I don’t know why, but that fact filled me with both relief and just a small dose of pleasure that I was going to go ahead and blame on my dry spell.
“Was it awful?” Cam asked on the elevator down to the lobby.
“Yes. And no. It’s awful for people to think you’re crazy or in crisis when you’re not. And some of the people were definitely in crisis, so it was difficult to watch. And it had it’s humiliating moments,” I added, inwardly cringing at the complete indignity that was the strip search.
Forced mental hold.
Forced to get naked in front of strangers.
I was pretty sure the trauma from that hadn’t quite set in yet, thanks to the mystery surrounding being sent there, and the fact that I needed to get my life back on track.
But I knew, eventually, that it was all going to come creeping in sometime. And would likely need to be dealt with in therapy.
Ironic, wasn’t it?
I hadn’t actually needed therapy before going to the psych ward. But afterward, I was probably going to need boatloads of it.
“Well, we can put that behind us now. It is time to get back to work. People have been understanding of your bug, but I think getting a little weirded out that their steadfast leader hasn’t dragged her ass into the office in days.”
“That makes sense,” I agreed. I never took days off. I gave the entire office off the day before Thanksgiving every year, but stayed at the office and worked it myself.
Along with Christmas Eve, New Year’s Eve, my birthday, and every other day I gave my employees some time to themselves and their families.
The one perk, it seemed, to not having family of my own, was being able to work those holidays without feeling like I was missing out.
“Okay,” Cam said when we were settled in the back of my town car, pulling away from the curb. “Can we talk about howhotBrock is?” he asked.
“You are a happily committed man,” I reminded him.
“Committed, not dead,” he shot back, fanning himself with his notebook. “I about fainted when I saw him. Well, not really. I was too frantic about you, but once we got a plan into place, there was swooning. That bone structure. Those dark eyes. And if anyone I’ve ever met had big-dick energy, it’s him. I bet he would give you a good tour of the sheets. A much-needed tour, I might add,” he said, giving me a knowing look.
Because when someone knew you well enough to buy your tampons on time each month, he damn sure knew when you were—or weren’t—getting laid.
“He’s working with me, Cam,” I reminded him.
“Oh, he is contract work. It’s not exactly an abuse of power. It’s a gray area.”
“I won’t be banging the hot private investigator,” I told him as the car pulled up beside our building.
“But you admit he’s hot,” Cam insisted, following me out of the car.
Oh, he was hot alright.
And while I would never speak this part out loud, it was going to be harder than I liked to admit to keep my hands to myself.
And keeping my hands to myself was non-freaking-negotiable.
CHAPTER SIX
Brock
“None of this shit makes sense,” I told Sawyer over the phone as I scanned the aisles at the bodega a couple corners away from Miranda’s apartment.
“How did no one see anything?” Sawyer asked.
“How did you question them?” Tig asked as Sawyer put me on speaker.
“I didn’t try to fuck information out of them, if that’s what you’re asking,” I said, rolling my eyes, but shooting a guilty look at a group of teens playing hooky and laughing at what I’d said. “I just casually brought up ‘all that hubbub Friday night’ kind of thing.”