Chapter Sixty-Five #2
He was the one who’d seen me almost at my worst. Almost. He’d been the one to drag me out of the woods and force some normalcy back into my life. He gave me a reason to climb out of bed, to get dressed, to be a functioning member of society again.
That said, he didn’t know my lowest of lows.
And the crazy part was that I’d been so close to telling Miranda about that phase in my life. Not just because it would help her feel better, either, but rather… I just wanted her to know.
I’d spent a lot of time with a lot of different women in my life. Flings, mostly, but some lasting weeks or even months of casual fun where we were with each other almost day and night.
Not a single one of them knew me, not really.
They knew parts of me, of course.
But not anything past surface level.
Up until a day or so ago, I didn’t want anyone to know me deeper than that. Yet there was no mistaking that some part of me wanted to let Miranda all the way in.
That was probably why it was proving so damn hard to stay away from her, keep my hands off of her.
Because, whether I truly understood it or not, I was interested in her.
In more than a fun, casual way. Or, at least, that was what it felt like.
What the fuck did I know? I had no experience with anything other than casual when it came to women.
I was still waiting to hear back from Sawyer when my phone started to ring on the counter in the kitchen.
I felt a strange swirling tightness in my stomach as I saw Miranda’s name there.
Because something within me told me that she wasn’t willingly calling me to talk about her day or something like that.
Something happened.
“Miranda,” I answered, hearing a choked sound to my own voice.
“Brock,” she responded, voice shaky.
I was already moving through the apartment and out the door.
“Where are you?”
“Work,” she responded in that same uneven voice.
“What happened?”
“Hey, Brock, it’s Cam,” Cam’s voice said.
“Cam, what the fuck is going on?” I asked, taking the elevator down.
“Miranda was attacked.”
“What the fuck do you mean she was attacked?” I asked, racing through the lobby and outside, side-eyeing the doorman as I went, since I still hadn’t marked him off my list. Though, clearly, he was still at work.
“She decided to take a walk to go grab lunch. To clear her head,” he added, and his voice was going lower, like he was trying to keep Miranda from overhearing, and getting her even more worked up.
“And?” I growled, hailing a cab, then throwing myself inside, knowing it would take much longer to use my car and find parking once I got there.
“Someone caught her between buildings and shoved her into the wall.”
“Fuck. Is she hurt?”
“She’s a little scratched up. But I think she’s more freaked out than anything.”
“Was she mugged? Did they take anything?”
“No.”
That was… bizarre.
It wouldn’t have been completely crazy for her to have been targeted to be mugged. Looking like she looked. Wearing the nice shit she wore. Anyone who knew anything about brands would have seen her and known there would be a nice amount of cash in her wallet.
But if they didn’t take anything… what the fuck was the point of attacking her?
I mean, sure. It was the city. Sometimes there were just crazy and violent people around. But just random acts of small amounts of violence weren’t that common.
“Did they say anything to her?” I asked.
“Not that she heard, no.”
“Okay. I’m five minutes away. Can you make sure the security lets me up?”
“Already done,” he said. And of course it was. This was Cam, after all.
“Okay. Try to keep her calm. I’ll be right there.”
My heart was hammering in my chest as we wove through the traffic in the city, the driver clearly overhearing my conversation, and putting a bit of a stick in it.
I’d been in a lot of crazy situations while in the service.
More than a dozen occasions where my life was quite literally on the line, and I don’t ever remember feeling as anxious as I was sitting in the back of a cab, trying to get to Miranda’s side to assure her she was going to be okay, that this was never going to happen again, that I was going to find who did it and make them pay.
I’d scoped out Miranda’s building when I first started the job. It was a massive glass and metal structure that proved just how big of a business she’d built for herself in such as short amount of time.
I’d never been inside before, though.
There was a sprawling lobby with white floors and cozy-looking beige-colored chairs and couches.
Live plants were smattered around. There was art on the walls.
It looked less like a lobby to a billion-dollar business, and more like someone’s living room, if it weren’t for the front desk, the security, and the dozens of people milling around.
“Brock?” the security officer asked as I rushed forward.
He looked shaken up.
Maybe from seeing his boss come rushing back into work, roughed up, and terrified.
“Yeah,” I said, flashing my ID even as he passed me a visitor badge.
“Straight to the top,” he said, waving toward the last elevator.
Unable to stand still, my fingers thrummed on the bar on the side of the elevator as it quietly beeped as it went up the floors until it finally reached the top.
The doors opened to a wide space full of a dozen or so desks. All white. All with the option for being seated or standing, as evidenced by people doing both while pretending to do work, but all casting glances over toward the glass office at the back of the building.
Cam was standing fidgeting at the side of Miranda’s desk where she was sitting with her back to the glass, likely not wanting her employees to see her having a private moment.
I made my way through the rows of desks and right into Miranda’s office, rushing forward to drop down to a squat in front of her.
“Hey, honey,” I said, giving her a soft smile as rage boiled through my system.
Objectively, the damage was minimal. There were some cuts up above her eyebrow and toward her temple. Depending on how hard she hit the wall, it might bruise. And it seemed to have bled a bit, judging by the bloody paper towels in her hand and the drop of it on her shirt.
