Chapter 8 #2
Charles nodded. “He was a sales rep for a medical supplies company…and he was good at it. Smooth talker but not too slick or glib. Everybody liked him, wanted to be his friend. So when he told suppliers he couldn’t pay the bills and needed a little more time, they believed him.
Everyone did, and he pocketed the money we were making himself, using it to pay for his very expensive gambling habit. ”
I cringed. “And you had no idea?”
He shook his head, expertly cutting mushrooms into small slices. “I was too tired to wonder where all the money went. The shop did great, you know? I thought we were building something special, both the shop and our life together. Turned out, I was wrong about both.”
What an unbelievable dick. To do that to your business partner was bad enough, but to your fiancé?
That was so low I didn’t even have words.
“You know, the downside to this job is that I’m constantly confronted with the worst of humanity.
And yet, I can still be shocked by what people can do to each other, especially those they claim to love. ”
For the first time in several minutes, Charles lifted his gaze from the cutting board and met my eyes directly.
The sadness etched across his face hit me like a physical blow—not the sharp kind of grief that comes with fresh loss, but the deep, weary kind that had settled into his bones and made itself at home.
His blue eyes, usually so bright and full of life, looked dulled, like someone had drained all the color from them and left behind only shadows.
The sadness on his face made me absolutely furious in a way that surprised me with its intensity.
My hands clenched involuntarily, and I had to actively resist the urge to put my fist through something—preferably his ex-fiancé’s smug face.
I wanted to hunt down the son of a bitch who’d done this to him, who’d taken this sweet, generous man and trampled all over his trust and heart like it meant nothing.
I wanted to make him pay for every moment of pain he’d caused, for every sleepless night Charles had probably spent wondering what he’d done wrong, for every bit of self-doubt that bastard had planted in his mind.
The violence of my reaction should’ve worried me.
In all my centuries of protecting people, I’d felt professional anger at those who threatened my charges, but this was something else entirely.
This was personal, primal, and completely inappropriate for a guardian angel who was supposed to maintain professional distance.
“I would think you’d see far worse in your job than embezzlement, but thank you for saying that.”
It took a second for me to realize the “job” he was referring to was that of an NYPD detective. I hadn’t meant that one, but thank El he hadn’t realized. “Still, it’s the deliberate way people can hurt each other that never fails to get me.”
Charles slid two perfect omelets onto plates, then finished them off with a sprinkle of parsley. The omelet folded perfectly, golden on the outside and cooked with the kind of skill that only came from years of practice and genuine love for the craft. “Bon appétit.”
My stomach rumbled in response. “That looks delicious. Thank you.”
I shoveled a generous forkful into my mouth and nearly groaned out loud at the explosion of flavor that hit my taste buds.
The eggs were impossibly rich and creamy, so perfectly fluffy they practically melted on my tongue like savory clouds.
The cheese—something sharp and nutty, maybe Gruyère—had melted into silky ribbons throughout while the bell peppers still had just the right amount of bite, not mushy like most people made them, but tender with a subtle crunch that added texture and a sweet, smoky flavor.
Every ingredient was perfectly balanced, seasoned with the right amount of salt and fresh herbs.
“This is amazing,” I said.
“Thank you.”
Christ, the man could cook. If this was what he could do with basic breakfast ingredients, no wonder his coffee shop had been successful before that bastard ruined everything.
For a little while, we ate, and then I asked, “Was he ever convicted? Your fiancé?”
Charles shook his head. “It was his company, too, and we didn’t have any contracts outlining the roles we had. I talked to a lawyer, but she said it would be a long shot, and an expensive one. So the business went under, and I sold everything in the shop to pay off as many creditors as I could.”
“So he basically got away with it?” Anger rose in me all over again.
“He did, though he did lose his other job. I informed his boss of what he’d done and showed him enough proof to convince him I was telling the truth. So he fired Justin, who then moved away, leaving me to deal with all the fallout.”
“What’s his full name?”
Charles frowned. “Why do you want to know?”
Because I wanted to make sure he paid for what he’d done, but Charles didn’t need to know that. “I want to run his records, see if he’s been behaving since. How long ago was this?”
Charles swallowed thickly. “Five years. And it’s Meehan. Justin Meehan.”
I made a mental note to run his name through AngelCloud, our own database.
Yes, some genius in the celestial IT department had actually named it that, probably the same eejit who thought calling our communication system “HeavenMail” was clever.
Don’t ask me how, but with a little power from El and what I suspected was some seriously illegal hacking, we were tapped into every criminal database in the world.
The FBI, Scotland Yard, fecking MI6, CIA, Interpol—hell, we probably had access to parking ticket records in Bumfuck, Nebraska.
It was like having El’s own personal Google, except instead of cat videos and conspiracy theories, it was full of murderers, embezzlers, and people who didn’t return their library books on time.
That was one thing I did appreciate about modern technology, even though I still struggled with it on a daily basis.
“It must’ve been scary for you to start a new business after that,” I said.
His face softened. “I was terrified. Initially, I didn’t want to do it.
I figured no one would want to lend me money or trust me, you know?
It wasn’t like people knew what had happened since I hadn’t told anyone.
I’d been way too ashamed. But Charming is a small town, so, of course, nothing stays secret.
Someone found out from her brother, who’d worked with Justin, and within days, the whole town knew.
And they all supported me, telling me it wasn’t my fault.
” His voice broke, and his eyes filled with tears.
“I had suppliers assuring me they wanted to work with me, even after Justin had cost them money. I was so shocked.”
I wasn’t. Anyone could see Charles was a good guy, a truly decent one. “Did Justin ever tell you sorry? Or give you any kind of explanation?”
Charles slowly put down his fork, and the look on his face made me regret my question instantly. Apparently, I’d touched a very tender spot. Shit.
“I asked him why he’d done it if he loved me…” Charles raised his chin. “To which he said that he never did, but I was a great fuck and an even better cook, so what more could he want?”
Jesus fecking Christ, what an asshole. “You know that’s bullshit, right?”
“You’re saying I’m not a great fuck or an even better cook?”
I blinked, then couldn’t help but chuckle at his wry humor. “You’re a fantastic cook, but I can’t confirm the statement about you being a great fuck…yet.”
His smile meant everything.