her, you don’t look at her. Understood?”

Frank nodded.

Then Beck leaned in closer to him and said dangerously, “I so much as catch you even thinking of looking at her, you’ll regret it for the rest of your goddamned life.” He turned and didn’t act surprised to see me, probably already knowing I hadn’t obeyed him if the way his eyes went up to the ceiling, his hands landed on his hips and the annoyed breath he blew out were any indication.  “Come on,” he growled shaking his head and escorted me to the boardroom.

“Thank you, baby,” I said and tiptoed up to give him a quick peck on the lips.

“Get to work,” he ordered gruffly then winked before turning to go back to his office.

I got to work and mostly stared at the 0947 wondering what it meant. Then an idea struck me. I pulled up Google on my phone and typed in “Stephen King” in the search bar and then my mouth went slack when the results page showed, amongst the many links to relevant websites, a picture of the author was also displayed with his birthdate underneath it. September—the ninth month or 09—of the year 1947.

“Caught ya,” I whispered, then taking my phone with me, and avoiding getting anywhere near Frank’s desk, I headed to Beck’s office but saw he wasn’t in it. Turning to his secretary, I asked, “Dana?” When she looked up, I said, “I’m sorry I’m just introducing myself to you now, and thank you so much for the sandwich last week, which was delicious by the way, but do you know where Beck is?”

She chuckled at my non-sequitur and I wanted to smack myself for coming off as a goof. “He just went up to the tenth floor. She looked at the time on her computer. His meeting doesn’t start for another ten minutes, so you can probably catch him if you head up there now.”

“Thank you,” I said then turned to go to the lobby, but spun back around toward her. “And it was nice meeting you.”

“Likewise,” she laughed which made me smile.

I pushed the “Up” button and waited for the car to get there, excited that I’d finally found who’d been stealing the money. I mean, I still had to prove it, but having a name to work with made things so much easier.

I felt a presence beside me at my right and turned to see Rance standing there, arms holding a big stack of papers and he was smiling at me. “Hey, sexy lady. What’s up?” he asked.

I took a step to the left because he was totally in my dance space. “Hey, Rance,” I replied apathetically.

When the doors opened, we stepped on together then as I reached to push the “10,” he did the same after shifting the papers in his arms.

“M’lady,” he said stupidly, motioning with his head toward the button for me to push it, which I did while rolling my eyes.

Again, I took a step away because he was standing so close, you know, since a six and a half feet wide space was too narrow for the both of us. Jeez. I stood looking up at the numbers as they blinked at each floor, and just after the nine flashed, Rance abruptly shifted the stack of papers to one arm and shot his free hand out and pulled the “Stop” button.

“What are you doing?” I asked sharply.

He turned to me and got right in my face. “You need to stop the bullshit now!”

“What are you talking about?” What the hell? Not knowing what else to do, I pushed the papers from his arms which scattered everywhere and as he knelt to pick them up, I pushed the “Stop” button back in so we’d go. I also clearheadedly—shocker—quickly called Beck turning the volume down on my phone so that he could hear us but Rance wouldn’t know he was on the line.

Rance jumped back up and pushed the button in again. “You fucking touch that again and I’ll hurt you!”

“You touch me and Beck will fucking kill you!”

How I suddenly got so bold was beyond me, but I think going through all I had, had given me some major chutzpah. Whatever it was, I was going with it.

Rance barked out a laugh. “That pussy won’t do anything to me. Now, listen, bitch. You stop your investigation right now or I promise, I will hurt you. Or maybe your dad’s sub shop will suddenly go up in flames.” At my startled look, he nodded. “Oh, yeah, I’ve done my homework.”

“You’re the one who’s stolen the money?” I asked, actually completely astonished at that discovery because he didn’t seem to be all that sharp.

“I can’t say it was all me because my girlfriend Tammy, who used to work here, came up with the idea after she transferred to another branch, but she said these payroll people are dumbasses who don’t pay attention to shit. And she was right.” He laughed and I prayed that Beck had answered my call and was hearing all of this.

And, damn. No wonder I’d had such a hard time pinpointing the problem. They were hitting Fleishman from two different branches.

Playing along, I asked, “And you two have created bogus bank accounts for half of the ghost employees? And mailboxes for the others?”

“Yeah. Damn, you got close, didn’t you? But do you know how easy it is to get a fake ID so we could do that shit? I’m telling you, this has all been a piece of fucking cake, it’s almost sad.” He snorted, extremely pleased with himself.

“It really is pretty sad. Believe me, you’ve had me running around like crazy trying to figure it all out.” I chuckled. Then I looked at him. “Did you steal my keys and make copies?” He nodded. “And broke into my apartment?”

“Ain’t breaking in if you have the keys,” he declared indignantly. “But, yeah, I was trying to see what you knew. Tammy told me to do it.”

“Well, thanks for not tearing my place up.”

“I’m not a criminal, you know.” He looked insulted. “But it was a good thing you weren’t there ‘cause I had my gun and things might’ve gotten a little messy.”

Oh, my God.  

“Yeah, I was lucky,” I acknowledged, trying to stay calm in light of the fact that this guy probably would’ve killed me had I been home when he’d broken in. “But something I’m curious about is what does 0947 mean?”

“Caught that, did ya? That was to make it easier for us to locate the accounts we created.” He nodded confidently. “Well, you see, Tammy and I had our first date in September, you know, the ninth month. The four is because she said I gave her four orgasms that night.”

Ew.

“And we both have seven tattoos.”

“The zero?” I asked.

“That was just to throw you off,” he answered with a shrug and a smug look that I wanted to smack right off his face.

“That you did,” I confirmed.

He looked proud. “Tammy’s fuckin’ smart. We have enough money now to fly to the Maldives and live there for the rest of our lives, because they have no extradition laws with the US.”

I nodded. “She does sound smart. That’s a pretty clever scheme you two developed.”

“So you’ll drop your investigation and won’t tell, right? Because I will burn your dad’s restaurant down. I’ve done it before.”

Yikes. Okay, Academy Award time. “Look, I get paid regardless of whether I find anything or not. It’s nothing to me if I drop it except less work.” I laughed then narrowed my eyes at him. “But to keep me quiet, I want fifty grand.”

He looked at me, unfazed, like he was weighing his options, as if he’d expected me to take this route because he was used to dealing with people who wanted something in exchange for their silence. God. After a few moments, he finally said, “Deal,” and held his hand out for me to shake.

