Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
“I was not thinking that,” I insisted, folding up his napkin.
“Baby, you have a lot of skills, but hiding when you’re turned on is not one of them,” he told me.
It was right that moment that our server came back with bread and some kind of oil dip with herbs floating in it, and asked if we were ready to order.
Saving us from letting the conversation continue. Because I had a feeling that it wasn’t going to go well if we did.
We all had our flaws.
And I had a really hard time being called out. My pride wanted me to fight to the bitter, bloody end. I knew me. If it got heated enough, I would have demanded that Tig or Sawyer be put on my case instead of him.
Quite frankly, I would have said that just to save face, not because it was actually what I wanted.
Luckily, I had some menu questions, and our server was chatty.
As she wandered off, my phone bleeped, and I went ahead and let myself be rude and answer Cam.
Better rude than without my private investigator and live-in protection detail.
“I’m sure Cam is holding down the fort,” Brock said as I, admittedly, typed off a never-ending response just to have an excuse not to face Brock again so soon.
“He did a great job while I was… away,” I agreed, tucking the phone away. “I’ve never met anyone who can anticipate needs like he can.”
“Have you given any more thought to what I said about him?” Brock asked.
“I have. And I know you might think it is naive of me, but I am something like ninety-eight percent sure he had nothing to do with this. What would he have to gain if something happened to me? He has no stake in the company, no position in it if I weren’t around. The worst thing that could happen to him would be that I died. He would immediately be out of a job.
“And he would never find one again that would pay him what I do. What?” I asked as his head turned to the side as he looked at me.
“You really have given it a lot of thought, and I’m apt to agree with you when you put it that way. He was willing to pay our fee. That says you pay him at least three times what a normal assistant would ever get.”
“Exactly. But where does that leave us?” I asked.
“There’s still a lot of avenues to look into. I will be getting the videos from the building cameras tomorrow when the super heads out to grab lunch. What?” he asked.
“The super,” I said.
“What about him? You suspect him? Have you had issues with him?”
“Issues might be… pushing it,” I said. “I’ve only directly dealt with him maybe twice. But he’s… this sounds so rude…”
“Trying to murder someone is rude, honey.”
Well, when he put it that way.
“He’s a creep. Or, at least, he gave me creep vibes. He came up to work on my kitchen sink once. And I caught him in my bedroom when I came in.”
“He has access to your room?” Brock asked. “I know they typically have master keys, but you have the private elevator with the keycard.”
“He has an actual key to access the elevator.”
“And your door?”
“Not anymore, with Lennon’s updates, but yes.”
“Alright. I will focus on him for sure. Does anyone else have keys or keycards? Aside from you, me, and Cam, that is.”
“The doorman. He brings up my dry cleaning and packages sometimes if there are too many behind the desk, since he can just leave them outside my door and they can’t be stolen.”
“Alright. That is a good direction. It makes a lot of sense,” Brock said, reaching for some bread, breaking off a piece, and swirling it in the dip. “They could come up the elevator without you being notified. Then they could knock at your door. And you remember there being someone at the door.”
“Right,” I agreed, still annoyed that no other memories of that night had come back to me. The best I could come up with was that the second the door was opened, I had been, like, chloroformed.
“What?” Brock asked, seeing my gears turning.
“Could I have been chloroformed? Is that why I don’t remember anything?”
“No,” he said, shaking my head. “I mean, yes, it is always possible to be chloroformed. But it is nothing like what you see in movies and TV shows. It takes several minutes of having that rag over your face to make you pass out. It’s possible, but unlikely. I think the lack of memory is more of a trauma response, your brain protecting you from unpleasant memories.”
“That just… that doesn’t sound like me.”
“Typically, no. But sometimes there is no control, babe. Your brain does it subconsciously. And sometimes it comes back, but most of the time it doesn’t. I get that it’s scary to have gaps like that, but it’s probably something you’re going to have to learn to live with.”