One Bossy Offer (102)

The despairing look on Benson’s face replays in my head.

Am I doing the right thing?

I don’t know, but we’re about to find out.





As soon as I’ve unloaded my stuff and two sleepy Dobermans at my parents’ house, I start calling old contacts.

When Sarah doesn’t answer, I try Dave and a couple other people from creative content. But all their lines go straight to voicemail.

That sets my mind racing when it could mean anything.

If the entire office is that slammed trying to put out the mystery fire that pulled Miles back here, it must be bad. Or he instructed his staff not to talk to me.

Yikes.

All the possibilities are bad. A few hours later over coffee at a Wired Cup down the street, I try again.

The only person who picks up their phone is a junior copywriter, Ericka, and she’s vague as hell.

I can’t decide if she really doesn’t know what’s going on or if she just doesn’t want to tell me. Either way, hounding the staff gets me nowhere.

After dinner, I have my keys in my hand and I’m headed to the door.

“Where are you off to, Jenn?” Dad asks. “You haven’t sat down since you got here.”

I look at the keys in my hand and pause before answering.

Honestly, I have no idea. I just know Miles is determined to keep me from finding out how serious this is.

Going to his place feels pointless. He either won’t answer, or he’ll only open the door long enough to yell at me for intruding on his secrecy.

With a deflated sigh, I hang my keys back on the wall and pull down the leashes instead. “You know what, you’re right. I was thinking about some gas, but it can wait. I’ll take the dogs for a walk instead.”

“Are you sure?” Dad asks. His voice contains none of his usual judgment for my choices.

Actually, I haven’t heard him sound so gentle since I broke my arm going across the monkey bars in the fourth grade.

“Yep. They should be waking up from their naps.” I force a smile and then whistle. “Coffee, Cream! Let’s go, guys.”

The beasts come bounding downstairs, tails wagging as I leash them.

As they drag me along, losing their wits in the city smells, I realize I should just get my butt to the office.

It’s neutral ground, and Miles won’t make a scene at work.

If he still slams the door in my face, at least it’ll be easier to suss out what’s going on in person.

I’m technically still a contractor, even if I’m between active contracts with Cromwell-Narada. It wouldn’t be unusual for me to visit.

It’s something.

Knowing my next step makes the jog home lighter. Even when the dogs go crazy, barking at a tourist packed pedal pub that goes by with people laughing loudly into their beers.





In the morning, I stand in front of the elevator to Cromwell’s C-level floor.

The moment of truth.

He forbade me from coming here.

He hasn’t called or texted since he left.

None of my company contacts have been eager to return my calls, except Sarah, who texted me so late I wasn’t awake to text her back.

Holding my breath, I wave my badge in front of the door, hoping my credentials still work.

The reader makes a clicking sound and the light turns green.

A minute later, I’m stepping off the elevator and walking past Louise’s desk in no time without acknowledging her.

I don’t register her face until I’ve already passed her.

“Miss Landers? He’s in a meeting,” Louise calls out behind me.

I stop and whirl slowly on my heel.

“What meeting?” I ask neutrally.

“I don’t know. He told me to cancel his morning because he had a meeting outside the office that couldn’t wait.”

“Where?”

She looks at the floor. “I—I don’t know.”

“Louise?”

Again, no answer. I watch her swallow, her throat working like she’s trying to find room for a lie.

“Do you know what the one drawback of being a fairly honest person is?” I ask flatly.

She looks up and blinks. “No?”

“It tends to make you a pretty crappy liar, and you’re too nice for that, Louise. Now, where’s this meeting? Don’t tell me you don’t know.”

“I’m sorry. Mr. Cromwell instructed me not to tell—”

“You’re not telling anyone. You’re telling me. Big difference.”

She squeezes her eyes shut and grimaces.

“You didn’t let me finish. Especially you, he said.” It’s barely audible.

“What?” It’s like a knife going through my heart. “Especially me? He said that?”

She slowly opens her eyes.

“Miss Landers, forgive me—I don’t think it has anything to do with you personally. From what I gathered, he thinks he’s protecting you.”

Holy shit.

I’m torn between turning into a human icicle or slugging Miles Cromwell in his stupid, secretive, overprotective face.

Don’t I get to decide if I need protection from—whatever the big bad is?

“Louise, I’m worried about him,” I say honestly. “Where is he?”