“We can set a drop off time later,” I instructed.

“We’re flying out day after tomorrow, so it’ll have to be soon.”

 “LaGuardia or JFK?”

“JFK is like three thousand cheaper. Our flight leaves at seven Wednesday morning.”

“That’s awesome. I’d love to visit the Maldives sometime.”

“They’ve got this beach where these plankton, you know like the guy on Sponge Bob, glows. It’s like all blue. They call it bioevanescence, like that band with that chick. But, yeah, I can’t wait to see those little fuckers all lit up.” He grinned.

God. Tammy had to have been the mastermind because this guy was just dumb.

“I’ll come visit sometime and you can show me,” I said with a chuckle.

“That’d be cool,” he said, chuckling right back.

“Okay, Rance, can we go now? If I’m done with this job, I can get home and do some yoga.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You for real promise?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” I said. “Let’s go.”

He smiled at me then pushed the button and we continued up to the tenth floor where, when the doors opened, Beck, Joel, Mr. Hartford the COO, Mr. Fleishman the CEO and two security guards were waiting. Oh, thank God my phone call had worked. I stepped off and rushed into Beck’s arms who immediately pushed me behind him as the security men moved forward and grabbed Rance by his arms.

“Hey! What’re you doing?” Rance yelled as his papers fell to the floor around him again.

“We’re detaining you, young man,” Mr. Fleishman announced, “until the police arrive. Your girlfriend has already been picked up. We’ve got everything you said recorded and will be handing it over to our attorneys.”

Joel held his phone up to back up what Mr. Fleishman said.

“What? This isn’t fair!” Rance screamed as one of the guards handcuffed him then they both escorted him back onto the elevator, probably taking him to their office in the lobby to wait for the police. “I get a phone call!” Rance yelled. “I get a pho—”

The elevator doors closed and they were gone. It was only then that Beck turned and held me in his arms.

“Are you okay?”

I nodded. “Yes. That was so weird!”

“That was very brave of you, young lady,” Mr. Fleishman said. Joel and Mr. Hartford nodded in agreement. “But I hope you were just playing along with what you said.” He winked at me and we all laughed.

“Most definitely,” I confirmed. Looking up at Beck, I said, “Can we go home?”

The gentlemen chuckled and Mr. Fleishman ordered, “Take her home, son.”

“I will, sir,” Beck answered, taking my hand and started to lead me to the elevator.

“Uh. Do you mind if we take the stairs?” I requested and the men laughed again as they headed back to Mr. Fleishman’s office.

Beck saw that I was serious, and replied, “Of course.” He held my hand as we walked toward the stair door, and he asked again, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I think so. If you’re wondering if I’m gonna cry, I probably will at some point because that was stressful. But for now, I think I’m good.”

“Good.” He squeezed my hand then held the door open for me.

Inside the stairwell, before we started down the stairs, I looked up at him. “It all started on the stairs.”

He grinned. “It did, didn’t it?” Taking my hand as we started down, he said, “We’re bound to have our ups and downs.” I groaned at his attempt at a joke. “But I’ve never really trusted stairs. They always seem to be up to something.”

“Oh, my gosh. Stick to your day job,” I teased but couldn’t help laughing.

“Baby,” he said. “You know I’m hys-stair-ical.” I stopped walking down, turning and making like I was going back up. “Where’re you going?”

“I’m gonna take the elevator.”

“Ha ha. C’mon.”

Just before we hit the landing at the seventh floor, he mumbled, “I’ve gotta apologize to Serial Killer Frank before we go.”

“Shit. I forgot about him. He’s probably plotting our deaths as we speak,” I said.

We walked into the lobby out of the stairwell and headed for Frank’s cubicle. As we approached, I saw the fear flash in his eyes and I felt bad for him. Maybe he really was a nice guy.

“Hey, Frank,” Beck began. “I need to apologize to you about what I said earlier.”

“I—it’s okay,” he said, squinting up at Beck.

Oh, God. The poor guy had a stutter and I think his eyes were bad too, so he hadn’t been giving me dirty looks, he’d just been trying to see me. Shit.

“Do you like brownies, Frank?” I asked feeling horrible about how I’d treated him.

“Sh—sure. M-my w-wife makes r-really good ones.”

“Well, hers are probably better than mine, but it’s the least I can do. I’m sorry about the way I treated you.”

He nodded and Beck shook his hand apologizing again.

I retrieved my things from the boardroom and after pulling on my coat, walked with Beck to his office to get his coat.

“We’re terrible people,” I blurted.

“Nah. What we did was perfectly normal with what all had been going on.” We left his office and headed to the lobby. “You okay to ride down?”

I nodded, still upset about how I’d behaved.

As we waited for the doors to open, Beck glanced back at Frank. “Besides, his real name’s probably Keyser Söze and he’s a fucking crime lord.”

I giggled as we got on the elevator. Taking his face in my hands, I said, “Thank you once again for making a shitty day not so shitty.”

Then I kissed him long and hard and deep and wet.

Chapter 28—Beck

The next several months were great. Birdie had wrapped up her case at Fleishman and had moved on to eleven different jobs in the meantime. She’d had to stay in Boston for a week, Dallas for four days and Minneapolis for three. But it worked. She got her much-needed space and I got a happy girlfriend when she came back. Win-win.

My divorce had been settled in April with no speed bumps to speak of, and come to find out, Sonya actually was pregnant and due in September. She and Tech Guy had gotten married just after the divorce was finalized so my alimony payments stopped along with the insurance coverage. To be honest, I’d felt a bit of sadness that that chapter in my life was now closed but I knew better things were coming.

Looking now at my gorgeous girl curled up next to me on the couch asleep, I smiled. It was now the first week of May, the lease to her apartment would expire at the end of this month, and we’d talked about her moving in with me. I could see she was still leery over losing her own space, but I’d promised she could have the den all to herself which I think might’ve sealed the deal.

But I was still worried.

I’d been having training sessions once a month since January with Mr. Harford for the COO job it’d now been decided would open the first of June.

And I still hadn’t told Birdie.

Mr. Hartford told me he wasn’t at liberty to tell me where I’d be going because he said they were still shifting personnel around but that everything should be sorted soon.

