The Frame-Up (The Golden Arrow #1)(21)
“I realize that this morning was awkward.”
“Awkward? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
“Other than my job, you mean?” He’s confused now, a furrow between his dark eyebrows.
Everything is jammed inside of me, rattling around like Pac-Man in a block jail: the continual internal abrasion of Casey’s dismissal and how I have to try twice as hard as Andy to be taken seriously. Andy’s ability to sell my ideas better than I did. And while he is a douchenozzle for stealing my ideas, I’m just a teensy bit afraid that he’s getting the promotion because he’s better at being director than I am. That Andy actually presented my ideas better, and I hate it. Also rattling around is the fact that Matteo let them think I was late because I’d lost track of time with my boyfriend, insinuating I’m not serious about my job or at the very least that I’d throw over a meeting for a man. I’ve become the butt of the office jokes. Add in Matteo’s breath on my neck and how it makes me secretly want that reality to be true, and the little block jail can’t hold all my thoughts and grievances anymore. There’s no room for Matteo if I want to keep everything contained. I don’t have time for dalliances. I need to focus on my job.
Matteo patiently watches me chew through all of this, his eyes infuriatingly concerned.
“You just don’t get it, and you never will.”
“Condemned without trial, it seems.” Delivered offhand, with a ring of simple truth . . . and somehow that statement seems sexy instead of patronizing. I’m getting internal whiplash from how fast I seem to swing from wanting to punch OHT to wanting to kiss him. I blame the “hot cop” trope that is shoved at us from every crime show ever. I shouldn’t be fantasizing about kissing the cop that could arrest me for what I’m keeping from him: Kyle’s and Simon’s injuries, Lawrence’s background with Casey Senior, the journal pages.
Matteo’s hand sneaks up and rubs the back of his neck. I’ve made him a little nervous, even though his gaze is unwavering. “I’d like to explain myself?”
I raise an eyebrow. This is new territory: I’m not used to levelheaded discourse when I yell.
“I brought you a drink, hoping to catch you before work. Then I saw you drop your coffee. When I went to see if you needed help, it was obvious that your boss was mad you were late. It’s the first thing I thought of. I did all of that because I tried to call you and you didn’t answer.”
“I don’t answer calls.” But I realize that perhaps I’m using him as a scapegoat. He threw me off, sure . . . but the rest of the meeting was a creature of my own making.
“I needed to actually talk to you about the case. I can’t write down what I need to show you in a text. Or an email.” He’s caught my caveat before I can even say the words.
That stills the string of retorts that I have. “Did something else happen?”
He glances toward the building, then back at me. “Yes. If you’re okay coming to the station, I’ll bring you back after lunch hour?”
My stomach plummets. He found out about Kyle and Simon. Or the journal. “Am I under arrest for real this time?”
He laughs, and I’m glad for it. “No, MG. Although I kind of feel like I should be read my rights for upsetting you so much. This is just to ask you some more questions about a new development.”
“Oh.” His half apology smooths some of my ruffled feathers, and I make a concerted effort to lower my hackles. Recovering a little of my normal spunk, I blow out a breath, ruffling my purple bangs. “You may proceed. To the station, Alfred.”
“How was your meeting, really?” We pull onto palm-lined First Street. White arched windows, red roof, and gorgeous front lawn mark the historic downtown headquarters of the LAPD. Behind it, glinting in the sun, sits the glass cube and impressive gray metal building that houses the new station. Horrendous traffic for years while they completed it, but now it’s a building any comic hero would be proud to defend.
I shoot Matteo a glance. He’s got an adorable worried crinkle between his eyebrows. I shrug, not up for explaining Andy’s deceit. “It wasn’t your fault my meeting went badly. It’s mine. They thought your little stunt was funny.”
Matteo’s gaze is serious, though I tried to be lighthearted with my delivery. “Either way, I’m sorry. I kind of lost my head when I saw you. Struggling with the door, I mean. I apologize if I came off as unprofessional and for making you look unprofessional too.”
My heartbeat picks up, and I want to roll my eyes at myself. No matter which gorgeous lips, with beard-scruffed cheeks, are doing the apologizing, “no apologies” is my number-one rule, so I’m baffled as to why I find this apology sexy. Matteo waves his badge at the guard as we pull into a parking lot full of police cars and park along the side of the building. The tallest part stretches up into the sunshine, past the tops of the swaying palm trees.
I stare up through the windshield, first at the building, then covertly at Detective Kildaire. The full weight of his job and why we’re here hits me like a punch from The Thing. I’ve now yelled at, thought about kissing, and threatened the physical well-being of an officer of the law. Without the station and the car, he’s just a cute, slightly annoying guy. Now, watching him climb out of the car, throw his suit jacket on, and check to make sure his badge is in his pocket . . . it’s real. I fight back a groan. I’ve made a pretty awesome idiot out of myself. My palms are sweating, and my nerves resurface. Keeping things from Matteo seems logical. I’m protecting my friends. Keeping things from Detective Kildaire at the police station seems like less of a good idea. Maybe it’s time to come clean.