Chapter Fifty-Nine #2
“That helps,” I agreed, making myself pull out of his hold before I did something stupid. Like jump him. “I sort of forgot you were here,” I told him as I made my way to the coffee pot. “I didn’t sleep well,” I admitted as I poured us each a cup.
“It’s hard to adjust to life back at home sometimes,” he said.
And maybe I should have thought that was some comment about coming home after his service, but there was just something too familiar in his voice.
Like maybe he knew what it was like to be away at a hospital for some length of time.
But likely just a hospital-hospital, not a mental one.
Maybe he’d been injured while on duty or something like that.
“I’m sure it was just a fluke. I should be good and tired after work today. Cam is more than capable, but…”
“But he’s not you,” Brock finished for me, taking the coffee from my hands.
“Essentially, yes. I’m sure he kept everything afloat, but I always have little things going on that I don’t really tell anyone about.”
“It takes a lot to keep a company like yours afloat.”
“It does. Hence the extra-large coffee.”
“And the collection of to-go mugs,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee.
“Exactly,” I agreed.
“I wish I could offer you some breakfast, but I’m not much of a breakfast person,” I told him.
The beginning of my day involved about three or four cups of coffee that would keep me reasonably full and fueled until my lunch break.
“Me either,” he said, shrugging. “This works for me.”
“So what is your plan for today?” I asked.
“Finding a way into the hotel’s security system, talking to—“
“Wait… seriously?” I asked.
“Yes. There are a few of them. Not as many as there should be, considering how much you pay to live here, but a few. That hopefully would have caught something. Then I need to put feelers out with your neighbors. And a contact I have up here who has an in with the police force, so I can maybe get some information from them. Then possibly, if I have time, the hospital itself. See if I can schmooze some information out of someone.”
“It will be really upsetting if that is possible,” I admitted.
“Unfortunately, in my line of work, you find that not much is private. Not even the shit that is supposed to be by law. And, for our sake, it’s a good thing. But if I can’t find out much, you should be able to. Given that they’re your records.”
“Right,” I agreed, trying not to let the idea of that bother me.
I guess, naively, I thought that once I got out, I wouldn’t have to deal with that whole ordeal again. But, yes, logically, this was going to be a part of my life. At least for a short while. And, well, longer than that unless I could find a way to make the scar disappear.
“Okay,” I said, taking a steadying sip of my coffee. “I am going to throw myself together,” I told him. “Feel free to use the shower in the guest room if you want to shower.”
With that, I went through the motions, taking care to put on my persona perfectly, even if it felt a little cracked around the edges from the events of the last few days.
I pulled my hair back into a tight bun. I swiped on some mascara and lipstick. I put on some gold hoops. Then I slid into slacks and a long-sleeved blouse as well as some ankle-aching heels. I spritzed on some perfume.
“Okay,” I said to my reflection with a deep exhale before turning and making my way out into the main area of the apartment.
Where Cam was standing talking to Brock like they were old friends.
“Randi!” Cam said, throwing up his arms and walking toward me for a hug. “Are you okay? Really,” he pressed as he squeezed me.
I wasn’t usually much of a touchy-feely person, but, God, did a hug feel good after the past few days.
“I’m okay. Ready to get back to things,” I told him.
“Well, I brought you your phone. And a latte. Your lifelines,” he said as he pulled back to hand each of them to me. “In your email, you will find a detailed report of everything I have done while pretending to be you for the past few work days, so you can go over it.”
“I trust you,” I told him. “Implicitly,” I added. “And I owe you so much for everything you have done since you found out what happened. I don’t deserve you.”
“You do,” he said, giving me a scrunched brow look that said he thought I was being an idiot. “When you catch up, we need to drop an obscene amount of money on shoes while you tell me all about the hospital. Was it like Girl, Interrupted?”
“Seeing as that was based in, like, the sixties, no,” I told him.
“No hot Angelina Jolie?” he asked.
“Why would you care? You don’t go that way.”
“Honey, I think everyone goes that way for Angelina,” he said, smirking. “Okay, so, GI Joe here has a whole day planned it seems. Which means we need to get on with our day,” Cam said, taking charge, which was what I liked best about him.
He gathered my things, and started to make his way to the door.
“Don’t worry. I’ll lock up,” Brock told me.
“I’ll see you here later?” I asked.
“Absolutely,” he told me.
I don’t know why, but that fact filled me with both relief and just a small dose of pleasure that I was going to go ahead and blame on my dry spell.
“Was it awful?” Cam asked on the elevator down to the lobby.
“Yes. And no. It’s awful for people to think you’re crazy or in crisis when you’re not. And some of the people were definitely in crisis, so it was difficult to watch. And it had it’s humiliating moments,” I added, inwardly cringing at the complete indignity that was the strip search.
Forced mental hold.
Forced to get naked in front of strangers.
I was pretty sure the trauma from that hadn’t quite set in yet, thanks to the mystery surrounding being sent there, and the fact that I needed to get my life back on track.
But I knew, eventually, that it was all going to come creeping in sometime. And would likely need to be dealt with in therapy.
Ironic, wasn’t it?
I hadn’t actually needed therapy before going to the psych ward. But afterward, I was probably going to need boatloads of it.
“Well, we can put that behind us now. It is time to get back to work. People have been understanding of your bug, but I think getting a little weirded out that their steadfast leader hasn’t dragged her ass into the office in days.”
“That makes sense,” I agreed. I never took days off. I gave the entire office off the day before Thanksgiving every year, but stayed at the office and worked it myself.
Along with Christmas Eve, New Year’s Eve, my birthday, and every other day I gave my employees some time to themselves and their families.
The one perk, it seemed, to not having family of my own, was being able to work those holidays without feeling like I was missing out.
“Okay,” Cam said when we were settled in the back of my town car, pulling away from the curb. “Can we talk about how hot Brock is?” he asked.
“You are a happily committed man,” I reminded him.
“Committed, not dead,” he shot back, fanning himself with his notebook.
“I about fainted when I saw him. Well, not really. I was too frantic about you, but once we got a plan into place, there was swooning. That bone structure. Those dark eyes. And if anyone I’ve ever met had big-dick energy, it’s him.
I bet he would give you a good tour of the sheets.
A much-needed tour, I might add,” he said, giving me a knowing look.
Because when someone knew you well enough to buy your tampons on time each month, he damn sure knew when you were—or weren’t—getting laid.
“He’s working with me, Cam,” I reminded him.
“Oh, he is contract work. It’s not exactly an abuse of power. It’s a gray area.”
“I won’t be banging the hot private investigator,” I told him as the car pulled up beside our building.
“But you admit he’s hot,” Cam insisted, following me out of the car.
Oh, he was hot alright.
And while I would never speak this part out loud, it was going to be harder than I liked to admit to keep my hands to myself.
And keeping my hands to myself was non-freaking-negotiable.