Birdie and I had only talked a few times about my impending promotion and each talk had pretty much ended in an argument because she didn’t want to leave New York City. I’d told her that I might not be going somewhere else, but I knew the odds were definitely stacked against me since there were only two branches of Fleishman here and twelve others across the nation. I didn’t know what would happen once I got assigned, but I was still holding out hope that if she really loved me, she’d be willing to come with me.

“Come on, honey,” I said, standing and picking her up to carry her to bed.

“Please, don’t go,” she murmured in her sleep and I knew she was dreaming of one of our arguments about my promotion.

The next evening just before five, I sat in Mr. Hartford’s office having messaged him that morning to set up a meeting. I now waited for him to get off the phone.

“Yes, Dora, the pink one. I don’t know. Did you look in the closet? Yes. On the hanger. Good. Good. Okay, I’ll see you in a bit.” He hung up and shook his head. “Women.”

I wanted to say, “Tell me about it,” but what did I know. At almost twenty-seven, I’d already been married and divorced and was having trouble convincing the latest woman to stick around. Jesus.

“What can I do for you, Griffin?”

I was nervous, but this was my fucking future, so I went for it. “Well, sir, I know it might sound like I’m prying or even that I’m being ungrateful, but that’s not it at all.”

“What is it, son?”

“You met my girlfriend, Birdie Chapman, when she was here in January investigating the books.” He nodded.  “Well, she’s having a tough time with the fact that I might have to move away from New York City when I get my promotion. So, I was wondering if you had any idea where I might go?”

He looked at me for a moment before speaking. “Do you love this girl, Griffin?”

“I do. She’s my life, Mr. Hartford.”

“And I’m assuming she loves you?”

“She tells me she does,” I said with a halfhearted chuckle.

“If she loves you, she’ll go with you.” He came from a time period where women hadn’t really worked outside the home and went wherever their husbands’ jobs had taken them, so to him, I know it seemed cut and dried.

“But, sir, if I may?” At his nod, I continued. “Her job is very important to her. She loves it. And she grew up here. All her family and friends are here. I’m just afraid if I end up too far away, it’ll be the end of us.”

“Son, I know it’s tough when you’re young. You think you’ve found the right girl then it all falls apart.” A realization struck him. “You just had that happen, am I correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you thought this first wife was the right girl, but apparently, she wasn’t. How do you know this one now is right?”

He did have a fucking point, but still.

“I don’t. But what I do know is that I love her. And I don’t want to lose her.”

“It might be a choice you’ll have to make.” He sighed. “I know I’ve not been a lot of help here and I’m sorry. But if you’ll remember the talk we had a while back about burning bridges, I think you’ll have your answer.”

He was right. He really wasn’t helping. Fuck. “But may I ask if you have any idea at all where I might be going?”

“If you had more seniority, and had a COO position already, we could pull some strings and keep you here. But that’s not the case.”

That wasn’t what I’d inquired about so I waited for him to answer my question.

“Right now, it looks like you might be headed to Cleveland.”

 That wasn’t too bad. I could handle Cleveland. But could Birdie?

“I know it’s a tough decision, but I’m confident you’ll make the right one.” He stood, apparently finished with our talk. “Goodnight, Griffin.”

I stood as well. “Goodnight, sir.”

On the cab ride home, I played a game with myself.

When I got to my apartment, if Birdie was there—we’d traded keys in February—that meant she’d agree to go with me to Cleveland and we’d live happily ever after. If she wasn’t there, then that meant I’d lost her and we were over.

“Be here, be here,” I mumbled as I punched in the code then walked up the stairs to the second floor. I turned the key in the lock and opening the door, smelled something amazing. “Birdie?” I called and got no answer. Hm.

Going into the kitchen, I saw that the timer on the stove was counting down, and opening the oven, saw a homemade lasagna baking.

“Birdie?” I hollered as I closed the oven door. When she still didn’t answer, I pulled out my phone and called her.

“Hey, you!” she answered brightly.

“Hi, honey. Where are you?”

“I had to run home to get some Italian bread. Doesn’t it smell fabulous in there?”

“It does. You heading this way?”

“Be right there.”

We hung up and now I rationalized. Although she hadn’t technically been here when I’d walked in, she’d been here before that; therefore, I told myself, I won the game and she’d agree to come with me to Cleveland. Pulling a beer from the fridge, I stood and did a fist pump before popping the top and taking a long pull.

Funny how we can convince ourselves that important shit will happen because we’ve won at a silly little mental game we made up on the fly.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she called as she came in the front door. “How was work?”

She gave me a quick kiss as she came into the kitchen and opened the bread, slicing it and putting it on a baking sheet. Then she’d butter it, broil it, sprinkle garlic salt on it, and I’d eat the hell out of it because that shit was amazing.

“It was okay. I got a new account today, so that’s good.”

“Great!” She turned on the oven light and looked to see if the lasagna was ready then standing, she adjusted the timer to go for three more minutes.

“What about you?” I asked.

She turned and leaned back against the counter. “I’m stuck again. Can’t find where all the funds are being bled to. But I will.”

I nodded. “Yeah, you will.”

We ate dinner, made pleasant small talk, went to bed, made love and fell asleep in each other’s arms.

And I’d failed yet again to mention I’d be leaving in a matter of weeks but was still holding out hope that she’d be going with me.

Fuck.

When I’d finally told her I had to be at my new job in a little over two weeks and that it was probably going to be in Cleveland, her face had fallen and she’d cried.

I’d begged her to go with me.

She’d told me she didn’t know if she could. Her life was here, her job was here.

I’d said, “But I’d be there.”

She’d cried some more and I’d let it drop.

I’d finally decided.

It was Monday of the next week, Cleveland had been confirmed, I had to report there next week, and I was taking her to dinner to ask her.

I had a little blue box inside my jacket pocket that I’d surprise her with at just the right time.

And I was nervous as fuck.

“I’m stuffed. But this place was fantastic,” Birdie said, then stared defeatedly down at her plate that was still half full.

We were seated on the veranda of a restaurant that overlooked the city and I was getting more nervous with every passing moment. I downed the rest of my scotch hoping to build my courage.

“You sure you don’t want any wine?” I asked for the third time.

“No, I’m fine, Beck,” she replied with a chuckle.

Well, it was now or never.

I took her hand and looked her in the eye, my heart pounding in my chest and said, “You know I love you with everything I am, Birdie. You’re my heart, my soul, my everything.”

