Because I Can (Necklace Trilogy 2)

“Yes, well you talked about obsessed,” I say as we step to the Hawk Legal front door. “You and Ghost are basically obsessed with each other.”

“I’m obsessed with you, baby,” he says, sliding a hand to my lower back and leaning in low, near my ear, to whisper. “And I’ll be thinking of you in that bathroom all afternoon.” He eases back and warm eyes meet mine. “Hurry back. Pick me up in the car. I want to see you behind the wheel.” He winks and then he’s gone, walking away, headed back to the coffee shop.

I watch him, and all his swagger and confidence, and think again, I love this man. I really love him. I sigh and come back to the present as the back of my neck prickles, as if I’m being watched. Which is crazy. This Allison stuff has me on edge, but it does Dash as well, I think. And that tells me I’m not paranoid. Maybe someone is watching me and I don’t like that idea. I turn and hurry inside the building.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Once I’m sitting at my desk again with my door shut, I do so with Brad on my mind. That meeting with him was odd. And nothing about him sits just right with me. Was he the man in the journal, not Tyler? That question just won’t go away. I know I told Dash I would leave this alone right now, but there is a nagging feeling in my gut like I have answers that need to be revealed at my fingertips.

I pull the journal from my purse and stare down at it. I’m not giving this to Neil. It’s too personal. And that passage from earlier is bugging me right along with the encounter with Brad. I open to the page I’d read earlier.

I’ve experienced his touch when it was both punishingly erotic and then when it was a tender caress. I’ve seen that tenderness in his eyes, as well. I’ve seen vulnerability in him, too, that no one would believe he’s capable of ever experiencing.

There was nothing that resembles this passage in Brad’s eyes. Nothing. At all. But she does say that what she saw in the man she’s writing about, was not what the rest of the world sees. I flip to the middle of the journal, hoping to get a better tone to where Allison was mentally before she left. This page is titled: Life after him

Last night we had a fight, a gut-wrenching, heart-twisting battle, to be more accurate. I did nothing but try to protect him. He just can’t cope with me knowing he needs to be protected. He can’t allow himself to be openly vulnerable with me. So what did he do? He tried to send me away, then he pulled me back and fucked me senseless. God how he fucked me. But then it was over and the wall crashed back down. It’s over. Now it’s over.

As for what life is without him. There is none. At least, not one that is happy.

I shiver with the foreboding words certain of one thing. The man in the journal is not Brad. I think it’s Tyler.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

The afternoon is just as busy as the morning.

It’s one call after another, but I decide that going to New York, and Riptide, is a good idea. The generous donations come with a huge challenge. Can we get them validated in time? The real possibility that we cannot means we might auction items off for too little. And to rush the validations is expensive in itself, and I don’t know if Riptide, Mark specifically, will allow that to happen. I pull up my email and shoot him a note:

Mr. Compton—

The generosity of donations for this auction is astounding. The items donated by country music royalty are dream-worthy. The problem is that each item needs validation. I just don’t have the time and manpower. I’m thinking of coming there at the end of the month to try to figure it all out. I could really use your expert advice. I’m in over my head but trying to swim to the surface and make this a win for all involved, especially Riptide.

Looking forward to your input,

Allie

Once the email is sent, I send Katie home. It’s five after all. She can work from home, which is what I intend as well. I text Dash: On my way. You want to work there a while or go home?

Home, baby, he replies. How do you feel about Chinese food?

Hungry, I text back. I’ll pull to the door, but you’re driving us home.

Home.

We are having the kind of conversations that only couples have. It’s really kind of surreal. My computer beeps with a message from Mark. I quickly pull it up to read:

Ms. Wright—

Since you work here, and you’re reporting to the wrong office, having you show up to the right one for a change would be appreciated. As for the quandary you’re in, I have answers. I’ll share those answers when you show up to work.