Hard Rules (Dirty Money #1)(89)

I step out of the Four Seasons and onto the street to start the six-block walk to my apartment, shoving aside the tears threatening to erupt. I will not cry. I will not be defined by the actions of one man. And the very idea that if Shane had declared that woman’s presence in his home an innocent encounter, I’d have believed him—despite her scent clinging to his clothes—infuriates me. I will not become the fool my mother was with my stepfather, with Shane or any other man.

A half block later, I have found a cold, gray spot in my mind and taken residence there, not overthinking my relationship with Shane, when I so easily could. Instead, I occupy my mind by reading store names, never letting myself go to places that might test my emotions. By block four there is a prickling sensation on my neck, a sense of being watched I do not like. It quickens my pace, reminding me of more than Randy. It reminds me of why I’m in Denver, and it is with relief that I reach my apartment and lock myself inside.

Leaning on the door, I walk to the kitchen, and set the folder on the counter. I grab my purse and the new disposable phone inside, punching in Kevin’s number. He doesn’t answer, of course. He never answers. “I think I’m in trouble,” I say. “I need help. You have to call me back.” I press end and then redial his number, with the same result. I try again and again, and I have this clawing feeling that Kevin is gone for good. I set my phone on the counter, and stare at my apartment, absent of all furniture, and I have never felt so alone or without resources. That’s not true. I do have a resource. Shane and the Brandon Family empire.





Perfection is achieved, not when there is nothing more to add, but when there is nothing left to take away.



—Carlo Gambino





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE


EMILY


What better place to hide than inside the Brandon Family empire, outside the king’s door? That is the idea I cling to as I fall asleep, and the same one I cling to come morning light. That one premise motivates me to get up and dress in what has become my go-to navy skirt and matching blouse and to apply bright pink lipstick to deflect from the dark circles under my eyes that concealer has failed to cover. Task complete, I end up in the kitchen, staring at the folder I’d left on the counter, not sure what to do with it. Ultimately, no matter how Shane and I ended, I do believe he’s the better man, and I snatch it up, and head for the door, deciding I’ll leave it on his desk the first chance I can discreetly manage.

I exit my apartment, lock up, and find myself scanning for something, or someone, or I don’t really know what. I just know that I still feel that creepy, being watched sensation that has me taking longer strides on my path to work, and solidifies my decision to keep my job. I can’t worry about a confrontation with Shane right now. No one can be as safely invisible as I am if I leave my job. Finally at the building, I head inside and waste no time making my way to the office and my desk outside Brandon Senior’s still dark office, and stick the folder in my drawer.

It’s then that the reality of Shane and I coming face-to-face hits me hard, but my phone buzzes, distracting me, and I spend the next hour juggling calls for Brandon Senior. A break comes and the need to go to the file room has me thinking of my visitor last night. I grab my Rolodex, and find the security desk number, punching it in.

“Security,” a woman answers. “Can I help you?”

“Yes. Hi. This is Brandon Senior’s assistant. Can you tell me the names of the guards who were on duty last night?”

“Was there a problem?”

“Oh no. The opposite. One of the men checked on me when I was working late and I want to tell his supervisor.”

“Randy was the only guard working last night.”

A bad feeling rolls through me, the memory of seeing the original Randy behind the desk crystal clear in my mind. “I thought there were two men named Randy on duty last night?”

“No. We only have one Randy working here.”

My throat tightens. “Okay. I must be confused. Thank you.” I hang up, a sick feeling expanding in my belly. Who was that man and how did he get into the office?

“Good morning.”

I jolt at the sound of Jessica’s voice, glancing up to find her standing in front of me. “Hi,” I say cautiously, worried this is the start of a confrontation when I’m still reeling from the Randy revelation.

“Hi,” she says, pressing her hands to the waist of her cream-colored dress. “Want to go downstairs and get coffee?”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Because of Shane?” she asks, and waves off the idea. “He’s not here.”

“Really? Okay then,” I say, welcoming a friend right now, and any hint about how Shane might react to my presence. “Coffee sounds really good right now.” I stand and reach for my purse.

“It’s on Shane,” she says. “He has an account and he’ll be happy to buy for us.”

She can’t begin to understand the many ways that feels wrong but I let it go, and we make our way to the elevator, where we end up sardines in a crowded car, a short reprieve from what I know will be her many questions. Sure enough, we step off the car and she gets right to the point of this coffee break. “Are you staying or leaving?”

“Staying,” I say as we arrive at the coffee shop and take our place in line.