She smiled sweetly, her face aglow with the last rays of the sunset.

“You’re the reason I wake up in the morning, Birdie, why I can make it through every single day. I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

I stood and reached inside my jacket to pull out the box. Then going to her, I knelt on one knee at her side and looked up to see her crying.

I opened the box to show her the ring I’d picked that I’d felt was perfect for her. A ring that I hadn’t given one single fuck that it’d cost more than a year’s worth of rent.

“Please tell me you want that too. Birdie, would you make my world complete and be my wife?”

I heard various “ooohs and “aaahs” coming from the other patrons around us but my focus was on her.

She glanced at the ring and let out a loud sob, her shaky hand coming up to cover her mouth.

“Baby,” I prompted.

She looked up at me and through her tears suddenly blurted, “I’m pregnant!” She then jumped out of her chair and ran into the restaurant.

I think I was in shock because it took a moment before I realized I was still on bended knee in front of an empty chair. I finally stood and looked around at everyone and hollered, “I’m gonna be a dad!”

They all applauded and cheered then my brain caught up with the situation and I ran inside to find my soon-to-be-wife. Looking around, I saw a waiter point to the glass elevator, so I made my way there, but she was gone. I’d have taken the stairs but we were on the thirtieth floor so fuck that. I waited impatiently for the car to return.

Pulling out my phone, I called her but got no answer.

“Hurry the fuck up,” I muttered under my breath as I waited on the world’s slowest elevator. Jesus. It finally arrived and getting in with several other people we rode slowly down to the lobby.

I ran out to the street but didn’t see her, so I hailed a cab to take me home. I called her again but she still wasn’t answering.

Fifteen minutes later, I arrived at my apartment and called her name as I went in but she wasn’t there. I ran to her apartment and did the same but she was nowhere to be found.

“Goddamn it!” I yelled when I was out on the street again, and made a couple that’d been heading my way swerve to give me a wide berth.

I called her phone again and this time left a message. “Birdie, baby, where are you? Please, please call me back and let me know you’re okay.”

I went inside my apartment, sat on the couch and stared at the vase Birdie had bought that sat on the coffee table. What seemed like an hour later but had only been fifteen minutes, I got a text.

Text Message—Mon, May 29, 8:57 p.m.

Birdie: I’m at Jaden’s and I’m fine. I love you…but I can’t go

I threw my phone across the room where it hit the wall and shattered into a million pieces.

Just like my heart.

“Come with me,” I pleaded.

“I can’t,” she said, tears running down her face.

“Then you don’t really love me,” I replied, and walked out the door.

I rode numbly to the airport in the back of a cab wondering what my future would hold now.

I was going to be a father but she wouldn’t come with me and let me be a daddy.

I’d asked her to be my wife and she’d run away.

And just before I left, I’d given her one last chance to change her mind, but she didn’t love me enough to even reconsider.

In the airport, I sat blindly staring at a young couple with a newborn wondering how that felt.

When the plane boarded, I shuffled along with everyone else not caring about anything at all.

As the plane took off and reached the air, I gazed below at the city I was leaving behind, the city where the woman I loved wasn’t willing to sacrifice anything for me because although she said she loved me, I knew she just didn’t love me enough.

I’d had to walk away from everything I loved in the world that morning and wondered if the rest of the day could get better.

And then I remembered.

It couldn’t.

Because it was a fucking Monday.

Sundays (The Wait, Book 3) coming 2018!

Sneak peek of Thursdays (The Wait, Book 1) coming up!

Sneak peek of TC Matson’s

No Holds (The Fighter Series #4) Coming up!

Acknowledgments

To Franca, Mel & Sam, I know I thank you every single time but I mean it every single time too. You guys are the best of the best of the best! Thank you for always being there for me! It makes my heart so happy to know that I can text/message/email and you all are there in a flash. I love you all TONS! ♥

To the Harlots & Hellbenders, Oh, how you lovelies never cease to amaze me! To Shannon, Michelle, Gemma & Swess especially, thank you for your endless support & promoting my books! You guys all rock my friggin’ world! ♥ you hard!

Anne Mercier, Your friendship means the world to me! You are the most generous and sweetest person ever! Knowing I can text/message/call/send smoke signals at any time & you’re there no matter what makes me flove you even more. Cage match 2017 fast approaching! Can’t wait to give you a big ol’ slobbery cheek smooch & great big bearhug! Love you much! Xo ♥

TC Matson, Thank you for always being there when I fall (and for not pointing or laughing too hard when I do) I lobe you gobs & heaps & tons! You know all this & I’ll text you in a few LOL ♥

Erin Spencer, Thank you for always hooking me up at the last minute. I’m thinking you’re starting to figure out my MO now so I’m past the shocking you stage. ♥ you more!

To the many bloggers who’ve spread the word about my books, thank you x a kajillion. Know that you are appreciated GOBS!

To anyone who’s ever emailed/messaged/texted/whatever other medium there is to encourage me or tell me you loved one of my books, THANK YOU! It means the world to me! ♥

And to the readers, this is all for you. Thank you for making my dreams come true ♥

About the Author

USA Today Best Selling author Harper Bentley writes about hot alpha males who love hard. She’s taught high school English forever, and although she’s managed to maintain her sanity regardless of her career choice, jumping into the world of publishing her own books goes to show that she might be closer to the ledge than was previously thought.

After traveling the nation in her younger years as a military brat, having lived in Alaska, Washington State and California, she now resides in Oklahoma with her teenage daughter, two dogs and one cat, happily writing stories that she hopes her readers will enjoy.

You can contact her at harperbentleywrites@gmail.com, at harperbentleywrites.com, on Facebook or on Twitter @HarperBentley

Check out other titles by Harper Bentley:

The Powers That Be series:

Gable (The Powers That Be Book 1)

Zeke (The Powers That Be Book 2)

Loch (The Powers That Be Book 3)

Ryker (The Powers That Be Book 4)

Drake (The Powers That Be Book 5)

CEP series:

Being Chased (CEP #1)

Unbreakable Hearts (CEP #2)

Under the Gun (CEP #3)

The High Rise series

The Fighter

Serenity Point series:

Bigger Than the Sky (Serenity Point Book 1)

Always and Forever (Serenity Point Book 2)

True Love series:

Discovering Us (True Love #1)

Finding Us (True Love #2)

Finally Us (True Love Book 3)

True Love: The Trilogy: The Complete Boxed Set

The Wait series:

Thursdays (The Wait Book 1)

http://harperbentleywrites.com/

Prologue

We always know how it will end.

