Chapter Fifty-Six
Brock
“Who are you hiding from now?” Tig asked as I rushed into his office, pressing back against the door. “Pretty widow?”
“I wish,” I said, grimacing. “I’m hiding from Terry,” I admitted.
“Terry. The delivery woman?” Tig asked, swiveling in his chair to face me.
“Yeah.”
“Explain that one to me. The only women you hide from are the ones you’ve hooked up with.”
“Yep.”
“Terry’s gay.”
“One hundred percent,” I agreed. “Her girlfriend, however…”
“For chrissakes, Brock,” Tig sighed, dropping his pen on his desk so he could properly rub his fingers between his brows.
“In my defense, I didn’t know she was Terry’s girl until the sweat was dry and I saw the picture on the nightstand. So, really, this is more on her than it is on me. Crap,” I hissed as the door started to push open.
“Get the fuck out of the way, Brock,” Sawyer said, making me step back so he could move inside.
“So you’ve heard,” Tig said.
“That he got horizontal with Terry’s girl? Yeah.”
“Not just horizontal. She’s a former gymnast, did you know that?” I asked, looking between the two of them.
“Probably one of the reasons Terry picked her,” Tig said.
“You know you’re going to have to handle this, right?” Sawyer asked, walking over to Tig’s desk to drop a folder. “Terry is here almost daily. You won’t be able to hide forever. Just take your ass-kicking like a man and get it over with.”
“Easy for you to say. I’ve seen Terry at the gym. She out-benches me.”
“Man, you were in black ops type shit for over a decade, and you’re scared of one person?” Sawyer scoffed.
Admittedly, we’d been through some shit. We’d done some gnarly shit.
But that was back then.
I’d done my best to put that shit behind me, to focus on the lighter, more enjoyable parts of life.
Like touring the bedsheets of all the gorgeous women who’d have me.
Sure, I did some dark shit for work still. But that was work, not my personal life.
I didn’t enjoy confrontation anymore.
And I sure as fuck didn’t want to be on the receiving end of yet another pissed-off mate—or former mate—of someone I’d taken to bed. My wrist still ached in the rain from the last fucker who’d tracked me down and caught me off-guard.
“I’m hoping that, after a couple of days to think it over, she will direct her anger in the right direction,” I said, shrugging. “Her cheating girlfriend.”
“And not the office slut,” Sawyer said, smirking.
“Hey, just because I didn’t find the love of my life and hand in my player card for her doesn’t mean you get to judge me.”
“Right. Like you would even know the love of your life if she were right in front of your face,” Tig said, shaking his head.
“Oh shit,” I hissed as the door burst open.
I braced myself for impact.
But it wasn’t Terry who’d barged into Tig’s office to find me.
No.
It was someone I’d never seen before.
A well-dressed guy in his twenties with golden-brown hair and blue eyes, but they were heavy-lidded with purple smudges.
I knew that look.
I’d seen it reflected at me for years when I’d been working a job that was eating away at me. I’d seen it in the faces of countless clients who’d been driven halfway crazy from whatever issue had been plaguing their personal or professional lives.
“Can we help you?” Sawyer asked.
“I’m sorry,” Marg, our receptionist, said, rushing in behind him. “He just barged past me.”
“It’s okay,” Sawyer said, giving her a nod. “The look on his face says we could use some coffee, though,” he said.
“I’ll bring it right in,” Marg said, nodding, but giving the guy a hard look to make it clear she didn’t appreciate being overstepped, then made her way out.
“My name is Cam Michaels. I’m the personal assistant for Miranda Coulter,” Cam said, taking a step in. “Of Coulter, Incorporated,” he added to our collective blank looks.
Sawyer’s gaze slid in my direction, knowing I was the one who knew the most about the private sector since, well, I’d banged damn near all the wives, girlfriends, and exes of all the big billionaires around.
“Coulter. Social media, right?” I asked.
“Yeah. And you’re the CEO’s personal assistant,” Sawyer concluded.
“Yes.”
“There’s an issue that needs to be investigated?” Sawyer asked, waving toward one of Tig’s seats, then moving to stand behind the desk beside Tig.
I stayed toward the side, watching.
Everyone knew it was Tig and Sawyer who really ran shit. They pulled me in on jobs when they needed me. Normally, I’d have just excused myself, but with the threat of Terry still lurking, I decided to stay put.
“Approximately thirty hours ago my boss was put on a 5150. Wrongly.”
“A 5150,” Sawyer repeated, brows pinching.
“A forced psychiatric hold,” Cam said, voice raising, getting agitated.
“I know what a 5150 is,” Sawyer said. “I’m confused how she accidentally got put on one.”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out. I can’t get in touch with her.”
“Then how did you know about it?” Tig asked.
“She sent me an emergency text via her smartwatch before they took that away.”
“What did it say?” Sawyer asked, reaching for one of Tig’s notebooks and a pen.
“Help. 5150. Didn’t do it.”
“Well, that sounds conclusive,” Sawyer said. “What didn’t she do?”
“From what I can tell from what I’ve stitched together… tried to kill herself.”
