The Wrong Right Man(48)

“I know.” His lips rest against the top of my head. “If my parents weren’t coming into town, we could spend another night and leave Monday morning, but we can come back next weekend if you want.”

I tilt my head back to look at him. “Maybe you can show me more than the bedroom, the couch, and kitchen next time we’re here.” I grin. “I didn’t even get to see your shop.”

“Are you complaining about how you spent your day?” He rolls me to my back and settles between my legs.

“No.” I smile, sliding my fingers through his hair, and lift up to touch my mouth to his. Just when the kiss starts to get hot, his phone rings, making me sigh.

“Sorry.”

“It’s not easy being the boss,” I grumble, thinking next time we’re here I’ll lock his phone in his glove box where he can’t hear it.

He smirks and touches his mouth to mine. “Be right back.”

I get up on my elbow and watch him walk to the kitchen then decide now is as good of a time as any to go use the restroom. I stand, pick up my T-shirt, and put it on before padding to the bathroom. After I finish, I step out and frown when I don’t see him in the kitchen on his phone, where he’s taken most of his calls today.

I start to go in search of him but stop when I see him standing outside on the deck, still on his phone. Knowing if he went outside that he wanted privacy, I go to the kitchen to get some water then grab my phone out of my bag. I sit at the island and respond to the texts I have from Jamie and Samantha then play one of my word games, wishing I had my computer so I could check on my schedule for the week.

When the sliding glass door opens a few minutes later, I turn to watch him come back inside and can tell by the look on his face that he isn’t happy. “What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer at first; instead, he closes the distance between us and takes my hand, resting it on his chest. “I’m sorry, baby, but that was the building manager. There was a problem, and they need me to come in to deal with it.”

“What kind of problem?” I ask, not liking the amount of tension I can see in his frame.

“Nothing you need to worry about.” He drops a quick kiss to my forehead then orders, “Let’s get dressed and lock up here.”

“Okay,” I agree, trying not to be disappointed that he doesn’t want to talk to me about what’s going on.

It doesn’t take us long to get packed up and into his Benz, and as he drives us into the city, the silence is heavy. I don’t know what he’s thinking about, but I’m wondering why it feels like he’s keeping something from me.

When we reach our building, he drives into the underground parking lot, and then we get out and go to the private elevator. He waves his watch over the sensor and his floor lights up. Annoyed and just wanting to be in my space, I press the button for my floor.

“You’re staying with me tonight,” he informs me, and I cross my arms over my chest.

“You’re going to be gone, so I want to sleep in my bed.”

“I won’t be gone all night. I want you in my bed when I get home,” he says, glancing at his watch.

“No,” I refuse, and he growls, the sound putting me on edge.

“Dakota.”

“Braxton, if you want, you can come to my place when you’re done doing whatever it is you’re doing.”

“You’re staying at my place.”

“I’m not.” I shake my head. “I want to take a shower in my shower with my stuff and put on my clothes, and then go to bed in my bed,” I tell him, and just then the elevator doors open for my floor. He steps in front of me to block my way, but I duck under his arm and walk quickly down the hall. When I turn the corner, my step falters when I see a police officer standing outside my apartment door.

“What’s going on?” I ask, walking toward the cop.

“Dakota.” Braxton grasps my upper arm and spins me around to face him.

I study him, trying to understand why he looks so freaked. “What happened?”

“The apartment below you called the building manager tonight to tell them there was water leaking into their apartment. They went into your place to check where the water was coming from and found your place had been vandalized.”

“What?” My heart drops into my stomach, and I look over my shoulder at the officer who’s watching us.

“Please just let me deal with this,” Braxton pleads, and I focus back on him.

“It’s my apartment and my stuff. I want to see.” I pull from his grasp and head down the hall with him right behind me. When I reach the officer, he looks at the man at my back for approval, which pisses me off, but then he steps out of the way.

I walk into my place and can’t even believe what I’m seeing. The entire space is destroyed, the floor covered with water, the couch cushions cut open, fuzz and foam littering the floor, my clothes ripped and strewn across the room and filling the sink, the photos and things from the box I got from Troy tossed across the wet ground like garbage. I barely even register the other people in the room and the quiet sound of conversation. My mind is consumed with the destruction surrounding me.

I take a step up to my bed and feel sick when I see my underwear and bras placed on the bed in matching sets, the only items that seem to be laid out with care.