Always.

If you think I’m wrong, stop fooling yourself. 

And I can tell you exactly how it ends.

It’ll be the one thing about the person that made you fall in love with them in the first place that eventually becomes what you hate most about them in the end.

With Beck it was his rational side.

At first I loved that he was so pragmatic and practical. Logical.

So of course, I now hate that about him.

We were twenty-four.

We fell in love.

We promised we’d make it no matter what.

I haven’t talked to him in two years.

So much for fucking promises.,

How do you live with yourself when the woman you promised to love forever is dying yet you find the goddamned time to connect with another?

That was my life.

I don’t expect you to feel sorry for me. It was my fault.

But there was something about Birdie that drew me to her.

Made me want her.

Even as my own wife lay waiting to live again.

Christ.

But things have a way of working out in the end, even if we fucking hate everything about it.

I haven’t talked to Birdie in two years. I miss her. I still want her.

I just can’t seem to justify it in my head to have what I want.

Chapter 1—Birdie

I always thought that when you found “the one,” life somehow became easier. But I soon discovered that’s not always the case.

I met Mason Chapman when we were sophomores in high school, and, dang, was he charming. Handsome. Popular. His sun-bronzed brown hair seemed to do whatever the heck he wanted it to with little effort—usually hanging somewhat long on the back of his neck—which was just hot. He had soulful brown eyes that I believed could make even the hardest heart melt. Finish the whole thing off with that athletic body of his—I was pretty sure the school could’ve sold tickets to all us giddy girls so we could view him during track season when he removed his shirt in practice—and, holy crap, he was just something else. He’d caught my sixteen-year-old eye immediately. Of course, he’d caught the eye of every other girl in school too, he was that cute.

And the fight was on.

Well, not literally, but I did fight for him and let me tell you, it wasn’t easy. I mean, imagine a seventeen-year-old boy surrounded daily by swoony teenage girls all vying for one second of his attention as he fended them off like he was some boy band hottie and they were contending to be his number one groupie.

Yep. I’m rolling my eyes too.

I soon grew tired of trying to garner his attention and became the one who played it cool, and that somehow worked. I guess because I wasn’t one of the gazillions trying to catch his eye, I got the guy.

And I couldn’t have been more thrilled.

Oh, he’d informed me that it was my long brown hair and green eyes that had captured his attention, not to mention my “tight, round ass,” but I knew my aloof attitude was what really reeled him in. Whatever it was, I was glad and from day one I was thoroughly and completely hooked on Mason Chapman.

We dated throughout high school with only one blip at the end of our senior year: Allison Mannis, or The Menace, as my friends and I called her.

Allison wasn’t happy unless every guy in school was drooling after her. She already had a college-aged boyfriend, but that wasn’t enough for her. Nope, she hadn’t been content until every guy from ninth grade up had “Liked” the Instagram pictures she’d posted of herself in a very tiny bikini, her campaigning ultimately leading to tons of jacking-off fodder for the boys, I was sure.

That had caused a two-week breakup between Mason and me because through snooping, I’d found out that he, along with the rest of the male population at Fairview High School, had liked all her pictures, which had thrown me into a tizzy and I’d told him to get lost. It only makes me laugh now. Hell, if I’d been a teenage guy and had seen those pictures, I’d probably have done the same. They were pretty hot. Oh, and now since Allison is married, has had two kids and lost that bikini body, I can be even more forgiving. So, I’m a bitch. Whatever.  

Anyway, Mason and I made up—after he sent a shit ton of flowers to my house which had had my mom begging me to get back with him. I think what made me forgive him, though, were the cards included with the bouquets saying things such as, “I’ll never like another picture again,” “You’re the only one for me,” “I’m miserable without you,” and “You’re so much hotter in a bikini.” But the clincher— “Your pics are the only ones I want to masturbate to”—had me laughing hard and I’d called him, declaring that all was forgiven.

After high school, I went on to attend NYU majoring in accounting while he was accepted into Columbia going the business route, wanting to become an investment banker like his dad. After our freshman year, we moved into a small apartment together and life became pretty hectic with school and jobs. Mason worked as a runner on Wall Street which led to an internship as a junior investment banker for his dad’s firm, and I worked in the office of my dad’s sub sandwich restaurant balancing the books.

While most of our nights were spent studying, we had each other and that was all we needed.

Fast forwarding to two weeks after our college graduations, I’d just returned home from taking the second part of the CPA exam and I was exhausted. All I wanted to do was eat a pint of Half Baked—while scarfing down gummy bears—and veg, watching mindless television. I’d pulled on a pair of Mason’s gray sweatpants, pulling the string tie as tightly as I could which kept them from just slipping down my hips. Then ridding myself of my bra, I’d donned one of his tank top tees and managed to put my hair up in a messy bun.

I looked fabulous.

On his way home from his third internship with a well-known financial holding company, Mason had called.

“Babe, just making sure you’re there.”

“Yeah. I am. And I’m exhausted. If I have to answer one more pension-plan question, I’ll scream,” I stated from where I sat cross-legged on the couch.

He laughed. “I’ll be sure to keep my retirement details to myself then.”

“Good.”

“I’ll be home in ten. Can’t wait to see you,” he said before ringing off.

Yeah. I was sure he couldn’t wait, because I so looked the part of someone he’d want to see right then.

And, damn it, isn’t stress a bitch? Before I could change the channel, I was suddenly shedding tears after watching one of those mistreated animal commercials while one of the saddest songs ever recorded in the history of humankind played in the background. So sobbing into my ice cream carton—having finished off half of it during the ad itself, ugh—I heard Mason come in.

“Honey, I’m home!” he called goofily.

Through my tears, I called back, “I’m in here.” Sniff. “And I’m eating junk food that’ll make my hips huge and you won’t want me anymore!” Choked sob.

“Oh, sweetheart, you always know how to turn me on!” he hollered in return.

I snorted out a weepy chuckle at how comfortable our relationship was.

When he came into the living room, I saw the side of his mouth curl up. “You watched one of those commercials again, didn’t you?”

I nodded tearfully and sniffled as I set my ice cream on the end table.

