Escaping Reality (The Secret Life of Amy Bensen #1)(64)

“Please tell me you’re okay. I tried to call you this morning. I was worried after that man of yours acted like an oaf.”

“I didn’t see the call.” In fact, I’m quite certain there wasn’t one, so this lie bothers me.

“I’m fine. Liam had a family emergency and he overreacted to Jared because of it.”

“Oh no. I hope everything is okay?”

I think better of telling her he’s out of town. “It’s under control. I’ve been trying to connect with you on the properties I was given to inspect. I really don’t think I have the right list.

If I email you the list, can you confirm if I do or don’t?”

“Sure. Of course.” She gives me her direct email address. “You want to try happy hour again?”

No. “I’m tied up for the next few days. Maybe mid-week. I’ll email you the list today.”

“Yes. Okay.” She sounds awkward, but who wouldn’t after what she witnessed last night?

“You might want to call Jared. He was worried about you.”

“I don’t even have his number.”

“I’ll text it to you.”

“Thanks.” No thanks is more like it.

We end the call and she indeed sends me Jared’s number by text, which I delete. I have no intention of letting Jared know my cell number, and hopefully Meg won’t give it to him. As it is, the mystery blocked-number call has me uneasy.

I grab a few groceries that will allow me to keep my slim budget in check and hole up in the hotel room for a few days, intending to do nothing but research. I set up a workstation on the dining room table and then dial Liam. He doesn’t answer. I text him. No reply. I try not to think the worst, like he’s shutting me out intentionally, or that I’m still here in his rented room, out of some obligation he feels to protect me. It’s not hard to believe that could be true, with the news piece blaming him for his father’s sins.

Guilt, no matter how unwarranted, has to be his enemy right now.

Settling into a chair at the dining room table, I prepare a notepad and have my computer on and ready. My first priority is to send Meg the property listings, then I break out the disposable phones. I begin making calls, pretending to be a reporter from a New York paper who is doing a story on my father’s life and death. No one can find records of the fire. This is illogical. There was a fire. I’m not crazy. I didn’t imagine that life-changing event.

Hours pass and I make call after call to museums, media outlets, records departments, and old connections I know are linked to my father. It seems I blink and the room is dim, the sunlight gone. I flip on lights and check my inbox and find nothing from Meg on the property listing I sent her. I call her and she replies by text. Working late. Will call you tomorrow.

A knock sounds on the door and I stand up, staring in the direction of the entryway. No one knows I’m here. Liam has stopped evening housekeeping visits. I’m not being paranoid. I’m being realistic. This could be a problem. More knocking sounds. I decide I’m going to pretend I’m not here. My cell phone starts ringing and I glance down to find the caller ID

reads “Derek”.

I am relieved. Someone will be on the phone with me if this door knocking turns into a problem.

“Hello,” I answer.

“Amy, this is Derek. Do you know who I am?”

“Liam’s friend.”

“Liam’s friend who is standing at your door with a delivery from him.”

“Oh. Sorry. I was—”

“Being smart like any woman alone should be, but let me in, will ya?”

“Yes. On my way.” I end the call and rush toward the door.

Opening it up, I find a tall, good-looking blond man about Liam’s age, in a well-tailored navy suit, holding plastic grocery bags. He lifts them slightly. “I bring food.”

What? “Am I on Candid Camera?”

He chuckles. “If you are, we both are, and I think I might be the one getting laughed at.”

He enters the hall and keeps walking, leading me to the mini-fridge in the main room of the suite.

He deposits the bags on the counter. “Liam didn’t trust you to spend your money, or his, on groceries. He didn’t want you to go hungry.” He starts putting away the groceries.

“I can’t believe he asked you to do this. I can’t believe you really did it.”

“He’s worried about you.”

“He can’t keep spending money on me.”

He glances over his shoulder. “You do know he’s a billionaire, right?”

“Sometimes I wish he wasn’t.”

He shuts the fridge and leans on the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “I have to hear this. Do explain.”

Liam’s words about his father, about many people, I suspect, come back to me. Sharks swimming at my feet. “How will he ever know I want him and not his money?”

His expression softens. “He knows, Amy. Believe me, he knows, or you wouldn’t be here and neither would I.”

“He won’t even take my calls.”

“He’s messed up right now.”

“Over his father.”

“Yes. Over his father. Give him a little time.”