Conflicted

“My problem is that guys like him are all the same.” He pushes back his chair. “Sorry, Lace, I forgot I have something to do. I’ll call you, okay?”

I sit there, dumbfounded. Did he really just walk out on me? I replay our conversation in my head, trying to figure out what set him off. What does he have against Aaron? Because it seems every time I mention him, he goes off.

The waitress brings over two coffees and sets them down, confused. I mutter an apology, push a twenty-dollar note across the table, and get up. Suddenly I’m not thirsty. I make the short walk to my car and get in. It’s barely eight, but I don’t care. All I want to do right now is go home and sleep.

I’ll figure out Lucas tomorrow.

Chapter Fifteen

Lacey

That’s it!

I sit up with a start. It’s so painfully obvious I’m not convinced it hasn’t been picked up earlier, but it’s not mentioned anywhere. Multiple Personality Disorder. Duane fits the description perfectly, and so does his claim that he blacked out during the attack and remembers nothing. I’m so excited I can’t wait to suggest it to Aaron. I get halfway through a text and decide email is probably more appropriate, considering it’s Saturday. I quickly type out my idea and press Send. I spend the next few minutes hitting refresh, praying that he’s still up working. My laptop pings and I cheer. Yes.

Great line of thinking, but the psychiatrist already ruled that out. I’m not sure whether to be impressed or annoyed that you spend your time off thinking about this. You do realize it’s after midnight on a Saturday night? Maybe you should consider getting out more.

My heart beats faster as I reread his email half a dozen times. If only it was just the case I’d been thinking about. Unfortunately, the case is the last thing on my mind at the moment.

Oh? And when was the last time you worked less than a fifty-hour week? You even have your poor intern putting in unpaid overtime for you.

I hit Send, a smile on my lips as I wait impatiently for his response.

Ouch. Point taken. When I was your age I spent ninety percent of my time either drinking or sleeping. That’s what being young is all about, right? You should be out having fun with your friends on a Saturday night.

I narrow my eyes as I read his words again, trying to uncover their hidden meaning, because nobody says what they really mean, right? What makes him think I’m not out with my friends? Just because I’m thinking about the case doesn’t mean I’m at home alone, moping around the house in my pyjamas. I glance down and realize how close that is to the truth.

What makes you think I’m not?

I press Send and sit back against my pillows. Again, his reply is nearly instant.

Are you?

My fingers tap out another reply before I can think about what I’m doing.

Am I what? Out? Yes, actually. I’m having a great time.

I have a sinking feeling in my stomach, like this is all going to backfire on me, but it’s too late. I’ve pressed Send. A reply pops up. I click on it.

Really? You must be having a ball considering your fingers haven’t left your email screen. Those friends of yours must be really exciting. Where are you?

I cringe. He knows I’m lying, I’m sure of it. And what can I say, because he’s right. For the last half hour he has completely occupied my time. I rack my brain for a place I could say I’m at and come up with the bar Ariel dragged me to last month to meet with some guy she met on InstaPage. I ended up sitting on a table up the back of the crowded place by myself for nearly an hour while she was groped on the dance floor.

This cool little club on Flinders Lane that plays live music. It’s called Wilt. You’ve probably never heard of it.

I’m sure I’ve picked a place totally out of his comfort zone, and probably somewhere he’s never heard of, but all the same I quietly panic while I wait for his reply. I don’t have to wait long. I click on his message, my heart racing.

Actually, you won’t believe this but I’m sitting in there right now. I’m over by the bar. Where are you? I’m looking around and I can’t see you. Come join me for a drink.

Shit. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You have got to be kidding me.

Panicking, I jump off my bed and pace around the room, my hands shaking as I try and occupy them by tying back my hair. Only I could choose the one fucking club he happens to be at. Rubbing my temples, I try and think up a plan. The best I can come up with is to pretend I never got his email and then hope like hell he doesn’t mention it on Monday. Yeah, that will work. I roll my eyes. You’re a genius, Lace.

I throw my laptop on my desk and climb back into bed. Every time I think about it I want the room to swallow me up. Things always seem to backfire on me.

The first thing I do the next morning is check my email. When I don’t see his name in my inbox, I feel disappointed—until I remember what happened. I decide to try and put Aaron out of my mind for a while, which is easier said than done. This whole thing is so far out of my comfort zone that it scares me. The worst part is how natural it feels to flirt with him. I can see myself getting into a situation that I’ll probably end up regretting. Doing anything with him would be career suicide, and…well, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing anyway.

“Ariel,” I yell, listening for a response. Silence. I call her phone. I know exactly where she will be, and joining her will be the perfect distraction for a few hours.