“Babe. You’ve gotta stop doing that.” He shook his head as he looked at me all, What am I going to do with you?

My breath hitched when I explained, “They’re just so…sad. And I didn’t grab the remote in time.” I held the controller up, waving it at him as I said this.

“So, how was the test?”

His question made me suck in another sniveling breath as I let out a groan.

“That rough, huh?”

I nodded, lamenting, “Just long.”

“I’ll show you something long,” he answered with a twinkle in his eye.

This made me giggle as I wiped my fingers under my eyes. “Oh, I know you can.”

“So,” he drawled, canting his head to the side and looking at me with mock concern. “You gonna be okay?”

I huffed out a breath and rolled my eyes. “I think so. God, I’m such a baby.”

“But you’re my baby.” He bent to kiss me, then without further ado, knelt in front of me in one of only three business suits he owned which made me frown.

“Mase! What’re you doing? You’ll ruin the knee!” I cried watching as he reached inside the suit jacket and pulled out a small box opening it and producing a gorgeous diamond ring.

Annnd cue more waterworks on my part.

“Birdie, I love you with damn near my whole heart.” He smirked.

Through my tears, I smacked his arm and laughed.

“No, seriously, baby, you have it all.” He smiled at me so sweetly, so lovingly, I choked on another sob. “So, with that all being said, Bernadette Elizabeth Winchester, would you do me the very high honor of becoming my wife?”

Pretty sure I fainted.

Chapter 2—Beck

I remember thinking the first time I laid eyes on Sonya that she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.

We’d met in early October at the Sor-Frat Bash senior year at Penn State. My roommate Paul and I were baseball players not frat boys, but the Bash was always a huge party, so we went every year for the free booze and to watch drunk girls make out with each other.

Yeah, yeah. I’m a guy. That shit’s hot. Get over it.

Now, I’d dated my fair share of pretty girls in my life—dated being the equivalent of fucked—and a few I’d even considered to be girlfriends. But not one of them had made me even contemplate getting serious.

Until I met Sonya.

Seeing her up on that picnic table dancing so seductively to “Change (In the House of Flies)” by the Deftones, the smile on her face so wide and beautiful, as she slowly waved her arms above her head, her hands and fingers doing some weird rolling motion like she was summoning fairies or some shit, had me mesmerized.

But here was the thing—and had I not been so captivated by her, I regret to say this probably would’ve been a deal breaker to my shallow twenty-two-year-old self. Sonya wasn’t beautiful in the traditional sense of the word. She carried probably an extra ten or fifteen pounds on her medium frame, different from the typical “fit” girls I usually dated. She had long, black hair, which again was different from the blondes I was normally attracted to. And she was tall. I tended to date more petite girls.

So what was it about her that caught my eye?

She was so free in that moment, so happy, and I wanted that for myself.

I wanted her.

I’d gone to the table and held my hand out for her to take. When she noticed me, she shot that gorgeous smile down at me then took my hand allowing me to help her down.

“Thanks, handsome,” she’d said with a laugh then she’d twirled holding my hand above her head as if it’d been I who’d spun her.

Her long peasant skirt flitted up at the bottom with her revolution and she’d thrown her head back to laugh, which I’d thought made her the most stunning woman I’d ever seen.

And I was hooked.

I’d convinced her to go to Merrill’s for coffee and pie with me, where we’d talked until the sun had come up, learning each other. I’d found out that from age seventeen, she’d lived with her aunt and uncle after her mother, father and brother were killed when their car had spun out of control on the ice and slammed into a tree on their drive back from a ski trip in the mountains. She explained that she hadn’t gone because she’d had a job interview at an ice cream parlor which was when she confided she only ate ice cream when she was sad.

Hearing all this had my protective instincts roaring, and it was as if I subconsciously vowed from that moment on to try to keep her safe always.

After that, we barely spent an hour apart. I’d been set to graduate with my master’s degree in December, having doubled up on classes the past two years and then taking several summer classes to push things along. I’d sustained a baseball hit to the head the previous season, and when the doctors wouldn’t release me to play again, I’d said, fuck it, and taken all the classes I could. Just before graduating, I’d consequently gotten a job as an industrial engineer in New York City with a major pharmaceutical company. Since Sonya hadn’t completed her degree in sociology—with which she’d planned on becoming a social worker—I’d asked her to go with me, she’d agreed, and we’d decided she’d finish her education after the move.

Just after Christmas and right before New Year’s, we’d driven the almost three hours to New York City one weekend and found a loft apartment to rent. As a surprise, I’d booked us a room at the Ritz-Carlton at which she’d screamed in glee making me chuckle at her enthusiasm.

After arriving, though, we’d had a small argument when I explained I needed to leave for a bit.

“You’re leaving me here in a strange city, in a strange place, all by myself?” she’d questioned, the panic clear on her face.

“Baby, I got you a spa treatment. While you’re getting all primped up, I’ve got to run an errand. But I’ll be back in less than an hour. Promise,” I’d explained.

She’d given me her pouty look that I loved, pooching out her bottom lip all cute-like, but I also saw that the idea of the spa had caught her attention.

“Okay, but only because I’m curious to see what they’ll do to beautify me,” she’d said, cutting her eyes at me.

“That’s my girl,” I told her, kissing her forehead.

I’d walked her down to the spa then leaving the hotel, gone a block almost due east to get the surprise I’d planned for her.

Because she’d had so much hurt in her short life and I loved that the smallest things made her happy, and since she loved Christmas trees—I always teased that she was like that kid in the Home Alone movies—I’d planned a trip that evening to Rockefeller Center. She’d never been and I knew she’d love it.

So after dinner, we’d taken a cab there and she’d been ecstatic. We rented skates and made our way around the rink several times before I got her to the center where we’d stopped to stare at the tree.

“It’s so beautiful,” she’d murmured, the reflection of the lights twinkling in her teary eyes.

“You’re beautiful,” I’d answered from bended knee, retrieving the small blue box from inside my jacket.

Turning she looked down to see me holding up a ring and I had to chuckle when her mouth dropped open.

“Sonya Marie Walters, will you do me the greatest honor I could ever have and become my wife?” I asked.

She’d tackled me to the ice, planting sweet kisses all over my face as she’d whispered, “Yes! Yes!”

Chapter 1

“Fuck!” Kyce shouts, shaking his hands. “I said spar, you asshole.”

