More Than Hate You (More Than Words)

“Where should I meet you? And do you have someplace you can lie low until I make it there?”

“I don’t know. Um…a hotel, maybe.”

“Good call. I don’t think it’s wise for me to come to the offices.” For so many reasons…

“You’re right. We have to be careful…”

With a shaking voice, she rattles off the name of a boutique hotel north of the city, according to an internet search. It looks upscale without being pretentious. There are a couple of restaurants attached, one casual, one swanky, along with what appears to be a happening nightclub.

It looks like a place where she might plausibly go in her home city and where I might, as a traveler, conceivably run into her—if she gets tailed and we’re caught. Maybe I’m being paranoid, but it’s hard not to think about worst-case scenarios.

I’ll never forget the awful day Becca died. Her loss seemed so surreal. One day she was there. The next… Of course I knew about the car accident. It shocked me. Logically, I knew she was gone. But her funeral didn’t give me a sense of closure. For too long, my life, my feelings have been on pause.

If something happened to Sloan, it would be worse. Becca was driving too fast on slick streets and slid head-first into an embankment. There was nothing anyone—even Evan—could have done. But if Shane or one of the VPs decides to do whatever it takes to stop Sloan from exposing them, I’ll feel totally responsible. After all, she might never have found herself in danger if I hadn’t started this ruse and pushed her for information until she found herself ass deep in this mess.

“I’ll be there, probably tomorrow afternoon.” I curse the multiple time zones between us, the ones she doesn’t know about.

“Call me when you get in, okay? I-I’ll come there as soon as I can.”

I hate the catch of fear in her voice and wish like fuck I could reach her sooner. But I’ll be hard-pressed to keep this promise as it is. It’s not merely the long flight. I’ll have to tell Evan something about why I’m going to Dallas, and I fucking don’t want to lie. But I can’t leave Sloan to fend for herself, especially now. I also have to figure out how not to tip her off that I’m not Jeremy.

What a goddamn tangled web.

“I’ll be waiting,” I swear. “Don’t be afraid, baby. We’ll figure this out.”

“Bye.”

Before I can reply, she’s gone. I hope that’s not a foreshadowing of things to come.

April 6

Twenty-four hours later, I finally cross the threshold of the hotel where I made a reservation. While Sloan and I were talking, it didn’t cross my mind to ask how long I should plan on staying. I tried to call back, but she didn’t answer. Anxiety clouded my thoughts as I booked a room for this weekend. If I need to stay longer, I’ll deal with it later.

My gut is in knots as I head for the check-in desk, glancing around in case I see her. I don’t know what she looks like, not really. Just red hair and a hint of vulnerability with that strong, determined jaw.

As the hotel clerk finishes up with another incoming guest, I try Sloan’s number once more. Voice mail. Again. I leave another message telling her to call me.

I need to slip into problem-solving mode and find her.

“Welcome, sir. How may I help you? Checking in?”

“Yes,” I tell the friendly, forty-something clerk as I hand over my driver’s license and credit card.

My phone buzzes in my pocket as the woman takes the plastic from my grasp. I rip the device from my pocket, disappointed that it’s Evan’s name on my screen.

“I have to take this,” I tell the clerk.

“No problem,” she assures.

“What’s up, buddy?”

“You there? Make contact yet?”

“Trying to.”

“Wine her. Dine her. Recline her—whatever it takes to find out who her spies are. If someone under our roof is providing our competitors information about our Wynam campaign, we need to deal with them ASAP.”

That’s the cover story I gave Evan to explain my impromptu trip to Dallas. Sloan has information about our pitch that she shouldn’t, and I have no idea how she got it…but she might be willing to tell me face to face. Evan was all for getting to the bottom of the guilty party’s identity, which made talking him into this trip simple. But we really do need to know, so in one ten-minute conversation, I doubled my number of mission objectives.