Sin & Suffer (Pure Corruption MC #2)

With one last kiss, I left.

Chapter Nineteen

Cleo

Arthur said he wasn’t a romantic.

I told him he was a liar.

Last week, I’d found daisies stuffed into my sneakers when I went to put them on. They’d been where they always were—haphazardly kicked off and abandoned on the porch, but they’d transformed from shoes to vases.

Yesterday, I’d found a little note stuck in my window frame. It was soggy and smeared from the recent rain shower but I could still make out his neat penmanship. All it’d said was, “As You Wish,” but being that it meant “I love you” from my favorite movie … my heart almost burst.

And tonight, he’d given me a ring. A mood ring with a Sagittarius archer guarding the stone. It was a gimmick. A child’s toy. But to me it was so much more. —Cleo, diary entry, age fourteen

“Hello?” a sleepy voice crackled in my ear.

The moment Corrine’s feminine, flirty tone came through the phone, I wanted to laugh, cry, and spew out every single wondrous and horrendous thing that’d happened since we’d last been together.

So much to say.

So much I couldn’t say.

I’d stared at the phone for minutes before deciding to call her. Arthur didn’t know the gift he gave when he left.

He’s so good to me.

“Corrine.”

A shocked pause, followed by a squeal. “Sarah?”

The name felt wrong—like a pair of shoes I’d been trying to wear in but never could. Sarah pinched and confined, whereas Cleo was comfort and home. No, wrong name. “Yes, it’s me.”

Rustling filled the line before a short curse was uttered. “Shit, what time is it there?”

I slapped my forehead. Of course, time zones. “Crap, I’m so sorry. Did I wake you? It’s only early evening here.”

“You did, but only ’cause I pulled an all-nighter last night with a kitty who wasn’t doing so well giving birth. I crashed when I came home.”

Instantly, my mind filled with sterile surfaces of the veterinary clinic we both worked at. The stench of antiseptic and wicked glint of scalpels. My heart warmed to think of the timid licks from animals thanking us for saving their lives, or the terrified yips of those who didn’t understand we were on their side and not to be feared.

I missed that vocation. I missed the rush of cheating disease. I even missed the crazy owners who provided endless entertainment.

“How many?”

“Eight babies, can you believe. Poor thing didn’t make it, but we did manage to save six of the kittens, so it wasn’t as tragic as it could’ve been.”

I looked at a chair, debating if I should sit or pace. The amount of nervous energy sparking through me preferred to walk.

Patrolling around the room, I asked, “How are you? Did you find the rent money I left for my share of the studio?”

Corrine snorted. “I found it, but I didn’t use it. This place was too small for the two of us anyway. I can more than cover it.” Her tone was reserved but warmed. “Plus, Nick has been staying over a lot, so in a way, you did me a favor.”

I smiled. “I’m glad things are working out with you two.”

“What about you, hairball? Did you find that guy who wrote you the letter?”

My old nickname—earned from being vomited on by a cat with a wicked case of undigested hair—made me laugh. The happiness didn’t last, however, as my thoughts turned instantly to Rubix and what’d happened at his hands. “I found him,” I hedged.

“Uh-oh, that doesn’t sound good. You okay? Need me to call Scotland Yard or MI6? How about James Bond?”

I giggled. “No, I’m safe. It was just a bit scary to begin with.”

“He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

I swallowed. How much could I tell her and how much was appropriate on a phone call? Not to mention the cost of the international call and the fact Arthur was patiently waiting for me.

“Believe me, I have so much to tell you but now is not the time.”

“Well … why bother calling me, then, spoilsport?”

I laughed. “Because I couldn’t let you worry about me. I owed you that.”

Corrine snorted again. “As if I was worried about you. Why would I worry about the girl who sat through weeks of tattooing without a single tear? You’re like She-Woman, or one of those Viking people who don’t feel pain.” Another rustle of what I assumed were bedclothes. “So … tell me the most important part.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“Did you find your hero with green eyes?”

Her question transported me back to the movies we’d watch together, always grumbling over swoon-worthy heroes who had blue or brown eyes but never green. My heart twisted with love as I thought about Arthur.

“Yes … I did.”

A squeal forced me to jerk the phone away from my ear. “Really? Oh, my God. That’s awesome!”

“His name is Arthur and I’ll introduce you once a few complications are ironed out.”

“Arthur? As in King Arthur of the Knights of the Round Table? Does he have Merlin conjuring spells for him by any chance?” Corrine snickered.

The picture of a wizened old man wrapped in mystique and secrecy was the exact summary of Wallstreet. I rolled my eyes. “Funny enough, he does have someone kind of like that.”

“Whoa, now I have to meet him.”