Knocked Up by the C.E.O (Knocked Up)

“Sorry, I’m not usually at a loss for words, but I’m pretty stunned at the moment.” I finally find my voice.

“As I can well imagine,” the good detective tells me, at least that’s what I’m calling him. The bad detective of this duo is more abrasive and why I’m calling him the b-word. He throws the pictures down on the kitchen table, causing Wesley to grumble with the way he’s acting.

“I think we’re done until our attorney arrives, unless you’d like to step outside while Detective Allen talks to us.” Wesley stands up, arms crossed over his chest, and I’m praying the attorney gets here just so it’s not both of us sitting in a jail cell.

“Detective Goss is going to stand over by the window while we’ll go over the documents.” I’m pretty sure he doesn’t like being put in his place, but he does move away from the table, which causes my shoulders to sag in relief.

I look down at the pictures. Those are my clothes, but that’s definitely not me. The build is all wrong. The color from the pictures are kind of off, but the blonde isn’t the same either. This is so freaking weird.

“That’s not Dylan. You can tell by the slouch in the shoulders. The size is all off too,” Wesley pipes in. This man, who barely knows me, trusts me enough to know it wasn’t something I did even before he was shown the pictures.

“He’s right, that’s not me. Can I see the signature on the deposit slip? I’m assuming this was a cash deposit since I wasn’t notified?” I ask. Detective Allen shows me the slip. “That’s not my signature either. Did the bank make them do a thumbprint?” Surely, my bank has better safeguards than this.

“I’m here. Don’t say another word, either of you.” I’m assuming Dante just walked in. He’s tall, beefy in the muscle department, and owns the room, which puts Detective Goss on edge as he walks back towards the table.

“Are you planning on arresting my client?” He doesn’t even ask names, just gets down to brass tacks.

“As of right now, no. We will need to ask her more questions to try and figure out who would want to do this to her. If what she claims is true,” Detective Goss interjects.

“That’s easy,” I pipe up. Dante and Wesley nod their heads to let me know I’m free to talk.

“I found numbers that didn’t add up once Wesley took over Space Coast Industries. I brought it to his attention, and between us working on it and Maxwell Enterprises working on it, we still haven’t found who could be doing the dirty work. Though, to be fair, we just found things out this week.” I shrug my shoulders, not wanting to give the entire story. That’s for Wesley to divulge.

“Well, that does change things up a bit.” Detective Allen rises from his seat, compiling paperwork.

“I’m going to talk to the detectives. Feel free to go about your morning. I’ll see these men out, and then we’ll discuss what happens next,” Dante interjects. Wesley helps me out of my chair, his arm wrapped around my waist as he hurriedly takes me out to the balcony. I swear my heart is still in my throat, but this man, who I thought was the biggest dick when I met him, is the one who’s not leaving my side, and I couldn’t be more thankful.

Fourteen

Wesley

Fuck, Dante is going to charge me an arm and a leg after waking him up from his sleep this morning. That man has a routine. Every Friday night, you can find him at a bar, picking up his woman of the week, wining, dining, and sixty-nining—his words, not mine. It doesn’t matter what he charges, though, because for Dylan, the sky is the fucking limit, and I know without a doubt that she’s innocent in this fucking charade. Even before the folders were brought out, I knew she wouldn’t do anything that would jeopardize her future.

“Oh my God, I don’t think I’ve ever been that scared in my life, and do you know that woman is wearing the exact same dress I have hanging in my closet? Someone is seriously watching my every move, down to the shoes. This is freaking creepy.” I watch as Dylan paces back and forth across the concrete, her dress blowing up slightly as the wind catches it.

“It’s going to be okay, but also, and don’t hate me for this,” I start out, making sure I get her attention, “but you’re staying with me from here on out. We don’t know for sure where this person is getting your clothes. Who’s to say she hasn’t broken into your apartment, sweetheart? And your closet? It’s slap full of clothes, and you’d never know if something was missing.”