Chapter 6
Six
Bristol
Waves of dizziness rattle over me as I squat down to file papers for my internship. I managed to get a pretty sweet deal, thanks to my mom, Emerson, who works for Eagle Tactical.
She convinced Jaxson to let me intern.
I should be grateful. It’s not that I’m not, it’s more the fact that I’m buried in years of pages that haven’t been filed and organized, and that’s my job.
It’s boring as hell.
At least most of the time, I’m allowed to wear earbuds and can listen to music on my phone. I can thank Ariella, the woman who works here, for talking Jaxson into letting me do that.
I spend all morning sorting through pages and pages of stapled stacks of data, organizing it by name, alphabetically, of course.
Boring work.
But someone has to do it, and as the intern, I get the crappy job.
You should see their filing room—a complete and utter disgrace. The worst part is they have so many filing cabinets that they extend out of the filing room, into the hallway, which is where I’m squatting. My thighs are killing me, and my stomach keeps roiling.
Sweat beads at my forehead as another wave of both nausea and dizziness command me to my ass.
Ariella hurries up out of her chair, her heels clicking over the floor. I know it’s her, because she’s the only one in the office right now.
The guys who work here are all out running some type of job.
I’m not privy to it.
Apparently, it’s above my paygrade, which I’m lucky to even be making minimum wage since I’m getting college credit too.
“Are you okay?” Ariella comes around the corner, offering me a hand.
The stacks of papers I was holding on my knee are tossed on the floor.
“Yeah, just got dizzy for a minute.”
“You look a bit flushed.” Ariella smiles and bends down. “Maybe you should sit for a minute.”
“I’m fine.” I brush off my embarrassment and get back on my feet, grabbing all the pages that scattered. At least the files are still stapled, and I don’t have a bigger mess on my hands. “I’ve got it. Thanks, Ariella.”
“If you need anything.” She points at her desk to remind me where she sits.
“I know. I appreciate that. Thank you.”
Smiling, she stands and retreats to her desk.
I run a hand through my hair and wipe the beads of sweat from my forehead. It didn’t feel overly warm when I came in this morning, but the longer I’m on my feet, the hotter I’ve been getting lately.
Weird.
Maybe it’s something I ate?
I ignore the strangeness and get back to the files. Opening the drawer, I sift through the last names—Russell, Russe, Russo. I’m supposed to be filing a Johnathan Russell, which is a ten-page background check. I pause at the name Russo, Ashleigh.
That’s my bio mom’s name.
Emerson is my mom, for all intents and purposes, but I didn’t even meet her until I was six. She raised me. She’s “Mom.”
But Ashleigh, Dad never speaks about her.
I glance over my shoulder, making sure that Ariella isn’t anywhere around, and I grab the folder, tucking it under the pages I still have to file.
When I have a little more privacy in the filing room, which offers a closed door where almost no one ever enters, I collapse on the floor, a filing cabinet at my back, and I retrieve the folder regarding my biological mother.
I open the contents, glancing them over, curious who requested and ran the report.
Request Made By: Emerson Ryan
That’s my mom who works for Eagle Tactical.
She’s worked for them as long as I can remember.
A few months ago, she transferred to Breckenridge to work out of their field office instead of the New York location.
Emerson is more of a field agent, running surveillance ops.
I’ve also seen her on the news as a bodyguard detail for one of Dad’s clients in New York, the girlfriend of one of his hockey players.
She wasn’t being interviewed or anything, there was just a quick glance of her in the audience next to one of the hockey girlfriends in the stands.
No one else would have noticed, but I have the uncanny ability to overhear my parents’ discussions.
Okay, I like to eavesdrop. Sue me.
I glance over the file. It doesn’t offer too many details that I care about. It lists everything from her rental property, where she lived, the cars she owned. It’s pages of complete and utter crap to me.
I keep scanning, looking for something juicy.
It’s not like I’ve been dying to meet Ashleigh.
The whole not wanting to be in my life part is a downer. I wasn’t adopted. I have an amazing father and a fantastic mother, Emerson.
I just, I don’t know why Ashleigh bailed.
Dad never explained.
Actually, once, he told me that she was nothing more than a surrogate. That he wanted a baby so badly, he had a woman offer to help him.
But the fact he cut ties with her and never even gave me a picture—it’s weird. And the way he always would change the subject when I brought her up, suspicious.
There is a photo of Ashleigh on page seven of the report, and I inhale sharply.
She has my blue eyes. Her hair is darker than mine, almost black, which is a stunning contrast to her eyes. I’d almost think she’s wearing colored contacts if I didn’t have the same eye color.
We share the same jaw structure, her face eerily similar, and I exhale heavily.
My hands tremble as I turn the page, trying to see what else there is to know.
Reason for request: Family history, Antonio Moretti correlation.
What the hell?
Antonio Moretti, as in the Antonio Moretti who is Liam’s father?
Liam, the guy who drives me absolutely bonkers and whom I kissed a few weeks ago when he accidentally found his way to my dorm room.
My stomach falls out of my stomach as I slam the file closed.
Are we related?
I drop the file like it’s on fire and hang my head, nausea sweeping over me.
“No.” This cannot be happening.
I’ve been catching feelings for Liam.
I knew it was trouble.
Those damn tarot cards warned me to stay away from him.
It’s not like I have his phone number or his address. Although, I’m well aware that he attends Evergreen University and I’m at Great Falls College.
Which means no accidentally running into him on campus.
Except for when he showed up unannounced and uninvited at my dorm room after one of his hockey games.
Coincidence?
Doubtful.
But what are the odds that he knew it was my room? He acted as surprised as I felt when I dragged him inside.
He was making a lot of noise, and I don’t need anyone spreading rumors. It’s hard enough when your father is a billionaire and is on the news far too often for his sports involvement.
Dad had to buy the Ice Dragons team because retiring wasn’t an option for him.
It shouldn’t matter to me.
He made it clear to the news and the media that I was off-limits.
I’ve always been off-limits to them, and they’ve mostly kept me out of the papers. He’s done a good job of shielding me from the paparazzi.
Turns out, no one really cares about the famous hockey player’s teenage daughter.
Unlike movie stars, I can live a quiet life.
Mostly.
Until Liam Moretti dropped in, and the next thing I knew, I was kissing him.
Luckily, I quickly regained my senses and shoved him out of my room and ignored his pleas to talk with me. Also, blasting music helped drown him out.
I’ve desperately tried not thinking about Liam lately, which hasn’t gone well. A few times, I’ve opened a tab on the computer and contemplated trying to run a background check on him, but that could get me fired if anyone were to see.
Besides, I don’t exactly have clearance around here, and you need a passcode to access that system.
Which leads me back to the file scattered on the floor that practically burned me when reading.
There’s a connection between Ashleigh and Antonio?
Trembling, I reach for the file.
I have to know.
Because that would put the nail in the coffin with Liam. If we’re related, absolutely nothing could ever happen.
I open the file, this time skimming bits about Ashleigh until I find information on her relatives and family members.
Siblings: Antonio Moretti
No.
It can’t be.
My breath catches in my throat, the room spins. Thankfully, I’m already on my ass, my back against the cabinets as I slam my eyes shut.
Tears threaten to surface.
Why am I this upset over something so trivial?
Because I clearly like him.
The fact that I’ve been thinking about him non-stop proves that to me, but I keep wanting to deny it.
Well, it doesn’t matter.
If Liam and I are related, then obviously nothing can ever happen.
I toss the file across the room, the staple tearing and the pages scattering haphazardly.
“Fuck!”