The Favor

I blew out a breath. I’d have to delete the email. If Dane read it, if he knew she’d made yet another shitty move, he’d retaliate for sure. I couldn’t have that. It would lead to a clusterfuck.

Wanting to keep Heather’s email as evidence in case I needed it, I forwarded it to my own inbox and archived it. Only then did I delete it from Dane’s account.

He would not be a happy bunny if he later found out I’d kept this from him, but he also wouldn’t be surprised. If he had a huge problem with it, well, he’d just have to deal with it. If we were true partners, I’d have told him. But we weren’t, and so I was entitled to my secrets just as he was to his.

By the time I’d scoffed down my breakfast, he was striding into the kitchen. He looked the epitome of well-groomed with his clean-shaven jaw, white shirt, charcoal tailored suit, black tie, and gleaming back shoes.

That easily, heat coursed through my blood. For the billionth time, I found myself wishing I could feel him moving inside me just once. Because I was that stupid.

His dark eyes locked with mine, and he frowned. “You look tired again.”

I wasn’t so much tired as weary. Weary of Heather’s antics, to be precise. “Good morning to you, too. Is Sam outside?”

“Not yet. We’re not going to work until this afternoon.”

“What? Why?”

“My personal shopper is coming to see you.”

I gave my head a little shake, struggling to keep up. “Um, personal shopper? Why?”

He looked at me like I was dim. “Because most of your clothes were robbed yesterday—especially the suits you wear for work.”

“I can just head to the mall at some point.”

“You’re wearing the only suit you currently own. With everything else that’s going on, do you have time for a shopping trip?”

I shifted a little on my seat. “Well, not really.”

“Then personal shopper it is.” He planted his hands on the island. “After work, we’ll visit Simon and your foster parents—all of whom have texted me, asking me to keep an eye on you; they’re worried and need to see you. Then we’ll pick up your car. And if there’s anything you desperately need from your apartment, you can grab it tonight, since the police are done searching it for evidence. The moving crew will pack and transport everything else.”

“How do you know the police are done?”

“I called the officer who took your statement last night.”

I bristled. “I was going to do that myself.”

“Now you don’t have to. Griffin said the security cameras show a hooded figure slip into the main door just as a woman exited; that same figure later left with your suitcase. But Griffin couldn’t tell whether the figure was male or female—they were careful not to look at the cameras. The police found no fingerprints, footprints, or blood samples.”

“Hell.” I drained the last of my mug, staring at him. “I don’t like that you made that call for me.”

“I can see that. But why wouldn’t I have done it? You are my wife.”

“Your fake wife. And even if I’d been your real wife, I’d still be unhappy with you taking over.”

“And I’d still have done it. You know me well enough to know that.” His gaze dropped to my hand. His brow knitted. “Where are your rings?”

I glanced at my finger. “Oh shit, I left them upstairs.”

“Why did you take them off?” he asked, like I’d committed a capital crime.

“I don’t like to wear jewelry while I shower.” I hurried back to my room, slipped on the rings, and returned to the kitchen.

Dane glared at me. “Don’t forget them again.”

“Stop being snippy.”

“I’m never snippy.”

I snorted. “Whatever.”

“I can’t believe you’ve moved out,” said a pouting Ashley on Sunday evening. “I almost cried when the moving van drove off with your stuff. Who am I going to talk to when I argue with Tucker?”

Lounging on a chair in the library while on a video call to both Ashley and Hanna, I smiled. “You can still talk to me. We’ll just need to do it over the phone.”

“It won’t be the same,” Ashley complained. “I won’t be able to come see you to talk it out. I so wished I could have last night.”

“What did you and Tucker argue over this time?” asked Hanna, sipping wine.

“The cat’s name,” replied Ashley.

Hanna’s nose wrinkled. “Huh?”

“He stupidly proclaimed that our cat likes him better than me. I said, ‘No, she’s all about her momma.’ He said, ‘Nah, I’m Snuggles’ favorite.’ I was like, ‘Her name is not Snuggles, it’s Brandy.’ He wouldn’t accept it. He insisted we’d called her Snuggles. What dumb fucker would forget their cat’s name?”

I felt my mouth twitch. Honestly, I sometimes wondered if Tucker annoyed her on purpose just so that she’d storm out and give him a little alone time.