10. Blake
10
BLAKE
Lying in bed, staring at my laptop screen, I exhale a breath of relief. She’s not evil. My initial suspicions were off, yet not entirely misplaced. I had been barking up the wrong tree, fixated solely on the business dealings of Hartley Marine. Had I looked into her daughter, Coco-Rae, the truth might have surfaced sooner. Nevertheless, the nagging doubts in my gut proved accurate. Her world is indeed hiding a dark secret.
Now, someone else needs to know.
I grab my phone and text Rob. Luckily, he’s still awake, and we hop on a call.
“Hey Rob, sorry to bother you so late, but we need to talk about Georgia-May.”
“Go for it,” he says, concern immediately creeping into his voice.
“A lot, actually. I found the truth about her. She’s not a threat.”
“Thank God for that! We can’t handle any more surprises right now.”
“Her proposal, the money she’s asking, it’s all for her daughter. The little girl had a brain tumor. I investigated records at the children’s hospital, and her story checked out.”
Rob exhales heavily, a rare sound. “Damn, poor kid.”
I grip my phone, my voice tightening. “There’s more. She was attacked by two men in her motel room.”
“What? Is she okay?”
“Yeah, she’s with me now. But she’s tangled up with Bertram Insurance—apparently a big player in Europe and Asia Pacific.”
Rob’s tone drops. “I’ve heard of them, but I never had a reason to keep tabs. They once tried to crack the US market during the insurance boom but couldn’t pull it off. They had the resources, like AIG’s attempt in China, but the market didn’t bite.”
“Do you know anything about Abner Bertram?”
“Not personally. He’s a shark—ruthless, but with a cruel elegance. A few of our European clients have had dealings with him. Why? Is she caught up with Abner himself?” His voice crackles with worry.
I nod to myself as if he could see me affirming his guess. “Pretty much. I’ll fill you in with more details tomorrow. But I need a favor, Rob.”
“Anything you need.”
“I need to take a few days off.”
“You? Taking leave? That’s a first.”
“I know. Gotta stay with her in Denver.”
“Absolutely. You’ve earned it. Take care of things,” he agrees firmly.
“Thanks, Rob. I appreciate it.”
With that settled, I put the phone down. But sleep eludes me. I stare at the ceiling, willing my mind to shut down, but it’s no use. Thoughts of Georgia-May keep racing through my head. Her confession, her determination, her vulnerability, and the fact that I’d been wrong about her all along.
Restlessness crawls under my skin, urging me to move. I swing my legs off the bed and pad downstairs, careful not to disturb the quiet.
In the dim light of the living room, I find my lovely guest hunched over the coffee table, a pencil in hand, scribbling furiously on a piece of paper. She’s deep in concentration, her brow furrowed. I notice the stationery supplies—my stationery supplies—from the guest room.
“Isn’t it hurting your head?” I ask, the rows of tangled numbers and symbols making my own head throb.
She looks up, startled, but her expression relaxes when she sees me. “Ah, these are just some random problems that I don’t have to solve tonight—or ever. I just can’t sleep,” she admits, her voice a murmur.
“And you’re doing math? Shouldn’t you be reading or something to help you get sleepy? I have some novels in my library if you want a look.”
A small smile tugs at her lips. “You sound like my sister. But I guess you’re not the romance type?”
I chuckle, perching myself on the arm of the couch. “Everything okay with her and your daughter?”
“Yes, thanks.”
I clap my thighs, ready to leave her be. “Well, you should really try to get some sleep.” I glance at the clock.
“Any advice?” she asks lightly.
I feel a gulp rising in my throat. Whenever I struggle to fall asleep, I’ll beat my meat till I pass out. A wry grin forms on my face. “I’m in the same sinking boat, so unfortunately, I don’t have any wisdom to share.”
She chuckles, her lips stretching into a wide smile, making me sigh inwardly—oh, how I ache to kiss that sexy mouth.
