Complete Me(53)

I nod, hoping there is no call—and then do a mental head-thwap as I realize what I’ve forgotten. “My phone,” I say. “We do need to go back.” I try to picture where I left it, but nothing comes to mind. Maybe it’s charging on the bar?

“I still have it,” Damien says, then pulls it from the leather messenger bag that is doubling for a briefcase.

“Oh.” My stomach churns unpleasantly. I’d completely forgotten about my stalker text from last night, and I’m not overly thrilled with the reminder. “Were you able to learn anything?”

“Not yet. I forwarded it to my team. Hopefully they’ll have news by the time we arrive back in the States. In the meantime, don’t delete it.”

“Okay,” I say, although I’m not really keen on seeing that number pop up every time I open my text messages.

Since Damien had powered the phone down, I hit the button to wake it back up so that I can check my texts, emails, and voice messages. I don’t expect there to be much—Ollie is here and knows I’m traveling—but Jamie or Evelyn or Blaine might have buzzed me, especially once they heard the news that Damien’s case was dismissed.

Sure enough, I have an emoticon-filled text from Jamie consisting of balloons, confetti, and about a dozen smiley faces followed by CWTSY and another round of balloons. I roll my eyes at her goofiness, but the truth is that I’m smiling. I text back that I can’t wait to see her, either.

Evelyn and Blaine left an actual voice message telling me how much they’re looking forward to our return, and that I should give Damien a hug from each of them. “And feel free to plant a kiss on him from me,” Evelyn adds.

I also have two emails. The first is from my mother, and just seeing it makes me cringe. I have finally reached a point in my life where I don’t feel the constant pressure of being under her thumb, and I know that I should simply delete the email and declare a victory for sanity. That, however, is one baby step too far. Instead, I move it unread to an archived folder. Someday I’ll either delete it or read it; the only victory I can claim today is simply that I dealt with it.

The second email is much more pleasant. It’s from Lisa, a woman I recently met, but who I’m hoping is going to land firmly on the “friend” side of the equation. I skim the message, and can’t help but smile.

“Good news?” Damien asks.

“Maybe. It’s from Lisa.” I’m about to continue, but we’ve reached the lobby, and as we step out of the car into the open area, I see Ollie leaning against a wall, deep in an animated conversation with a lithe brunette. I tense, immediately wary. Ollie is finally engaged to his on-again-off-again girlfriend, Courtney, but he’s not the most devoted fiancé, as evidenced by his recent romp between the sheets with Jamie.

I relax a little when the girl shifts and I see her face; she’s one of the associates at Bender, Twain & McGuire, and I crossed paths with her a few times during the whole trial prep period. I tell myself that she and Ollie are just friendly colleagues, then let out a barely audible, “Well, shit,” when she reaches out and rubs his arm intimately before turning away from Ollie and heading toward the elevator bank.

“Talk with him later,” Damien says, and I realize he’s been watching me watching Ollie. “You’ll want to cool down first.”

I start to tell him that I don’t want to cool down at all. What I want to do is chew out my horndog of a friend. But I know Damien is right; now is not the time, and I continue at Damien’s side, following in the wake of the bellman and our luggage.