Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
Marie
I’m bleary-eyed and knee deep—or maybe elbow deep—in papers when I find it…with more than a little help from an employee named Suzanne.
She was caught in Angela’s web of deceit a few weeks back, reached out to Jean-Michel.
And…another thread.
Another person not willing to let all these strange coincidences go.
Today, it’s her email that sets me down a path I hadn’t thoroughly inspected before.
And it gives me a connection between Titan Capital and Genen-core…and it’s not solely that tiny microchip distributer.
It’s…more.
Immediately, I reach for my phone, wanting to call Jace.
But I freeze a heartbeat after I unlock the screen.
Because I don’t have the man’s number.
God, why am I such a stubborn pain in the ass?
Scowling, I toss my phone on my desk and pack up the files, shoving them into my bag, emailing myself copies of documents from my work computer I won’t have access to at home, grabbing anything that I might need to finish puzzling this shit out.
Then I slip out of the empty office, everyone having gone home hours ago.
Down the elevator, to my car, out of the lot.
I stop in the driveway, waiting for the signal, but as I turn in the direction of my building, there’s a flash of light out of the corner of my eye.
Bright enough that the turn in the evening’s dusk becomes difficult and I have to swerve around a female pedestrian crossing outside the crosswalk.
Not unusual—sometimes those white zebra lines are just a suggestion.
But paired with the flash of light and…
I take a second look.
The woman is tall and blond and slender, wearing dark clothes and sunglasses, even though the sun has set. And she looks familiar.
She looks like Angela Rosseau, Jean-Michel’s ex-wife.
A horn beeps behind me and I realize that I’ve stopped in the middle of the road.
I look back at the woman.
But she’s gone.
“What the fuck?” I whisper before pushing on the accelerator so the guy behind me doesn’t have a conniption.
Then I drive home—with no further flashes of light or strange women in dark clothes and sunglasses or horns being blared at me.
I pull into my spot, hurry over to the elevators, impatiently waiting as it brings me up to my floor.
It seems to take forever—and I don’t know if it’s because of what I found or because I’m looking forward to seeing Jace.
I worry it may be the latter.
But, after last night, maybe not as much as I should.
The doors open with a ding, and I step off, not even stopping at my place, just going straight down the hall and around the corner to Jace’s condo.
My heart starts pounding as I lift a hand, start to knock.
Then stop.
Because even though I can all but hear Jace’s annoying as hell bawk-bawking in my head, I’m a chicken shit.
This is me going to him.
This isn’t me waiting at home, speculating whether or not (or maybe hoping) that he’ll show up, demanding to be let in.
This is…another step toward potential heartbreak.
“Or it’s finally solving this shit with Angela, you drama queen,” I mutter, “and helping out two companies under attack in the process.” A beat as I shore up my spine. “So, quit dicking around and knock on the fucking door.”
Suitably chastised, I lift my hand again, ball my fingers into a fist, and I knock.
Is it barely audible and completely pathetic? Yes.
But do I hold my ground and not retreat back down the hall to the safety of my woman cave? Also, yes.
Unfortunately, even though I count to ninety, Jace doesn’t answer.
So, I’m forced to knock again.
And this time to do it with more authority.
It echoes through the hall and I pair it with the doorbell a few minutes later (see? I was totally being a chicken shit).
But both of those go unanswered.
And then I’m left, still in the damn hallway, urgency nibbling at my bones, and second-guessing the shit out of myself.
I nibble my bottom lip, knock one more time, and hang in the hall for a couple of moments longer.
Maybe he’s in the shower.
Maybe he’s traveling for work. No. He would have said something last night. I’m sure of it.
But…work!
Maybe he’s still at work. As in, maybe he’s still at his office. I was working late, catching up on everything, so maybe he’s doing the same.
I start back down the hall, disappointment curling through my middle.
I’ll wait for him, listen for the elevators, or come back later and knock again…
My heart squeezes.
Because I don’t want to wait.
Because that pesky itch to see him is tickling my nape, the space between my shoulder blades.
“Dumb,” I whisper.
Still, when I reach my door, I pause, but I don’t get my keys out, don’t unlock the door, don’t go inside. Instead…I keep walking, not stopping until I’m by the elevators, until I’m pushing the button for the garage level.
Off I go again, the internal bawk-bawking loud enough that my footsteps don’t falter as I stride back over to my car, as I get inside and hook up my phone, the navigation guiding me to Genen-core’s corporate offices.
I have no idea how I’ll find Jace once I’m there…
But I’m resourceful.
And I’m not thinking about all the ways this might blow up in my face.
“There. Good,” I mutter, pulling out of my building without having to navigate flashing lights or horns or sunglass-wearing women.
The drive takes less than ten minutes during this time of night—something I’m grateful for, considering that Marie Chicken Shit is raring her ugly head, reminding me of all the times I put myself out there…and all the times doing so backfired.
So much so that by the time I reach the campus and pause next to the guard station, my heart is pounding in my chest as I scramble to come up with some reason why I’m here after business hours without permission, and definitely without a guest pass.
But the little guard shack is empty and the arm is raised, and so I just…drive through.
I point my car in the direction of the tallest building, both because it’s the tallest, and also because it’s the only one with lights on inside and cars in the adjacent lot.
“I’ll find security,” I whisper, psyching myself up. “Ask them to call him.”
Simple. Easy. Done.
So why does it feel as though I’m standing in the open doorway of a plane, a parachute strapped to my back, being told to jump.
Because…
I’m putting myself out there.
“Ugh,” I mutter, snagging my bag and shoving open my door.
I walk up to the building, am surprised when the glass door opens when I tug it—no keycard required, no security manning the front desk to greet me or buzz me in.
I move inside, and it’s empty.
Not a person in sight to stop me from moving to the elevators, from glancing at the directory on the wall.
From finding out exactly what floor Jace’s office is on.
What. The. Fuck?
Anger begins boiling through me and I jab at the button, climb onto the car, then jab at the next button, the one that will take me up to his floor.
And still no one stops me.
Does the man have no sense of self-preservation?
I growl when the doors close, huff out an annoyed breath when they open again, eight floors up, showing me a darkened floor…
Except for one corner office.
And that’s when my temper snaps.