“You mean you wanted to stay safely on the moral high ground where you wouldn’t get your feet wet.”
“If I didn’t already know I would have found out at that party.”
r />
“No, you wouldn’t, because you wouldn’t have gone. You weren’t planning on going anywhere that night. You asked me out. If you’d already been busy, you would have said so. You accused me of hiding myself from you, but you were hiding plenty yourself.”
“Put yourself in my position. Aggie’s name kept coming up. Her—your—advice contradicted mine. You don’t use your qualifications, or even a photo. I was suspicious. I wanted to protect my clients. That was professional. When I found out you were Aggie, I was angry that you hadn’t shared the information. That was personal.”
“I understand the conflict, but at the very least you should have told me what you’d done!”
He hailed a cab. This wasn’t a conversation to have on the street. “Let’s go back to my place and we can talk there.” Within the security and familiarity of his apartment, hopefully she’d relax and listen.
“I’m not going back to your place, Daniel.”
“Fine, we’ll go to yours.”
“No. I—” She rubbed her fingers across her forehead. “I’m not going anywhere with you. You’re the first man I’ve ever trusted, do you know that? I told you everything. And now I discover that—” She broke off, her breathing unsteady. “I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me.”
“Because I was afraid.” The confession was dragged from him. “Because there is no good way to tell a woman you really like that you accidentally had her investigated.” It was more than like, a lot more, but timing was everything when breaking unexpected and possibly unwanted news, and this wasn’t the time.
She stood, poised on the sidewalk, oblivious to the flow of people around them.
This was Manhattan, and life carried on. Through love, marriage, divorce, sickness, friendship, loss, the city kept moving. It didn’t sleep, nor did it rest.
“I can’t think.” She sounded dazed. “I need time to think.”
“Come home with me and think about it there.” He reached out to her but she lifted her hands to ward him off.
“No. You think you know everything about women,” she said, her breathing shallow and uneven, “but let me tell you, Daniel, you don’t know anything at all.”
He wasn’t about to disagree. “Will you call me when you’re ready to talk?”
“I don’t know.”
The thought that she might not call him was like being kicked in the ribs.
“Molly—”
She turned away, looking so vulnerable the pain in his chest intensified.
He wanted to stop her, but before he could find the words that might persuade her not to climb into the cab, she was gone.
He told himself that he’d figure it out. She was mad right now, but she was also reasonable. When she calmed down, she’d see his point of view. At least, he hoped she would.
At least now she knew everything.
Things couldn’t get worse.
That hope lasted until he woke up the following morning, checked his messages and discovered things had just got a whole lot worse.
Twenty
Molly didn’t sleep much, and the wakeful moments were punctuated by the knowledge that Daniel had investigated her and hadn’t told her.
Of all the arrogant, outrageous, lying, arrogant—had she already said arrogant? Well, hell, he deserved to be called it twice.
Abandoning hope of sleep, she stomped to the kitchen, crashing mugs and slamming drawers.