“I won’t be much longer,” she says, and as if on cue, she yawns, her eyes watery. “Sorry if I woke you up.”
“No, not at all.”
I’m no stranger to sleepless nights. But losing sleep over a guest—well, that’s a bit different. Losing sleep over a woman, though? Now that’s a whole new ballgame.
She plays with the pencil, telling me, “Seriously, you should get some sleep too. I need you to be my alarm clock.”
I decide to share what’s on my mind. “Hey, what if I fly with you tomorrow?”
She looks surprised, but then she smiles. “Um…yeah.”
“I mean, I’m not trying to be overbearing. I’d just feel better knowing I got you back to your daughter myself.”
“You’d do that?”
“Of course.”
“You’ll probably sit in first class, and I’ll be stuck in economy.”
“I’ll be right next to you.”
“Okay,” she agrees, excitement painting her face. “That makes me feel safer too.”
I’m glad that she’s on board. “Good night, Code Queen.”
Her shy smile makes it damn near impossible to walk away. My heart aches to scoop her up and take her with me, but somehow, I keep my self-control intact.
Back in bed, I force myself to sleep, but it’s like déjà vu. I’ve already counted a hundred sheep jumping over a fence, but now they seem to be throwing a raucous party while I remain wide awake.
Frustration seeps into my bones as I slide my hand into my boxer shorts. I stroke my half-hard rod, desperately needing some relief to knock me out. Thinking about her touch comforts me—too comforting that I stop.
“Fuck…” How many times today have I hated my own thoughts and actions concerning Georgia-May? Life isn’t what it used to be.
I throw off the blanket, sitting up. At a loss for what else to do, I step out to check on Georgia-May downstairs.
The living room light is still on, and I find her sprawling on the couch. As I walk closer, I observe the rise and fall of her chest and the slight parting of her lips, from which escape whispers of her breath. Still clutched in her hand is the pencil she’d been using for those endless calculations, its tip resting against a half-filled page. Her face mellows in slumber, the lines of concentration replaced by an almost childlike tranquility.
I stand there for a moment, taking in the quiet beauty of the scene. The responsibility is mine. Her safety, and her family’s, rests squarely on my shoulders.
Yet, the scene unsettles me. There’s something sinister about a woman sleeping on my couch. It isn’t her, nor the furniture. It’s a regret that has taken shape as a haunting image. Flo’s lifeless body on my old couch, the fabric beneath her head stained with her own blood. It erodes my sense of safety and distorts my perception of normalcy. I can’t bear the thought of even a shadow of danger touching Georgia-May.
Every instinct urges me to scoop her into my arms and whisk her to the guest bed, away from my nightmares. But the line between me and her is too delicate, too pivotal to cross. She’s a young, single mother. Watching her pour everything she has into caring for Coco, I see what resilience truly means. With her, the troubles in my life start to feel small. This isn’t about what happened twelve years ago. It’s about the woman in front of me who’s become so unexpectedly important.
I hold back, choosing instead to fetch a pair of blankets from a basket next to the couch. I lay them over her, taking care not to disturb her. She stirs slightly, murmuring something incomprehensible before settling into a deeper sleep.
The fire is burning low. I adjust the logs, making sure it will last through the night without flaring up or dying out.
I step back, my gaze lingering on Georgia-May. She looks so small, swallowed by cushions, hidden under the covers. By now, I know denying what’s burning inside me is like trying to hold back the tide with a teacup. After everything that happened tonight, I acknowledge my feelings for the woman who has turned from threat to treasure—or at least the beginning of something precious.
“Poppy, up,” I whisper, stooping beside my robotic dog. With instant obedience, she springs to her feet and follows me. At the couch, I send another command. “Poppy, stay.” With her positioned vigilantly near my sleeping guest, anyone daring to intrude will be met with Poppy hurling herself into action, causing an uproar.
Confident that Georgia-May is snug and secure and assuring myself that no harm will come her way—no one will dare aim a gun at her—I retreat to my room.