Chapter 23
JORDAN
Once again, Libby and I are back where we started when we got to Ellie’s house two days ago: staring at the bed.
Libby insists that I will take the bed because I’m bigger and it makes sense.
I insist that she take the bed because I am a gentleman and there’s no way I’m making her sleep on the couch.
Libby has already told me that Ellie knows the truth, and she will most certainly tell Will, but neither of them will say a word about it.
Ellie has offered to prepare Emmeline’s room for me, and she can sleep with Kat.
But that will raise questions with the girls, and they’re in the spotlight with their parents enough that it’s not a good idea.
So here we are.
I draw in a deep breath, prepared to sacrifice for the woman I know will not back down on this bed thing. “We’ll both sleep in the bed,” I say with a firm nod.
“Jord…” She shakes her head. She doesn’t want to make me uncomfortable or push the limits after what I admitted yesterday. That’s been mentioned multiple times tonight. “I can’t do that to you.”
She’s already doing it to me. The bed situation won’t change how much I want her. “Are you uncomfortable sleeping in this gigantic bed with me?” I ask gently.
More blushing, which sets fire to my insides. “No,” she replies in a soft voice. I almost don’t catch her next words. They’re barely above a whisper. “I trust you enough.”
“Okay. We both sleep in the bed; no more arguments.”
She quirks a brow. “You putting your foot down?”
“Absolutely.”
“Fine,” she huffs. “But I’m building a pillow wall.”
“What is a pillow wall?”
She gets onto the bed and starts stacking pillows down the middle. “This,” she says as she lays them out. “It will keep me from accidentally sleep-cuddling you.” She kneels on her side, hands on her hips, and eyes the pillow wall with satisfaction.
I’ll take accidental sleep-cuddling over no cuddling, but Libby makes the rules. “Looks great.”
She sits back. “I’m sorry—”
I hold up a hand, stopping her. “You don’t need to apologize.
I told you last night because I wanted to be honest. I didn’t want you to realize at some point and think that I was using you or our relationship for my own …
satisfaction.” I scrub the back of my neck in embarrassment at pointing my physical desires out.
“No more apologizing for it, okay? We’re honest with each other. ”
She nods at me. “Okay.”
I wake up around midnight—it’s like sleeping at a hotel. No one gets their best sleep in an unfamiliar place—to find that Libby has moved to the couch. I get up and stalk over, standing above her.
“Libby Bennet,” I say firmly, to wake her up.
Her eyes fly open, and when she sees me towering above her, she has the decency to look sheepish. “It wasn’t fair to you,” she says.
“I will not be able to sleep on that bed if you’re on the couch.” I hold out a hand toward the bed, where the pillow wall is still intact. “And that pillow wall is epic. Can you please be a good girl and get back into bed?”
A blush rises in her cheeks. I hear the way that sounded—back into bed. Like we share one every night. Like we’re a real couple.
“Fine,” she says. She gathers up her things and stalks back to the bed. She plops down on it, lying as close to the edge as she can without falling off.
“Libby.”
She eyes me with a challenge that says, Here or the couch. Take your pick.
I sigh and round the bed to my side. I lie back down. “I trust you,” I say softly. “That you are never going to hurt me. We’re going to be fine.”
“Okay,” she says softly into the dark.
Thursday morning, I head over to our apartment in LoHi to meet with the landlord and get our keys.
Libby has more meetings, and although I plan to head down to the arena sometime today to watch practice again, I’ve got time to settle all this.
Libby will sleep better tonight knowing we’re not sharing a bed again.
The apartment is in a historic brick building that’s been remodeled into high-end apartments.
Ours has two levels, though several in the building are smaller and there are even some studios.
When I step into the living room, I see that our stuff has already been delivered by the movers.
They’ll be coming back later today to unpack, although I told Libby I could do it.
She said there were perks to being rich and I should get used to stuff like this.
I head upstairs to the two bedrooms. My bed sits in the guest room, but the boxes of all my belongings are in the master bedroom down the hall.
Originally, we intended to keep all my things in the master in case Ellie and her family came by—Libby was sure her older sister would snoop. That’s a moot point now.
I can’t help eyeing all the windows, though.
Since marrying Libby, I’ve realized how easy it is for photographers to snap shots even when we think we’re alone.
There are cream-colored shades on the windows, so I immediately pull them down in both the bedrooms. Then I head downstairs and get out my laptop.
Caleb Gallagher is looking into getting me the reports on Bryce’s accounts, but it’s probably going to take time.
In the meantime, I need to see if I can get more information from these applicants.
I call Baylee’s ex, Mitchell Hurst, first. He doesn’t answer, which isn’t surprising. I doubt he has my number in his phone. I leave a quick message, and just as I finish my LetsEat order for lunch to be delivered, he calls back.
“Hey, Jordan. Good to hear from you,” he says as a greeting.
I summon my most cheerful Jordan from Redhaven Foundation voice. “Hey, Mitchell. Thanks for calling me back. We got your application. Sorry to hear that Bryce got to you too.”
“Thanks, bro,” Mitchell says, and I cringe. “Your message says you had some follow-up questions?” His tone is calm and has nothing to indicate he’s worried about what I might ask.
“Here’s the thing—legally, we can’t disburse funds without documentation. Can you send over your bank information, and we’ll get with them to check on this? I definitely want to help you recoup the funds. That’s not pocket change.”
“No, it’s not.” His tone is rueful. “But I’ve already tried. Honestly, it’s been so frustrating. The thing is, it’s from an account that I closed shortly after, and although the bank is still supposed to have records, they can’t find it.”
Talk about red flags. I arch an eyebrow, glad he can’t see me. Mitchell is the largest new claim we have by far—the rest are all small potatoes compared to his $500,000 claim. And he thinks I’m just going to dole out cash based on his word? He’s still as stupid as he was back in high school.
“Hmmm,” I say instead. “That is frustrating. You mind giving me the bank information anyway? I have to check in on it, you know?”
There’s a pause. “Yeah, of course. I’ll dig up the contact information and text you back.”
“Perfect.” Except something tells me this is still off. I shake the thought out of my head—for now. I can be cautious about this, but I also need to see this through as though Mitchell is telling the truth. Just because I didn’t like him back in high school doesn’t mean he’s lying to me now.
“I’ll be in touch,” Mitchell says, and then hangs up.
I try to shake off the way this whole thing is making my skin crawl and move on to the next name.