“It must be,” I confirm. “But their motive is beyond me.” I ponder, then offer all I can come up with. “At first, I thought it was someone at my office, because they knew that Taylor was an ex-girlfriend of mine, but Ryder looked into the only people who worked for me when I dated Taylor.”
“And we ruled them out,” Ryder states. “No one has any motive for doing this. No financial trouble. No enemies. Not even any trouble in their lives that we could find. They were all squeaky clean.”
“So,” I continue, crossing an ankle over my knee. “Now I’m thinking this has to be some random person selling this information to the tabloids.”
Ryder asks, “But who in the hell would do this? I mean, it’s not as if they’re printing the stories we would expect them to print.”
Micah nods. “But maybe that is only because we have yet to slip up and discuss such things. I can only imagine they’re just waiting for us to give them the juiciest story possible.”
“Though,” I say my thoughts aloud, “it’s hard to believe that someone is coming to the pub at the right moments to catch these conversations.”
“Perhaps it’s not so random,” Ryder interjects. “It is possible someone is getting paid a great deal of money for this information to expose us to the media. It might not be one person acting alone.”
The thought sickens me because it makes me wonder what’s to come.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Gabe growls. He takes a big gulp of his scotch, his jaw muscles flexing from the aftertaste, and clearly still processing all this, he says to Micah, “You even told me about Allie moving in with you at the pub.”
Micah nods, obvious tension crossing his expression. “Which explains why the paps were at Allie’s condo and captured that first photo of you and Taylor.”
I nod.
Gabe shoots to his feet, moving to the wall of windows behind us, staring out into the night. “I cannot fucking believe this is happening in my pub.”
“It’s the best place for it to happen,” I tell him, understanding the weight of responsibility he likely feels. “We’re very casual there, and I can only imagine that whoever is doing this knows that it’s the one place we have our guard down.” Because that is our place, where there is no business and no one putting us under the microscope. The one spot where we can kick back with a cold beer and great food.
Micah returns to his seat, and his brows pinch as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, swirling the scotch in his glass. “Where does this leave us, then?”
We all look at Ryder because he’s the expert.
His lips purse before he says, “Leave this with me. I’ll need to look into this before I come up with a plan on how to deal with it.” To Gabe, he asks, “Are the video cameras at the pub still working?”
Gabe glances over his shoulder with a tight expression and nods. “Yes, but we’ll need to contact our security company for access, since they store the video feed on their servers.”
“That’s fine.” Ryder downs the remainder of his scotch in one big gulp. “Once you get me access, I’ll get my team on this.” He places his glass on the coffee table, looking from face to face, dead serious. “I cannot stress enough that you need to be careful until we find out who’s behind this. Right now, you cannot trust anyone.”
&
nbsp; I sigh, rubbing my hands over my face, thinking only of Taylor. “And that’s different than any other day?”
Blank stares greet me, only reminding me how fucked up our lives truly are. The weight of guilt is pushing on my shoulders, and all that pressure feels aimed directly at Taylor. At one time in my life, I felt like my secrets would ruin me. That all I had worked so hard for would be stripped from me because people I didn’t know would judge me, and that judgment would make my investors walk away. But now I know that’s no longer true.
My secrets can do something worse than hurt me.
They can hurt Taylor.
Chapter 12
Taylor
With my workday well behind me, I park my car in the condo’s underground parking garage, exhausted to my bones from the four interviews I did today that got me no closer to hiring a new secretary.
On top of that, there’s so much to deal with after the magazine article that I can’t even begin to figure it all out yet. I decide I need something stronger than the wine I have in the fridge before I call Allie to cancel our movie plans. I want to hide and think. Then I can figure out the rest, which includes returning my mother’s phone call and explaining all this to her, as well as why I never told her in the first place.
I’m sorry for disappointing you. It feels so childish to still care about that, but it’s nonetheless true. I want them to be proud of me. This isn’t the woman I ever wanted to be. Hell, it’s not even the woman I feel like I am.
My heels click against the cement floor, and I’m cursing the blister on my ankle when I step out of the garage to stop by the market to grab a bottle of vodka.
One second, I’m enjoying the warm evening air.