He’s always been a little bitch. Baby brother or not, I’m not going to cut him a break. I never have and I’m not about to start now. Standing at a whopping five feet eleven and weighing in at a sparse hundred and sixty-five pounds, the little shit has always been eager to wrangle with me. When he was old enough for me to put him in a headlock and torture the ever-living shit out of him, it became his life goal to beat me fair and square.

What are brothers for?

Mom used to get so pissed when he came home busted up, bloodied, and bruised. He did his best to conceal the fact it was me, always blaming someone else, but Mom could see through his lies. She never understood it was his fault. You just can’t run with the big dogs without any repercussions. Hell, I went through the same torment with Jackson, trying to show my worth. Jackson was a shit and taught me how to be a shit. The arrogant asshole knew he was the biggest prick in school and would always bring it home to me.

I’m six years younger than him, but just as big. Scrapping with him taught me the ropes. Technically, I’m only passing down a favor to Kyce. Not like he needs it. The little shit has soaked in all of my lessons and can stand his ground pretty damn well. He’s gotten good. Too good. So good, I’ve tried talking him into joining the MMAT. But he’s chicken shit. Says he doesn’t particularly care to get beat up for a living even though he comes to all my fights, and as you can see, sometimes he’s my training partner.

We’ve grown closer since my boy, Matt, moved out of town to North Carolina for his job. Kyce has since become my partner in crime.

“I am sparring, shithead. Man up.” I chuckle, slamming my gloves together and bouncing on my toes.

He narrows his frustrated eyes at me. “I’m not Morris Fischer.” It’s his turn to chuckle as the anger melts away to amusement. He wipes the sweat from his forehead with his forearm. “Morris Fischer,” he repeats the name. “Who the fuck names their kid that? His mom probably forced him to become a fighter because of the bullies at school calling him names, picking on her precious baby.”

“You going to put up a fight or fantasize about fucking his mom?” I tease, rousing him. Pissed brother equals pissed fighting with something to prove.

He shoves his mouth guard back in, raises his gloves closer to his face, and tucks his chin. He steps in and swings, connecting with my glove and then fires off a wide right hook. I duck.

Told you he’d fall for my pestering him.

He unloads a flurry of punches as I weave and duck from each. Then vexation saturates the wrinkled lines between his eyes. He drops his hands, his face red. “Man, fuck this.” He rips the gloves from his hands and throws them on the mat.

I can’t help but laugh at his temper tantrum. “You’re doubting my livelihood.”

“I’ve trained with you for years and I can’t ever get the better of you,” he snaps, sounding more like a defensive puppy.

“You’ve won a time or two,” I say.

He puffs a scowl. “You let me win the first time and the other time your ego was busted up because of Levi. Pretty shitty I can’t win unless you’re wounded.”

I smirk. “I let you win both times.”

He shakes his head. His short brown hair, normally gelled up and spikey, lays flat and heavy against his head, drenched in sweat. “Not when Levi handed you your ass on a golden glove.”

Asshole knows the low blows. Levi didn’t hand me shit. I fucked that up by myself and he was there to take everything from me—my championship, my professional contract, and my dignity.

“I let you win that, too. Your smile lifted my spirits.” My tone reeks of sarcasm.

“Yeah, right,” he scoffs. “Your ego is way too big for you to ever let that happen.”

I slide my gloves off. “What’s with you?”

He shakes his head, dismissing me with a toss of his hand, and drops out of the ring. I’m at him in a flash, slipping under the ropes and snatching his arm.

“Dude. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He bobs his head from shoulder to shoulder and looks away. “Crystal bounced. Not like you care.”

He’s right. I don’t give a damn about the conniving bitch. She’s had him on a short leash and used him for everything she could think of. But he’s still my brother. “Why?”

He shrugs a shoulder. “No reason. She spent the night, we had some fun, and when we woke up the next morning, she called it quits. Grabbed her shit and left.”

“Do you talk in your sleep?” I ask, trying to keep a straight face and do well except for my twitchy lips.

He closes his eyes, reining in his temper. It’s a Hayes thing—our tempers. It runs very fucking deep in the family along with our eyes. It’s Dad’s dominant genes.

“I saw it coming weeks ago,” he admits.

“Did you love her?”

He looks to his feet. “Wanted to. Does that count?”

“You can’t force that shit. If it’s there, it’s there. I’d say after what…four months? If you didn’t feel it, that shit wasn’t happening.”

Jackson was blessed with Dad’s lack of emotions. Poor Kyce was cursed with Mom’s sensitivity even though I tried beating it out of him when we were younger. I swear I tried my fucking hardest. And me, well, I lean a bit more on Dad’s side, but I don’t have a shortage of emotions. I just reserve those for the right person.

I shove his shoulder. “Good riddance. She wasn’t any good for you anyway.”

“Good lay.” His eyes smile along with his lips.

I drop my head back and laugh. “There’s more where that came from.”

He exhales deeply. “What are you doing tonight? The guys were telling me about a club twenty minutes away.”

I raise a shoulder. “Clubbing. The misery expunger. I’m down. What time?”

“Pick me up around eight.”

My brows jump high on my forehead. “Eight? Are you buying me dinner and a movie? Do we kiss at the end of this date?”

He rolls his eyes—yep, just like mom—and shakes his head. “God. Sometimes I hate you’re my fucking brother. I’d only claim Jackson if I could.”

“Ah, the good brother,” I say facetiously. “You’d miss me.”

“Not if you didn’t exist,” he quips.

I laugh again. “You’d dream of having a brother as brilliant as I am.”

“I’d wish for a sister.”

I shove his shoulder again. “You’d dream of your sister? No fucking wonder Crystal split. You’re a sick fuck.”

He sucks his laugh in his throat and I flash my best shit-eating grin before striding away.

“I’ll pick my sweetie up at eight,” I yell over my shoulder, pushing out the door.

Determined to be the little punk he is, when I picked up Kyce, he insisted we go straight to The Grind just to prove me wrong. I’ve heard about this place a time or two. It opened less than a year ago and people rave about it. It’s apparently the hottest club to hit New England in years.

I pull into the parking lot and see the line to get into the place is wrapped around the building. Kyce shoots me a quick glance. “Ethan said for us to use the back entrance.” He points. “Said he’d let us in.”

“Why do you still talk to that fucknut?” I ask pulling into a spot in the back.

“Bygones are bygones.” He drops out the truck.

