Chapter 32
thirty-two
Yes, sir.
Alice’s breathy, teasing voice loops through my mind again, leaving another dumb smile on my face as I sort through the shitstorm on my desk.
The weekend’s events left me with a hell of a lot of paperwork. I’m grateful I forced myself to keep to my routine, waking early and working out before heading to the office to greet the dawn.
It was harder than most mornings. Harder than ever, perhaps.
Leaving Alice on her own went against every protective instinct rumbling in my middle. I knew I had to, though. Despite the way she gave in to me on Saturday night, the woman clearly doesn’t trust our situation at all. I can’t blame her, given how quickly everything’s changed.
Still, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t wrestled with the stab of disappointment all night. She chose to stay in the one guest room that has any furniture, snuggling on the spare sofa in there and falling asleep with a book in her hand.
I might have chalked it up to a coincidence—we didn’t sleep much the night before, after all—but I noticed the tidy way she kept all her things stacked beside the door. As if ready to be asked to leave at any moment.
It would frustrate me if it didn’t make my chest ache.
The tablet propped up beside my computer flickers. I lean closer, narrowing my eyes as the feed of Alice’s apartment hallway refocuses.
Damn it. Nothing.
I know she wants me to let the whole open-door incident go, but I can’t. Which I know is insane, given the amount of real work I have to take care of. I just can’t shake the feeling that there’s a missing piece at play here.
Why would someone go into her apartment if they didn’t intend to ransack it or steal anything? And why leave the door open if their hands weren’t full?
Leaning back in my leather chair, I scowl at my subpar cup of tea from the downstairs café and swipe open the contact I need. Pierce answers on the fourth ring, clearly fresh out of sleep. “What do you need, boss?”
I need him to tap into the street cameras on Alice’s block and pull any footage showing someone entering or exiting her stairwell from the last week. I also ask him to look for an angle that will give us a view of the building’s fire escape.
Then I tell him I want the names of every guy who has been added and subsequently deleted from Alice’s social media accounts in the previous four years. I have a hunch.
If Pierce hears the venom in my voice, he doesn’t let on. He just takes down all the information I want and promises to get back to me within the hour.
I hang up and stare at my phone. Hating myself for what I have to do next. Making the call anyway.
“Everett,” Graham answers, most decidedly awake. I hear him muffle the speaker. “Shh, Bijou, behave yourself. I’m on the phone.”
Hell. Aren’t they supposed to be getting ready for work? I don’t need to hear this. “Everett? It’s Amir.”
“Yes,” he snorts, “Marco, I know. You don’t have to say your name every time you call.”
I hear a slap and a squeal. God, give me strength.
“So… hit me,” Graham goes on. “I’m moving into my new office space today, and my assistant—while very sexy—keeps distracting me.”
As ever, I have to admire his audacity. The guy has absolutely no shame and balls as big as his ego. Which makes my next request especially hard to scrape out.
“Flowers,” I grit. “I need to know where you get my cousin her flowers every week.”
I should have known he’d be a dick. He could have just given me the name of the florist graciously, like a gentleman. But then he wouldn’t be Graham Everett.
“Hmmm,” he drawls. “Flowers? Whoever for?”
“Everett,” I growl. “Mind your own business and give me the name of the shop.”
Graham chuckles darkly. “Marco, where are your manners? I didn’t hear the magic word. And you didn’t answer my question. Who are you buying flowers for?”
Next time I see the bastard, I’m going to dead-leg him.
“A woman, okay?” I snap. “I need flowers for a woman I’m seeing. Please don’t tell Juliet.”
He makes a tsking sound. “Can’t help you there, primo. I would never lie to our formidable Miss Rivera. If she asks me why you called, I’ll tell her the truth. But I’ll convince her to be discreet, of course.”
Honestly, how can I be mad? Do I want him to lie to my baby cousin?
“Don’t call me primo,” I mutter. “Ever. So? The florist?”
“Eh.” I can picture his signature shrug. “What sort of cousin would I be if I didn’t make time for your personal problems? Tell me about this mysterious lady of yours. Where have you been hiding her?”
“You gossip like an old woman,” I grunt. “No wonder Abuelita likes you so much.”
Graham laughs again. “Fine, fine. I actually do have to go, so I’ll text you that name. Though, depending on her location, you might be better off asking someone closer… and, depending on the girl, you might be better off with chocolates or jewelry. Lingerie, even.”
Cristo. The bastard is digging. “Just text me the name,” I demand, unwilling to divulge any more information. “And Everett?”
“Yeah?”
I hesitate, knowing I may be crossing a line, but feeling an instinctual pull, I blow out a deep breath. “I think you should stop by Stryker’s at some point today. Grayson might want someone to talk to after this weekend.”
Surprised silence swells over the line. “Understood,” he finally says, appropriately solemn. “I’ll send my recommendations your way. Get ready to pay out the ass. I have very expensive taste.”
He hangs up. I try to ignore the awkward tug in my chest. Gratitude and… amusement? Carajo. Am I actually starting to like el pinchao?
By the time the sun peeks over the next building, Everett comes through. Links to three different florists—Downtown, Midtown, and Uptown—as well as web pages for Dean & DeLuca and something called Agent Provocateur.
Perhaps the pretty boy has a point. Alice arranges flowers as part of her job. She probably has opportunities to bring bouquets home all the time. If I forgo flowers, that leaves some sort of dessert or…
Lingerie.
I remember the collections of frilly photos on Alice’s computer, saved on a secret Pinterest board. She would like something beautiful. It would make my romantic interest in her clear. Maybe not anything leather… Not yet.
My mind keeps doing that. Thinking of Alice in the future tense.
And I like it.