Chapter 29
Morgan
I can't determine when the sense of foreboding settled completely inside me, but a hint of it started the second I woke up alone in Robert's bed.
I chalked it up to disappointment in being unable to snuggle in his arms before facing the day.
Then I went to the conference room, and although I couldn't put my finger on exactly what was wrong, the entire interaction seemed off, a little stilted. There felt like there was distance between us that didn't exist before I fell asleep in his arms.
Being a woman, of course, I overanalyzed things, which led to internalizing things. The realization that I'm not as healthy and the whole image of my self-worth was just an additional hit to my psyche that I didn't need today.
I don't think I've ever been disappointed by not being a person's number one priority, but I felt a tinge of that this morning when he didn't drop what he was doing because I wanted to spend time with him. That disappointment made me realize just how egotistical it was to even expect that from him, despite it not making me feel any better about myself.
I figured it would be good to go to work and put a little distance between us because how I feel about the man is unprecedented, and it makes me a little uneasy.
Work has absolutely sucked. I guess I could've still called in even though he told me he would be busy all day. I could've easily taken the day for myself, but the sting of his rejection motivated me to get showered, dressed, and ready for the day.
My irritation grew slightly when I went to the conference room to tell him bye, only to find it empty. It felt like a slap in the face, and I overanalyzed that on the entire drive to the office in the silent SUV because Bandera didn't seem interested in talking to me this morning either.
While at work, I got no messages from Robert. As the day progressed, I grew incredibly annoyed, thinking that he might've been watching me on camera in silence. Although I couldn't do anything about the cameras in the office, I placed a sticky note over the camera on my computer screen, knowing how juvenile it was.
My feelings were hurt, and I didn't understand why.
The drive back to the house was just as silent as the morning drive in, and by the time I climbed out of the SUV, I was vibrating with the irritation that had been growing inside of me all day.
I have no idea why I've let myself get so worked up today, but the annoyance I let settle for the day with no contact from him is still swimming inside me when I get into the house. I arrow toward the conference room without a single clue as to what I'll even say to the man when I see him.
I know the level of self-toxicity I'm dealing with. I know the man told me he was going to be busy today. I know that I've formulated a lot of shit in my head, created all these scenarios with very little evidence to base them on, but that doesn't change my mood one bit.
I deflate the second I enter the conference room and find it empty.
Maybe not seeing him when I'm wound so tight is the best thing. I know confronting him for literally doing nothing just because I seem to be in a mood I can't control isn't exactly sane.
When I turn to head toward the stairs with every intention of sulking in my borrowed room, I find Robert standing across the room, halfway between his office and the kitchen, watching me.
There's no smile on his face when he spots me. If anything, he looks more than a little disappointed at the sight of me.
I fight the urge to run my hands over my hair or swipe at my face in fear of something being on it.
"Hey," I say, my voice weaker than it should be, considering how irked I was just a minute ago.
"Morgan," he says in a way that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. "We need to talk."
As if summoning the entire household, the echo of loud boots swarms around me as every person who lives here except Kaylee walks toward me.
"Please," Bandera says, swiping an arm, indicating that he wants me to go back into the conference room.
"What's going on?" I ask even though my body is turning to obey his command without thought.
Bandera pulls out a chair for me, and my entire body shakes as I step forward to take a seat.
"Did something happen to Kaylee?" I ask, barely managing to keep a sob from bubbling up my throat.
"Kaylee is fine," Heathen assures me, his face not giving a single hint as to what's going on. "We just need to have a chat."
"A chat?" I ask as I settle into the chair. "No one has spoken, and it already feels like an interrogation."
No one chuckles or assures me that it isn't as they take their own seats. From the corner of my eye, I can see Robert settling into his desk chair, most of his body hidden by the massive row of computer screens. It feels staged and intentional that I can't fully see him, and it makes me wonder if the anxiety I'm starting to feel by not being able to watch him or look him in the eye is part of their plan to make me anxious.
"Tell me about Henry Stewart," Bandera says, more than a slight hint of demand in his voice.
My brows draw together. "Like what?"
"Like everything," Whiskey suggests.
I look to my right, trying to see Robert, but he has shifted his body, hiding completely behind the screens. I want to growl at him and accuse him of being a coward for letting this happen to me, but the insidious thought that he got close just to manipulate me begins to ring as alarms in my mind.
I swallow, trying to force away the pain and disappointment I'm feeling as I stiffen my back and make a point to look each man at the table in the eye. Twisted is the only one who looks even a little uncomfortable about this confrontation, but I know better than to think the man would be on my side in anything. Not when it's a choice between his teammates and me. I have no delusions about where I stand with them as they all glare at me like I'm hiding something.
"The first time you met him," Bandera prods.
"Was outside of the Thai restaurant," I respond. "Like I told you the first time I was asked."
"You were there with another man," Whiskey clarifies. "And you took Henry's number outside?"
"Correct," I all but growl.
"And then, within an hour, you were already sending him nude photos of yourself," Whiskey continues.
There's not much in life that I have felt shame for. I've always been a live-and-let-live type of girl, but the way he says it with that high-and-mighty inflection in his voice makes me question my life decisions. That, in turn, really pisses me off.
"I'm an adult," I snap. "I don't have to justify my consensual actions."
I sense Robert shifting his weight in his chair, but I refuse to look over at him. He's clearly not the man I thought he was if he's going to sit there silently and let these men treat me this way.
"And you were intimate with him less than twenty-four hours after the phone number exchange," Bandera says.
"If you know everything, then why am I sitting here being grilled about it?" I ask, my eyes once again sweeping over every man in the room except Robert. "You just want more details? Want me to tell you that he was a selfish lover? That he didn't make me come? That his brother did more with his fingers last night than Henry did with his entire body? Slut shaming, is that what this is? Because I have better things to do with my life."
"I want to know when you really met Henry Stewart and what the real plans were for infiltrating Cerberus," Whiskey says, his voice sinister and full of warning.
His mood doesn't block the confusion that hits me right in the chest.
"What?"
"I didn't stutter," Whiskey says. "Why are you here?"
"I was brought here!" I yell, my emotions taking over. "I didn't ask for this. I said I wanted to go home, but I was urged to stay. Don't turn this shit around on me."
"You're a plant. Someone Henry put here for a reason, and we want to know what it is," Bandera says, his voice so even it scares me.
I rub at the cold chills racing up my arms, but it does nothing to make them go away.
"I'm not," I argue. "A plant? Are all of you insane? In what world? This isn't a fucking Jason Bourne movie or something."
Not one man at the table looks as if they believe me. Twisted still looks uncomfortable as hell, but he's no closer to speaking up in my defense than Robert is.
"Explain the text messages," Whiskey demands.
"You have access to them," I remind him. "I'm sure you all got a good look at the pictures I sent."
"I want to know about the deleted ones," Bandera says.
"What? I didn't delete text messages."
"Really?" Whiskey says. "Explain these then."
The massive television mounted on the wall comes to life, image after image of a text message exchange flashing on the screen.
My brows draw closer and closer together as I read them, not a single one familiar.
It spells out a plan to ruin Robert's life, to make him fall in love with me, only to turn around and spend the rest of my life with Henry.
Tears fill my eyes as I read, my head shaking of its own volition.
"I can deny I sent those texts," I manage without sobbing. "But I doubt any of you would believe me. I'd like to go home now."
I stand from the table and walk out the door.
Not a single person tries to stop me.