“You’ve got her eating out of your fucking hand, you lucky prick.”
I roll my eyes at him. “Luck has nothing to do with it.”
He blows out a breath. “Don’t I know it. Just make sure you don’t push too hard and get yourself jailed for fucking stalking.”
“Jesus, why don’t you say that a little louder?”
He only chuckles, but I want to deck him. I’ve done nothing illegal, and my hope is that if I take good care of her and her family as well, when she finds out what I’ve done she’ll forgive me.
She has to.
But that’s the one fucking thing I can’t command her to do, isn’t it?
I fill him in. Ask for him to get the details.
“On it, boss,” he says. His cell phone’s already up to his ear.
When I get back to the table, Katie and Miranda are eating cake and drinking coffee. She smiles up at me, though her eyes are still a bit troubled. I sit down beside her.
“I’ll let you know what I find out.”
She nods. “Thank you.”
The next hour’s filled with our staged “candids.” She grins at me, a bite of cake poised on her fork as she feeds it to me. I wipe a crumb of cake off her cheek with a napkin. My hand rests atop hers, as we answer a few questions. Shane usually orchestrates this, but with him occupied, the reporters are more pushy than usual.
“How long have you two been dating?”
“Are you a couple?”
“Will she be joining you for your Parisian tour?”
Thankfully, Darius steps in as Shane’s substitute, and after a dozen or so questions and over a hundred pictures, we’re left alone at the table.
I can see exhaustion written in her features, and I know Miranda wants answers.
“It’s time for us to go,” I say, pushing up from the table.
“I agree,” Miranda says with a yawn. She says goodbye to her friend, and takes my arm when I offer it to her.
“You don’t have to worry about the escort service,” she says quietly. “It’s not under my name, but incorporated, and there won’t be anything connected to me with that.”
I nod. I’m not worried about that anyway, but I could see that she might be.
My phone rings. Shane.
“Hello?”
“Found out what was going on.” I don’t need to ask how he found out.
“Yeah?”
“You know her sister’s fiancé?”
“Not personally, but yeah.”
“She caught him cheating on her when she got home earlier than usual from visiting her mom. I guess she’s had her suspicions but ignored them until now. Wedding’s off. That’s why she was asking about relocating her mother. She doesn’t want to be anywhere near her ex. Poor girl’s a wreck.” Shane’s voice is full of empathy. He’s got an uncanny ability to put himself in someone else’s shoes—yet another thing I love about the guy.
My own heart sinks for her. Being cheated on sucks. “Jesus.”
“Tell Miranda to call her sister.”
I nod. “I will. Thanks, man.”
I hang up the phone as we walk toward our ride. “Call your sister, baby.”Chapter FourteenMiranda
My hands shake as I pull up her number. What is wrong with Lexi? Was moving Mom to the home too much? Should I have stayed longer to help?
The phone rings and rings. With each metallic echo my guilt grows. I should have stayed longer. I should have helped more.
On what feels like the hundredth ring, she picks up. “Hello?” She sounds small, shaken. I can hear the tears in her voice.
I want to reach through the phone and pull her into me for a hug. “Lexi. What’s wrong?”
“Oh, Miranda. I didn’t want to tell you. Everything’s going so well for you and you already had to come down here once to help me…” She bursts into sobs.
What is it? What could possibly have my sister so torn up inside? My mind searches frantically, flipping through what I know of her current life. Tom. The only thing that could possibly have her this upset is something happening to Tom.
“What happened? Is Tom alright? Has he been hurt?” Visions of him in a car crash, or bandaged and unconscious on a hospital bed flash through my mind.
My words only make her cry harder. Am I right and he’s hurt? Or is it worse?
She says a jumble of things that are nearly incoherent, but I think I hear the words “Tom” and “dead,” and I fly into a panic.
“Oh my God! Is Tom… dead?”
“No, but he’s going to be if I get my hands on him. And when I’m done with him I’m going after her. I’ll pop those silicone implants and then I’ll… then I’ll… oh, who am I kidding? I’m not going to do anything.”
So, Tom’s not dead. He’s fine, but she wants to kill him and… silicone implants? “What are you talking about?”
“I can’t take it.” Her angry voice turns to a whisper. “I just want out of here.”