Without a Hitch(87)

But you are. You did! I want to scream, but words stick to the roof of my mouth.

“I’ll see you at Colton’s wedding, but it’s better for everyone if we pretend not to know each other. I’ll make an excuse to leave after the ceremony, but everyone will be so busy they won’t notice anyway. I’ll go with you to the gala. I always honor my commitments, but please don’t ask me to stay today.” I watch in horror as a tear slips down her face, but she stands quickly.

Everything after that happens in slow motion, like I’m not really part of this scene. She grabs her suitcase. Moves toward the door. Turns the knob. Then, without a backward glance, she’s gone.

Tilly’s gone, and for the first time that I can remember, my suit feels suffocating.

I’m tearing at the vest and the buttons of my shirt as my breath comes in harsh bursts. I’m dizzy by the time I’ve stripped down, but my breathing only accelerates.

My hands shake as I clutch my chest, crashing roughly onto the sofa so I can place my head between my legs. When that doesn’t work, I slip to the floor and lean against the sofa’s hard frame.

What the hell is happening to me?

Time passes. Five minutes? Five hours? I have no idea. Eventually, I pull myself from the floor and pace the confines of a space that only yesterday offered hope. Now, everywhere I look, I see despair, and it sets fire to the rage roiling in my gut.

I lost myself once, and I won’t do it again. Grabbing my MacBook, I’m about to go outside when I realize I’m naked, so I switch directions and head to the bedroom. Stomping like a pissed-off giant is more like it, and when I enter our room, I’m assaulted by the scent of lilacs. My heart threatens to stop as I tear open a drawer, but I pause when my hand lands on a pair of dark blue baby trackies.

“Bloody fucket.” I curse under my breath but stab one leg into the garment, then the other and slide them up over my ass. Opening another drawer, I retrieve a shirt and slip it over my head. I’m on the warpath as I head outside, and then I’m forced to pause yet again at the sight of Tilly’s hammock before me. Both of them.

I scowl so deeply that the tiny hairs of my dark eyebrows fall into my line of sight, and I march forward. I can’t drop as dramatically into the damn thing as I want to for fear the bloody contraption will toss me overboard, but once I’m settled, I prop my head up on some pillows and get to work.

Or try to.

She loves this thing so much—I will figure out why. Placing my MacBook on my chest, I twitch and adjust my body, finally just feigning comfort. My nostrils flare as I huff in an exaggerated attempt to expel the nervous energy flowing through my body.

I don’t dwell on the baby trackies. Or the hammock. Or why I need them both to soothe my frazzled nerves. No, instead I focus on the one thing that will bring me happiness. Revenge.

Pressing the green button on the bottom of my screen, I pull up Blake’s name and press send. A breeze blows the hammock, and I tense as it shifts. Closing my eyes, I count to five. I will enjoy this.

It’s just a freaking floating bed of doom.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I curse and sit up.

“Lochlan?”

Blake’s voice startles me, and my body goes right while the floating death trap goes left. My arms windmill as I grab hold of my computer just before the floating fucker dumps me on my face.

“Bloody fucket,” I growl, rolling over. Blake’s laughter rings out loudly to my right, so I crawl that way and lift the screen to my face as I sit up.

“You look like shit,” he barks with a wild grin on his face. “If you’re calling to talk about whatever has got your knickers in a knot, you’ve got the wrong guy.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, except it’s time to move.”

His brows lift in sync with his hands, which he clasps behind his head. “Tell me.”

“It will happen quickly. I got the preliminary contracts this morning.”

“What are you wearing?” he asks as I cross the patio and set the computer down on a table.

I adjust the screen so just my torso and head are in view. “What?”

“What are you wearing?”

Glancing down, I squeeze my eyes shut to keep from rolling them. The T-shirt I pulled over my head is a Tilly special. It’s heathered gray with bright yellow lettering that says Relaxed AF. I won’t address the baby trackies.

“I’m relaxing,” I deadpan.

“Since when, Lochlan? I’ve never seen you in anything but dress pants. Even at summer camp, you wore khakis. What’s going on with you?”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s over now. Can you move on Mercer?”

He glares through the screen of his computer. The old Blake would have pushed. I’m not sure what damaged Blake will do. He’s the only person I know who’s more broken than me, and I’m sure that’s the only reason he lets my attire go.

“I’ll call Nate today. Has anything changed with your plans?”

“Like what?”

“You still want them shut down and sold off?”

“Yes. That’s the entire point of bringing you in.” If he hears the annoyance in my tone, he ignores me. Most people do. Most people, but not Tilly. She’d be right by my side, making sure I was okay.

My jaw ticks at the thought.