He scoffed. “The playing field is never even, Beaumonde. If it were, one of us would’ve had that sidelines position. You gotta do what you gotta do.”
“Right. ’Cause almost killing me out on that road would’ve been worth a promotion. You’re a goddamned psychopath.”
A line formed between his brows. “Almost killing you?”
She shook her head. So now he was going to play innocent? “Come near me ever again, and I’ll make that punch from the other day look mild.”
She stalked out of the restaurant, her head about to explode. Fucking punk. He couldn’t even man up and get his own damn story. If he’d put half as much energy into getting his own scoop as he had trying to hijack hers, he’d probably have a promotion already. All she could hope was that Trey would take her side and not accept Pete’s story.
The sunshine blinded her as she stepped into the parking lot. She pulled her sunglasses from her purse and found Grant walking her way from the other side of the lot. He halted when he saw her, a glimmer of relief crossing his features. He must’ve been on the way to check on her since she’d taken longer than five minutes.
They had agreed not to interact in case anyone was watching, but now that Pete had outed himself, she had no reason to be covert. He turned to go back toward his truck, but she followed him over. “Wait, we don’t have to play strangers anymore.”
He spun to face her, frowning. “What?”
She gave him the quick version of what had just happened, venom dripping off her tone.
Grant’s jaw flexed. “I see.”
“So no more stalker, but no more story…or promotion for that matter unless Trey helps me out.”
“Is that bastard still inside?” Grant asked, glancing toward the main door, a predatory glint in his eye.
She put a hand on his forearm. “Don’t. You’ll just get yourself in an unnecessary mess. Pete comes from a family of lawyers. We can’t prove anything, and if you lay a hand on him, he’ll press charges before you can blink. It’s not worth it. Let me handle it.”
He looked unmoved.
“I’m serious. Let it go.”
He sighed. “That’s not my strong suit, freckles, but I’ll do my best.”
She checked the time on her phone. “Look, I’m going to head into work and try to get to Trey before Pete does. You’re relieved of bodyguard duty. Pete’s got what he wants now.”
“Charli—”
“I’ll come by tonight and get my stuff from the cabin so I can move it back home.” The words hurt coming out, but after last night she didn’t see any other option. He’d had the chance to tell her that she was wrong, that he loved her back. But her house had remained silent last night, her bedroom empty.
He shifted his focus away from the diner and met her gaze, regret etching lines at the corners of his eyes. “We should talk.”
“We already did.” She went up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, closing her eyes and lingering for a second too long. This would be the last time she allowed herself to touch him. Tears lined her throat, but she forced them down. She pulled back and gave him her best attempt at a smile. “Thanks for everything, Grant. It’s been…educational.”
A pained expression shrouded his features. But he didn’t say anything further.
What was there to say?
Only one thing. “Good-bye, Grant.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Charli was in the mood to break things by the time late afternoon rolled around. Or maybe beat things—like Pete’s smarmy face. Trey hadn’t been in the office, and no one seemed to know when he’d be coming back. She’d tried his cell number without any luck. Pete hadn’t returned either. He was probably busy studying her notes so he could fake his way through owning her story.
She gripped the edge of her desk, letting out a groan of frustration.
Her phone beeped, indicating an internal call. She nearly pounced on the receiver. “Hello?”
“Beaumonde.”
“Trey!” she said, relief zipping through her. “I’ve been trying to track you down all day.”