25. Everything Changed
EVERYTHING CHANGED
“So things are going well with you and Fletcher?” London asked two days later.
Paris turned and lifted her eyebrow at her sister’s question.
It was the end of the day.
She was tired and sick of everything going on around her.
Or the fact she felt less in control and it was making her ornerier than normal.
“They’re fine now.”
“Sorry about Sunday. It was just too hard to pass up.”
She turned to her sister in the Uber they had bringing them home.
She would have been fine walking, even in the rain, but her twin didn’t want to ruin her shoes.
Maybe if her sister paid attention to the forecast like Paris did and planned, that wouldn’t have been an issue.
She almost pointed that out while they waited for a ride, but told herself it’d only result in London reading more into it.
“You just love finding someone to bust on.”
London nudged her arm. “Be a good sport. Fletcher took it well. He really opened up more than I thought.”
“He purposely stayed quiet to egg you on,” she argued.
If she wasn’t so frustrated over everything going on in her life, she might have appreciated that more.
“I know,” London said cheerfully. “It was great. To me he was his normal robotic self until I caught that little tender move. Then you know, everything changed.”
Yep. Everything did.
In one move. One heartbeat. One tender kiss.
The man who she’d wondered if he was part machine-part man months ago proved to her he was human.
Not just his conversations about his son.
How he’d been with her that day.
Teasing again. Sure.
Did she like that about him? That he could let loose and show a different side?
Hell yeah.
Did she enjoy she could make him lose his control when they were together?
Yep. And it’d be her little secret for now.
But that soft touch of his hand down the side of her face. The look in his eyes said that he cared.
Those were the things she wanted in a man.
It was like he knew the right things at the right times to let it spill out.
“He’s got a lot of layers to him,” she said. Traffic was crazy right now. They could have walked faster and then she wouldn’t have to be stuck in this car for the conversation her sister was determined to have.
“So I’ve witnessed. It’s like he knows exactly when to give just enough,” London said, studying her sister’s face like she was solving a puzzle. “You look different.”
Paris rolled her eyes. “I look tired.”
“You look on edge. You know, like if I was looking in the mirror.”
She turned her head slowly. “No need to insult me.”
London grinned, completely unbothered by the comment. “I’m just saying. You’re kind of touchy for a woman getting... touched.”
“I am not touchy,” she argued. Which of course proved the point right there because most times she’d just hum and walk away.
Not that she could walk anywhere stuck in traffic.
“You impatiently tapped your foot waiting for our coffee order this morning,” London insisted. “That’s me, not you. Then you rolled your eyes when I wanted a ride home rather than walk.”
She stared out the Uber window as rain streaked down the glass.
Her finger tapped the window. “A little rain hurt no one.”
“Only my shoes,” London said, picking up her suede pump.
Her sister had a point.
“Next time bring sneakers to change into.”
“Or,” London argued, “we get a ride.”
She looked at her watch. “This traffic is crazy.”
“There’s an accident up ahead,” the driver said. “I’m going to turn at the next street.”
“He’s good with you,” London added more quietly. “I saw that.”
She didn’t answer right away.
“He’s good,” she said finally. “And yes. Things are fine. Or they are with us. It’s early. I told you. Things are complicated, but maybe they will settle down.”
London’s grin returned instantly. As if she just handed over a can, the opener, and was waiting for the worms to crawl out.
“So when do I get to find out more about the teenage son?”
“Don’t ask. I don’t even know that much.”
“I’m just curious,” London said, her voice carrying that telltale sign that this conversation was far from over. “How old is his son again?”
She regretted telling her sister so much on Sunday. But it wasn’t like she had much of a choice once Fletcher left.
It was as if it was open market season and London wasn’t leaving the store until she was loaded down with everything she wanted.
“Sixteen.”
“Ah,” London nodded thoughtfully. “Prime ‘I hate my dad’ years.”
She smiled despite herself. “From what I’ve gathered, they’re solid.”
At least now.
But she was positive it hadn’t been like that for years.
Just one of those things she didn’t want to pry out of Fletcher too soon.
She took him as the type of guy to talk when he was ready.
Kind of like their relationship and how long it took to get where they were.
And maybe that was weighing on her mind also.
That they could still be circling the wagons of attraction if he wasn’t “assigned” to her.
“That’s good,” London said. “It tells you a lot about a man, how he is with his kids.”
“I’m not evaluating him for marriage,” she muttered.
“Not yet,” London sang out.
She elbowed London just as the Uber slowed in front of their building. If anyone needed to be teased about marriage it was her sister who was headlong in love with Spencer.
But if she did that, it’d be like handing over a second can as her sister was still waving the opener around.
They hurried under the awning, London lifting her coat over her head to shield her hair.
“You’re ridiculous,” she said.
“And dry,” London countered, looking down. “My shoes too.”
They stepped into the lobby, shaking off the rain from their clothing.
“Ms. Westerly?” the concierge called. “There’s something here for you.”
Both of them turned.
The woman at the service desk held up an envelope.
The two of them walked over. They still weren’t sure which one was supposed to get it.
But deep down, her stomach swirled, twisted, and wanted to spin up her throat.
This wasn’t mailed. No postage on it. Only dropped off.
Her name written across the front in thick black marker.
She was pretty sure any color drained from her face in an instant.
She reached her hand forward and took the envelope that had been placed on the counter.
It wasn’t going to cut her.
Though it sure the hell felt like it.
“Was this delivered just now?”
“About twenty minutes ago,” the woman said. “A man dropped it off. He didn’t leave a name. They never do.”
Her chest tightened. Her throat almost choking her.
Stupid since it’d been weeks with nothing.
Since the rat in a box.
“Paris,” London said under her breath. “Don’t open that here.”
She held it by the corner now. Not sure why she didn’t think before she picked it up. But the woman in front of her at the desk had touched it. And the person who delivered it.
“Let’s take it upstairs,” London said evenly.
That was her sister. The protector. The shield.
The one who would take a bullet while Paris calmly tried to talk someone down.
But the dread had already settled.
She nodded her head, they turned and went to the elevator, the paper in her hand shaking as she tried to steady her nerves.
London went to snatch it away, but Paris held it back. “No,” she hissed. “No one else should touch it.”
“It’s probably junk. You’re reading too much into this.”
Her sister was most likely right.
She wanted her sister to be right.
The minute they opened the door to their apartment, she put her stuff on the kitchen island, didn’t remove her jacket, didn’t kick off her shoes.
Didn’t do anything other than slide her finger under the sealed triangle and run it across.
The single sheet of paper came out. She held it by the very edge and it opened from where it was folded over.
Keep looking.
“What the hell?” she said. “First they said to stop and now they want me to continue. This is like a mind fuck.”
“At least it’s not a threat,” London said. “But you should still call Fletcher.”
She laid the sheet down, pulled out her phone, found his name, hit the button.
His voice came over quickly. “What’s going on, Paris?”
“I got another note left downstairs.”
“Did you open it?”
“Yes. Otherwise I wouldn’t have known what it said,” she said dryly.
“Are you alone?” he asked. She could hear him moving around, then a door shut.
“No. London is with me.”
“I’m on the way. Stay put.”
He hung up.
Not a “Bye.”
Not a “Relax.”
Not even “Are you okay?”
“Well, the good news is, you get to see your boyfriend tonight,” London said.
“Not the way I would have wanted to though. I’m going to shower and change.”
And let out a few screams where no one would hear her.