Not sure if it was a good idea or not to let my mind and body not be distracted by work, I went ahead and told them I would see how I felt after some sleep. When what I really meant was I would see how bad my hangover was when I went home and downed some vodka to try to numb my mind and body until I passed out and, hopefully, didn’t have sweaty dreams about a certain rich kidnapper.
Plan in place, I made my way out of the building, heading toward my car.
The cool air outside made me suddenly and acutely aware of the fact that I’d never put my sticky bra back on.
I turned back toward the building, partially wondering if I should risk running into Bellamy again. Or, worse yet, walking in on him fucking someone else.
All for what? A sticky bra that I hated anyway?
Decision made, I made my way toward my car.
I looked back.
And, damnit, I knew why I did that.
To see if I could catch another glimpse of Bellamy.
Maybe even Bellamy looking around for me, wondering where I’d gotten to.
Was that mental of me?
Yes, absolutely.
But it was the truth, no matter how much I didn’t want to believe it.
I didn’t catch sight of him, though.
As I was turning back to my car, though, I caught sight of something that made me feel like the world had gotten thrown off its axis.
No, not something.
Someone.
A dead man walking.
Somehow, I’d missed my mark.
Brandon Adams was still alive.
Shit.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Bellamy
She’d disappeared.
I’d looked away for a minute and she was gone.
I should have known she’d be looking for any opportunity to sneak away.
Other men might have gotten discouraged, but I was all the more intrigued.
Especially because I now knew who she was. And who her people were.
It would be simple enough to track her down now.
Which was why I left the event early and headed back toward Navesink Bank to head into the office, hoping to run into Nia to see if I could schmooze her into doing a quick search for Shawn for me online. I just needed her to point me in a direction other than the family jewelry store since I’d seen the way her aunt had been looking between the two of us. I could practically hear the Bridal Chorus playing.
And I didn’t want her to get the wrong idea.
Was I interested in her niece? Yes. But it wasn’t serious.
Because, again, I didn’t do serious.
I did one-night-stands and flings.
Which was why I wanted to find Shawn. To get a couple more rounds under our belt. Then she’d be out of my system.
Then, of course, there was the whole issue about her killing the man I was supposed to take out myself. We hadn’t talked about that.
It wasn’t that I didn’t intend to discuss it, but I kept getting distracted by all that sass and sarcasm she threw around. And the way my body responded to that.
The office lights were on, but Jules was long gone, so I needed to punch the code to head in. And collided with Amita as she rushed out of the hallway, so engrossed with whatever she was texting on her phone that she didn’t even notice I was there until she slammed into me.
“Oh!” she said, bending to grab her phone before she even checked to see who she’d walked into. “Oh, you. You’re in so much trouble,” she said, shaking her head.
“Maybe I can hire you to spin whatever it is for me,” I suggested as she grabbed her purse out of the closet.
“Would love to. But someone’s thirteen-year-old just stole the family Jag and ran it into a homeless shelter. I have no idea how the hell to fix that,” she added, making her way to the door.
“You will figure it out, doll. You always do,” I said, but she was already gone.
Quin must have heard me talking to Amita because not five seconds later, he was charging into the hallway, face full of barely-contained rage.
“What the fuck, Bellamy?” he barked, reaching up to rake a hand down his face. “I’ve been calling for fucking days. Where the hell have you been?”
“Had a little situation I was dealing with,” I told him as I watched Rosie move out into the hallway with Quin, looking almost as grave as Quin himself did.
If the “Fixer” himself and the “Lawyer” were worried, I had a feeling that whatever was going on was serious.
“You had a little situation,” Quin repeated, voice deceptively calm.
Forced-calm Quin was a scary guy.
“Get in my office,” he said, turning to go to the end of the hall, making himself a coffee before following me in, with Rosie at his heels.
Rosie closed the door.
“What’s going on, Quin?” I asked, looking between the two of them as I moved to sit down as Quin went behind his desk, dropping down in a defeated move.