Peering through the peephole, I see a sleek brunette, knocking on his door. If her front is half as sexy as her behind, she’s totally hot. Pangs of hurt and jealousy stab at me.
JP lets her in without a second thought.
Admin my ass.
I move away from the peephole, not breathing in case they hear me, until his door closes with both of them on the other side.
Together.
Fuck.
A lead weight drops in my stomach. I slink back from the door, questions screaming in my mind. I don’t want to think about who she is and what she’s doing at his place on a Saturday night.
Looks like I’ve been relegated to Miss Sunday.
I want to believe there’s an innocent explanation. That JP wouldn’t deceive me.
He wouldn’t, whispers a hopeful part of me.
But reality drowns out those naive hopes. One-JP said he was tied up in admin tonight. On a Saturday. Really? Even I don’t deal with paperwork on weekends, and I’m not the one with a personal assistant.
And two-a glamorous brunette shows up while he’s supposedly working.
My eyes fill with tears, threatening to overflow. I retreat to the sofa, unable to leave yet. God forbid JP sees me.
But the knowledge that JP is next door with another woman sends a sharp, painful twist through my chest. What a fucking asshole.
The dazzling lights of Manhattan suddenly seem harsh and cold. A raw sob wrenches itself from my throat.
Somehow I have to pull myself together and escape unseen.
And then what? Confront him? “Hey, JP, funny thing! I was lurking outside your apartment and saw you with a gorgeous brunette after you lied about working…”
No, screw that.
That’s it. I’m done with JP Wolfe.
JP
I pace the kitchen, nerves pulled taut as a wire. Hours have crawled by since Lucy’s vague text about an “unforeseen engagement.” Radio silence since. She’s left me on read, vanishing into the black hole of her phone.
This isn’t like her. Lucy doesn’t ghost-she’s always shot straight, for better or worse. But each call that dumps to voicemail twists my guts.
If she won’t come to me, I’ll go to her.
I snatch my keys from the counter and head to the parking lot.
The drive is a blur of tense thoughts. I’m sure I shattered every speed limit in Manhattan. Thankfully, since it’s Sunday, the traffic is quiet.
When I pull up outside her apartment, I ignore the ridiculous blow-up doll glaring from the shop window and scan her windows. No silhouette. Damn it.
Hard to know if she’s even in. Only one way to find out.
I tap a message into my phone: I’m outside your apartment.
The typing dots taunt me, disappearing and reappearing.
A reply pops up: Busy right now. Talk tomorrow?
Like hell. I dial her number. Again.
The seconds stretch into a lifetime before I finally hear her voice trickling down the line.
“Lucy.” I can’t hide the relief in my voice. Or the annoyance.
“Hey.” Her voice is light, but there’s an undercurrent I can’t place.
“Why the hell aren’t you talking to me? Do you have any clue how worried I’ve been?” I grind my molars, willing calm I don’t feel. “You can’t just vanish.”
“Sorry, crazy morning.” She’s lying. I hear it in every word. “Are you really outside? I’m not home.”
“Where are you?”
“My mom’s.” Another lie.
“Can we meet?” I need to see her, need to fix whatever this is.
“No, I can’t today. I have to do some things at my mom’s and I have the presentation tomorrow. Sorry.”
“You’ll knock me dead at the presentation. You always do, Lucy.” Is that all it is-she’s worrying about tomorrow? “Can I see you later this evening?”
“I’ll be at Mom’s until late tonight. Sorry. Maybe another time.”
I draw a sharp breath, clutching the phone so tight my knuckles turn white. “What’s happened? Did some memories come back?”
“No, nothing like that. I wish.”
I breathe a slight sigh of relief. Maybe it’s just cold feet.
“Dammit, I’m heading to your mom’s. There’s something going on. We need to sort this out face-to-face.”
“No, don’t.” Fear laces her words.
“Help me understand what’s happening here.” I’m pleading now, dignity be damned.
A heavy sigh. “Just give me some space, OK? And please don’t make this weird at work. I love my job.”
And then she’s gone. Disconnected. I’m left grappling with silence, my heart pounding a rhythm of frustration and concern.
Lucy
I trudge into work on Monday physically, mentally, and emotionally drained. I feel like I’ve been on a twenty-four-hour flight from hell.
I plop down at my desk and do what I do best-lose myself in work so I don’t have to think about all the shit in my actual life. Because all that matters is that the high rollers can spend all their money lining Wolfe’s pockets even further. I managed to avoid him all day yesterday. And I’ll admit, I cried. More than once.
I’ll have to confront him eventually but I’m not ready yet.
So engrossed in work, I barely notice Matty arriving and rattling his cereal box like maracas at a goddamn party.
“Hey,” I mutter, only half paying attention.
“Hey, Luce,” he returns loudly, settling in at his desk. “You gotta see this ridiculous thing I stumbled across last night-”
“Matty.” Taylor’s voice slices through his as she lands beside us. “You’re twenty minutes late.”
He gives her a nonchalant look. “Relax. I thought we didn’t punch the clock around here. I put in the hours.”
“Wasting half the day on YouTube isn’t ‘putting in hours,'” she snaps back, her patience clearly waning.