Ethan, the toothy grinning, backstabbing bastard, pushes open the door and lets us in. “You’re going to love it here, Ryker,” he says like I give a fuck about what’s spewing from his mouth. “DJ Echo is here tonight and he’s the bomb diggity.”

I shoot Kyce an annoyed glance and continue to make my way in without a word to the over-enthused Ethan. I only tolerate him because Kyce forgave the weasel, but it doesn’t mean I’ll chat him up like he’s a fucking friend.

The place is busy as hell, swamped with people. Most of the guys here are college age and the women have the same resemblance, only less clothed. They’re here with only one intention and it isn’t one their daddies would approve. The bass vibrates my chest, and strobe lights flicker around us—blue, purple, green, white. I close my eyes for a fraction of a second and reminisce my fight entrance. I love entering arenas—screaming fans, loud music, the lights adding the to hype. It pulls adrenaline from every cell in my blood. It’s exhilarating as hell. And I fucking love it. I’m ready to get back in there.

We make our way to the stick figure of a bartender and order our beers before finding the table. It’s off to the side, locked and loaded with some of Kyce’s boys.

“What’s up, Ryker?” Nick, the one I can stand, says.

Now, before you go and label me as the biggest fucking prick, you’ve got the wrong idea. It might seem I don’t like many people, and for the most part you are correct. But I run off vibes. Bad vibes equal shadiness. Shadiness equals piss poor people. And I don’t fare well with it. I also don’t like to hand out second chances often.

Take the shithead at the door, for instance. Ethan went behind Kyce’s back and fucked the girl he was talking to. What kind of “good friend” does that? One who should get his ass whipped, that’s who. The girl came clean a week later. Guilt ate her fake tanned skin up. Ethan claimed he was drunk and didn’t remember. I don’t believe him. Either way, Kyce ditched the chick and put Ethan on his shit list. They’d both be gone if it were me.

Trust is big for me. I’ve been burned too many times, and in the industry I work, trust is hard to find. I’m not a mean asshole, just a guarded one. I pay attention. I watch. I learn. Now if you do the same, you’ll see I’m not the bad guy.

“What’s up, man?” I tip my chin and then take a long draw from the cold beer.

“Not much. Same old, same old. Haven’t seen you around lately.”

I smile. “I’m always around. I’ve been back in town for months. You’ve been missing from the scene.”

Nick’s dark brown eyes dart away before answering. “Women,” he says with a nervous chuckle. “You know how they can be.”

“Ryker, the motherfucking Striker,” Jordie’s skinny arm slaps my shoulder. “How are you?”

Despite being a stroke to the ego, I despise fake friendliness because I’m prominent in the fighting world. Jordie is a fanboy, only evolving into one of my supporters after I won a few. Not because he’s been friends with our family for years.

“Good,” I answer.

“That’s great, man. When’s your next fight?”

“About a month.”

“Against who?”

“Some douche named Morris,” Kyce cuts in.

My baby brother—my number one fan.

“Fischer?” Jeff, who’s been attached to Jordie’s hip since high school, asks.

“Yeah.” I shift my view to him and his preppy ass attire.

“Isn’t he from Germany?”

Indifference tightens my lips and I shrug a shoulder. “No clue.”

“Aren’t you supposed to know about your opponents?” Jordie asks.

“I know about his fighting. The rest doesn’t interest me.”

“It’s your first fight since losing,” Jordie informs me as if I don’t fucking know this shit. “You nervous?”

I slice my eyes to him and allow a polite smile to rest on my lips. “Never nervous.”

Thankfully, Jeff spots a few girls on the dance floor, and dumb and dumber go give it a shot. Those two can’t do a damn thing without each other’s company. It’s fucking ridiculous. If I didn’t know them, I’d swear they were lovers.

Nick and Kyce stay behind. Kyce knows dancing isn’t in our blood. We can barely do the damn Hokey Pokey. We order another round of beers from the cute redheaded waitress who can’t keep her dark hazel eyes off me. They stay on me while the guys tell her what they’d like and she’s met by my smirk before she rushes off. I chuckle.

“I need to learn the Hayes’ secret,” Nick says watching her dainty ass sway off.

Kyce grins. “All in the genes.”

“We have no secret,” I add. “We were born gods.”

This causes us all to laugh.

“All I was blessed with was thick hair,” Nick tells us.

Kyce’s expression turns serious as he looks to him. “Which you never do a damn thing with. Brush it. Style it. Fucking do something to it.”

Redhead comes back and sets our beers on the table in front of us.

She rocks back nervously, with her eyes on me. “Hey.”

I arch a brow knowing her intent. “Hi.”

“After I get off work, would you like to go somewhere?” She waves her hand and looks to the ceiling. “Away from here.” She ends her sentence with her lips between her teeth.

I clear my throat and lean in close to her face. Her breath hitches as the pulse in her throat makes a clear presence. “No. Thank you.” She sucks a short gasp and I continue. “We’ve not even exchanged names and you’re willing to cart me out of here. I don’t take pleasure in easy.”

Kyce chokes on his beer.

Her eyes snap to him before sliding back to me, mad with embarrassment. “You think I’m easy?”

I take her in—small tits, no curves, and a nasty attitude. “I don’t have to think it, sweetheart.”

“I just wanted to get to know you,” she spits.

“I’m sure,” I reply cynically. “Whatever you tell yourself to sleep at night.”

Just as red as her hair, fire blazes in her wake as she storms off.

Nick’s mouth is twitching to say something while he watches me take a swallow from my beer. I grin to him. “If it’s easy for me, think how easy it is for any other guy. I’m not interested in that.”

“Pussy’s pussy.” Nick shrugs.

I tip my beer to him. “Coming from the guy who recently stated he was having women problems. Want me to take a stab at the problem?”

His eyes scrutinize me, but he remains silent. Good. I’d hate to be the asshole tonight.

I pan the crowd and set my half empty beer down. “I’ve had my fill of the place. You good or riding with me?” I point, asking Kyce.

He looks to Nick who nods in a silent affirmation before answering. “I’ll hitch a ride with him.”

“Have a good night, ladies.” I grin before making my way through the crowd to get to the back door.

Ethan’s surprised when he spots me. “Leaving so soon?”

I don’t answer him, only glaring at him with a stone-cold stare as I push out the door. I have nothing to say to the rat bastard.