Black Diamond (Obsidian 2)

The idea had been sitting in the back of my mind for a long time. I didn’t want to think about it because it hurt too much. The truth was enough to finally break me down, to make me convulse with agony. “Because he never gave it up. All those nights when he was there and I was here… Who knows what he was really doing.”

“I asked him about that. He said he was always faithful to you.”

“But how can we really believe him?” I whispered. “I don’t think we can.”

Christopher fell silent, caressing his knuckles. “You knew him better than I did, but he seems like a pretty loyal man.”

“No, I didn’t know him better than you did.” I didn’t know him at all.

As the week passed, working with him every day got easier. I really didn’t see him that often. There were days when I didn’t even hear his name. I stayed inside my office and took care of my work, and a lot of the time, I was out in the city doing research. I was surveying different communities of the homeless, determining which group needed what kind of care. Those afternoons when I was outside were the best.

It was the only time I didn’t think about him.

Calloway had already approved my budget for the next six months, but I had to decide how it would be allocated. As time passed, different needs arose. I couldn’t predict everything so far in advance. Unfortunately, a terrible flu had swept through, and a lot of homeless people died because they weren’t given the care they needed.

Therefore, funds needed to be moved to vaccinations.

It wasn’t built into my budget report. So I needed to ask for an approval of a higher budget, or I’d have to take away different expenses, which I wanted to avoid. It wasn’t easy to take away food and warm clothing when those things were just as essential as medicine.

Instead of talking to him face-to-face, I emailed Calloway. Just seeing his name in the address field sent my heart into my stomach. I was so disappointed in him for how much he’d hurt me and because he wasn’t willing to fight to get me back. Perhaps if he gave up Ruin and the dirty shit he was into, we could work it out. But he’d made it clear he wouldn’t change his mind. Good sex took precedence over sensual lovemaking.

That probably hurt most of all.

His assistant called my office phone. “Mr. Owens would like to see you in his office.”

My blood ran cold. I knew it was about the email I’d just sent out. It wasn’t thorough enough, and he wanted to question me. So far, he hadn’t mentioned our relationship while we were at work together, so I assumed I was probably safe. But being alone in his office would still be tense. “I’ll be right there.”

I walked down the hallway and past his assistant’s desk as I headed to the enormous black doors. When I touched the knob, the metal felt ice-cold, just like his crystal blue eyes. I took a deep breath before I walked inside, finding him sitting behind his desk with his eyes on his screen. Normally, he was at the front of the room, close enough to touch me.

I walked inside and took a seat in one of the armchairs, trying to forget the way he’d held me in here just a few weeks earlier. He’d asked me to join him on a Saturday afternoon for a surprise, to meet his mother in an assisted-living facility. Our relationship seemed so tender, built on trust and so much more. And now we were strangers. “Did you want to talk about my request?”

“Yes.” He closed out of whatever window he was looking at on his computer screen. He finally looked at me, showing no emotion other than indifference. He hadn’t shaved in days, and his stubble had grown into a short beard. His blue eyes didn’t seem as bright, like a cloud obscured their natural brilliance. When he looked at me, there was nothing there—just painful acceptance. “I’ve done some digging, and I haven’t found any reports about the epidemic you’re referring to.”

“The news stations aren’t reporting it. It’s not something the general public cares about.” Homeless people were at the bottom of the barrel, even if a lot of them were war veterans.

“Then how did you come across it?” He tilted his head slightly, one hand resting on the desk. His knuckles were chiseled, and his veins were corded. He had the most masculine hands I’d ever seen. I missed the way they used to touch me.

“I know my city, Mr. Owens. I know my people.”

He sighed in frustration, like I’d said something that upset him. “Don’t call me that unless we’re in public.”