“And you’re sure she didn’t? Try that,” Tig clarified.
“One hundred percent sure. Randi is happy and successful and fulfilled.”
“There are a lot of successful and fulfilled people who only put on the charade of happiness,” Sawyer reasoned.
“That’s not Randi. Randi is genuinely happy. I don’t know what happened, but I know she didn’t try to hurt herself. And she herself said it. In desperation before being locked away against her will,” Cam insisted. “I have done everything I could to try to get this overturned.”
“Good luck,” Sawyer said, shaking his head. “It’s almost impossible. And even if you get someone to push the paperwork through, it is usually after the seventy-two hours have already passed. If she’s thirty hours into this, she probably only has a day and a half to go.”
“Weekend,” I mumbled.
“What?” Sawyer asked, looking over, not used to me piping in.
“It’s the weekend in a few hours. They don’t always count that toward the seventy-two hours. She could be there until Tuesday if that hospital doesn’t count the weekends.”
Sawyer’s brows pinched at that, but he kept his thoughts to himself as he looked back over at Cam.
“She can’t not be at work for two days without someone asking questions.”
“She could be taking a couple days away.”
“You don’t understand. Miranda doesn’t take days off. Never.”
“One of those, huh?” Sawyer asked, sighing. “How about she works remote for a few days?” he asked. “Maybe she came down with some severe food poisoning. People don’t question not coming to work when there is a stomach issue,” he said.
And pretty much every woman I’d ever met would rather someone think they were insane than having embarrassing stomach issues. But he was right. It would probably work.
“You could work for her, could you not?” Sawyer asked.
“I, ah, yeah, I could do that,” Cam agreed.
“Okay. So you do that. Make it look like Miranda is getting all her work done from home in between trips to the can. Then when she shows up Wednesday looking tired and not herself, people will understand.”
“Okay. Right. Yes. That can work,” Cam said, pulling out his phone and jotting notes.
“Now, we can take on this case, but we can’t get permission from your boss until she’s free.”
“That’s fine. I’ll pay you.”
“You’ll pay us?” Sawyer asked, brows raising.
“She’s my boss. But she’s a good friend.”
“I don’t think you understand what the fees could be…” Tig reasoned since even the best personal assistants made, tops, eighty grand. Good money, sure, but not CEO money. Not full-scale personal investigation money.
“Whatever it is, I will pay it,” Cam said, lifting his chin, making it clear that Miss Miranda Coulter paid him very well for his services. Which explained not only his loyalty, but his willingness to go above and beyond for her when she wasn’t able to do so for herself.
“Okay. Marg,” he said as she came in with the coffee tray. “Can you draw up a contract?” he asked.
“Sure,” Marg said, giving Cam a hard look again.
“Thanks,” he said as he took a coffee, looking a bit sheepish under her disapproving, maternal glare.
“What do you need from me?” Cam asked Sawyer over the rim of his coffee before taking a big gulp. The man clearly hadn’t gotten any sleep in the thirty hours since he’d become aware of the situation with his boss.
“As much information as you can give us. Friends and enemies of your boss. Names of disgruntled employees. Anyone she might have fucked over in business. All that kind of shit,” Sawyer told him.
“I will have a list emailed over before the end of the day,” Cam said, jotting a note with one hand as he kept holding onto the coffee like a lifeline with the other.
“We will also need to know the name of the hospital. And when she will be released.”
“It took a lot of digging that was borderline illegal, but I got the hospital information. She was taken from the local hospital to…” he started, looking down at his notes.
“Bluestone,” I supplied, getting another of those looks from Sawyer that I promptly ignored.
“Yes. That’s the one. It’s an hour from here. I don’t understand how they got her there.”
“Strapped to a gurney in the back of an ambulance,” I told him.
“Can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I think Brock is going to be taking the lead on this one,” Sawyer said, giving me a look that even I couldn’t read, and we’d been tight since our military days. “Give him your card,” he demanded to me.
“I’d have to go get one from my office,” I said, watching as he shook his head at me.
“Always working hard to network for the business, I see,” he said. “Alright. Here. Take Tig’s but this is Brock’s number,” Sawyer said, jotting down on the back of it. “You can call him day or night. He might want access to your boss’s home to look around for clues.”
“I have the keys and codes,” Cam said, nodding, looking like a small bit of the weight on his shoulders had been shrugged off.
“My advice,” I said, drawing his attention to me. “Get some sleep this weekend. You’re not getting this overturned. She’s stuck there for the time being, as much as that sucks to hear. Get some sleep so you are on top of your game for the week of impersonating her.”
“He’s right,” Sawyer agreed. “You won’t do her any favors by driving yourself into the ground.
Get rest. We will take the investigation from here.
But if you have any thoughts or questions, a contract with us means access to us twenty-four-seven, so don’t hesitate to contact Brock or any of us,” Sawyer said, taking the paperwork from Marg as she came in.
“Thanks. Okay. Let’s make this official. ”
Then, just like that, I was given the lead on one of our biggest cases.
We didn’t know that at the time, though.
And I certainly had no fucking idea what was in store for me when I finally got to meet the elusive Miranda Coulter.