It was all minor.
But the fucking rage was burning through my system regardless.
Because someone had put their hands on her with the intention of hurting her, of causing some kind of damage.
They’d fucking made her bleed.
And, perhaps just as unforgivable, they’d made her cry.
My hand moved out, closing over the two of hers that were clasped in her lap. The other rose, prodding a bit around the cuts.
“Does this hurt?”
“A little. It’s fine. I’m… fine.”
“You’re not fine,” I shot back. “You were attacked. There’s nothing fine about that. Have you cleaned out these cuts at all?” I asked, getting a short shake of her head. “Cam, do you have a first aid kit around here somewhere?” I asked, glancing back at him.
“Yes, of course,” he said, looking happy to have a task to carry out. “I’ll be right back,” he said, rushing out.
“Miranda,” I called, waiting for her to give me some eye contact. “It’s okay not to have it all together right now. No one is judging you. You aren’t being dramatic. You were attacked. It’s okay to be upset.”
At that, her lower lip wobbled and tears she’d clearly been trying to hold back poured down her cheeks.
“There you go,” I said, slowly getting to my feet, reaching down, and pulling her up, then to my chest, wrapping my arms around her.
It didn’t escape my notice that everyone in her office was watching the interaction, likely putting pieces together, thinking that I was the man in Miranda’s life.
And, hell, maybe that was for the best.
If this was not her super or the doorman, then it was possible it was someone else she knew from work. They would all likely know where she lived and her schedule on any given day.
Perhaps if they thought she wasn’t alone anymore, then she would be safer.
“It’s going to be okay. I’m going to find this fucker,” I assured her as my hand rubbed up and down her back.
“I shouldn’t have gone on a walk alone.”
“Are you really victim-blaming yourself here, sweetheart? It was a busy street in the middle of the day with a shitton of witnesses.” Which was likely the only reason she hadn’t gotten more worked over than she had.
“I don’t understand why…” she said, sniffling hard.
Behind her back, Cam was holding up the first aid kit, and I held up a finger to him, begging for a minute. “Why just grab me, shove me into a wall, and run?”
“My best guess right now is that it’s just to scare you,” I told her.
“Who would hate me that much, though?” she asked, losing some of the sadness, replacing it with fire. “I try really hard to be fair and kind to everyone. I don’t have enemies. I try not ever to fuck anyone over, even in business moves.”
Oh, yeah, she was getting heated if she was cursing. She was usually so careful with how she spoke, never wanting to seem like she was anything other than well-bred and well-raised.
“This isn’t on you. This is on the asshole who is doing this to you,” I assured her, pulling back so I could wipe her cheeks. “You know that.”
“Yeah,” she agreed, taking one slow, deep breath.
“Okay. Sit,” I said, pushing her onto her desk as I waved Cam in.
“Let me clean that up. You might have bruises tomorrow. But if that bothers you, there is some good makeup that can cover it up,” I told her as I opened the first aid kit to find the cleaning wipes and the triple antibiotics. “Cam, are you busy right now?” I asked.
“Not particularly.”
“Can you compile a list of all current and past employees of this company, but have two separate lists for me.”
“Yeah, of course. That’s easy enough. We keep very detailed records. You think it could be someone here?”
“I’m not writing off any options right now. I don’t like the timing of this attack, so I want to look for any red flags around here.”
“If you want, I can also flag some people who have just been a little… problematic,” Cam offered.
“Yeah, but give me details on how they’ve been difficult,” I said, wincing when Miranda let out a whimper as I cleaned the deeper of the cuts.
“Can do,” Cam said, jotting down notes. “I can have all of that to you by the end of day,” he said.
“Appreciate it. Okay, this shit is medicated, so the sting should stop,” I told her as I added the triple antibiotic to some gauze and blotted it to the cuts. “Do you have any important meetings?” I asked.
“No. But I’m not going home either.”
“Why not?” I asked, just barely resisting the urge to sigh at her stubbornness.
“Because if this was someone here, or around here, I don’t want them to think they scared me away, that they won. Even in a small way.”
Okay, well, I had to respect that.
It was important not to let your enemies know they’d even gotten a small victory over you.
“Alright. But stay here, okay?” I demanded. “And by here, I mean in this office. With a couple dozen eyes on you at all times.”
“I can do that,” she agreed, looking relieved to have at least the illusion of safety.
“I am going to be around as well. I am going to check the street. Look for any cameras. If I find them, maybe bribe the footage from the building owners. See if I can come up with a face.”
“Okay,” she agreed, shoulders relaxing at the idea that I was going to be nearby. “And then I will ride home with you. No more going anywhere alone.”
“Agreed,” she said immediately. “Hey Brock?” she called as I made my way to the door.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for coming when I called.”
This was where I was supposed to say something like That’s the job or That’s what you pay me for.
But I didn’t want to make the distinction.
“Anytime you call me, baby, I will come.”
And with that, I was out. Before I could say anything else that was going to further muddy an already murky connection between us.
I had to try to focus on the job.
No matter my growing feelings for the client.