Because I Can (Necklace Trilogy 2)

This is the man from the shelter. “Who are you?” he demands.

“Allison.”

“You’re not Allison,” he says tightly, arrogantly even. “And you’re not her sister, either.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The stranger and I stare at each other.

“Who are you?” I ask softly, though of course, I know from Tyler, his name is Brad Waters.

“Who are you?” he asks, not so softly.

I play his game, seeing where it will lead. “You don’t seem to like to give away your name.”

“Brad Waters.”

At the sound of Tyler’s voice, Brad shifts to place us both in profile.

“Tyler,” he greets.

Tyler gives me a flick of his gaze with a command. “Go to your office.”

I give a quick incline of my chin and turn and start walking, but before I enter the hallway, I turn back to see the two men standing toe-to-toe. Their voices are low but their spines are stiff. These were the two men in Allison’s life. And yet, neither seem to know where she is right now. I don’t know what transpires between the two men, but Brad steps around Tyler and walks toward the elevator. Tyler watches him until the moment he steps on the elevator, as do I. As if he senses me there, Tyler rotates and brings me into view, arching that arrogant brow of his, with a silent question that is pretty obvious: why am I still here?

I give him a short nod, and back into the hallway, not sure what to make of anything that just happened. Katie pokes her head out of her door and mouths, “What was that?”

I hold my hands out and silently reply, “No idea.”

She meets me at my office door. “Do you know who that man was?”

“Brad—”

“Waters?” she asks incredulously. “As in the money man Brad Waters?”

“Yes. I think so. He was looking for Allison. Why is that a big deal with all the big names we have come through here?”

“He’s like Elon Musk but I think he’s one of those hedge fund, finance guys. Crazy wealthy. He’s richer than most of our biggest stars,” she adds. “For him to come here in person just seems weird. Which reminds me, did you ever hear from Allison?”

“Sadly, no. I sure could use her input.”

“I don’t think she’s coming back,” she declares. “Otherwise, she’d be more willing to help.”

She’s right, of course.

Allison isn’t coming back.

The question is, why?

CHAPTER THIRTY

While I trust Bella immensely, I can’t help but wonder how Dash truly feels about his newsworthy black eye. I shut my door and hurry to my desk with the intent of calling him, but I’ve barely sat down before I’m being connected to a client you might as well call Hawk Legal royalty, she’s so high-profile. Her generosity with her donations turns into a lengthy conversation. I blink and an hour has passed, and yet another call, followed by another, consumes me. Nowhere in the middle of it all, do I have a moment to talk to Dash. It seems one of the agents in the office decided to start his day by challenging all of his clients to call me and donate to the auction. Apparently, I represent good press and a tax deduction. I could be worse things, I decide. I’ll take the connection and take it readily if the charity benefits.

Another call comes in, there’s a knock on the door, and I’m answering the line while Katie is stepping into my office to ask a question. Chaos continues until finally the calls die down a bit and I glance at the clock to find it’s nearly noon. I don’t know where this day has gone or how Katie would have survived if I wouldn’t have come back to work. I reach for my cellphone to call Dash only to have him appear in the doorway. He’s in black jeans and a long sleeve, fitted black T-shirt, with a contrasting tan blazer and just the sight of him sets my pulse racing in a way no other man has ever done. “Hey,” I say, standing. “How are you?”

“You mean am I pissed at my sister’s stunt with the press?” He closes the space between us and rounds my desk, catching my waist, and turning me toward him, heat radiating from his palms, branding me, “Hi there, cupcake,” he says all soft and raspy. I really love when he does that soft, raspy tone.

“You and the cupcake thing.”

“You know you like it,” he teases.

What girl wouldn’t want this man to have a silly and somehow sexy nickname for her? I think. “I guess it’s kind of our thing now,” I say, “and on another note, I hear Bella played fixer-upper with your reputation. Did that all work out okay for you?”

He sits on the edge of the desk. “She kept you out of the spotlight and answered a lot of questions I didn’t have to. The Hollywood people are impatient. They can’t wait until the end of the week to talk. We’re doing a conference call with them. You have time for a fifteen-minute lunch in the café?”