Chapter 23
Happy Valentine's Day
Kiki
After the ‘dinosaur incident’, as I’ve taken to calling it, I put distance between Eddie and me. We’re polite, exchanging cordial pleasantries and the occasional question about the job, always keeping our answers brief and to the point.
It’s safer that way. I understand his stance with Theo, I do, but it splintered my heart to hear his little boy thought I didn’t want to be his friend anymore.
If he only knew the truth. How desperately I miss them both in my life.
At least work keeps me busy.
As soon as the crew finished the bathroom and living room, it was my turn to step in and handle the design side of things.
At first, I thought it was going to be a never-ending battle.
Nolan Montague micromanaged everything—every single detail, down to things as minor as the thread count on the drapery lining.
Look, I get it. The man is pouring an obscene amount of money into this restoration. Of course he wants to be involved in bringing the vision to life.
But it’s a hell of a lot harder when you’re operating in different time zones.
Most of our communication happened over video calls, scheduled at his convenience, which, for the record, was never convenient for me, and translated into sixteen-hour days on the job site.
I fully expected that level of micromanagement to continue for every room—Nolan overseeing every decision and dragging the process out step by painstaking step.
But then the strangest thing happened.
After we finished the living room, he walked the space and took it all in. Then he looked at me and said, “Okay. The rest of the designs are on you.”
Just like that.
I guess it was some sort of test. Because apparently, I need to keep proving myself these days.
Now I send updates, and more often than not, I get a quick ‘looks good’ or a thumbs-up in response. Seems I’ve earned his trust.
The truth is, I don’t actually mind the long hours.
I started bringing Gus along with me so he wouldn’t be alone all the time. I figured, since he’s an older pup and prefers sleeping over running around like a lunatic, he wouldn’t get in anyone’s way.
Turns out, he’s one hell of a therapy dog.
The crew took to him immediately, and he soaked up the attention, but there was one person he was most excited to see.
The second Eddie walked in, Gus’s tail started wagging so hard his entire back end got involved. Eddie’s face broke into a smile as he dropped into a crouch, scratching behind Gus’s ears and telling him he was the bestest boy.
I lost count of the number of times I found Gus parked at Eddie’s side. Not bothering him. Not pawing or whining. Just sitting there like being close was enough.
And every few minutes, without fail, Eddie’s hand would drop to offer another scratch behind the ears, another absentminded pat on the head.
Eddie may have a problem with me being on the job site.
But Gus is more than welcome.
Plus, there’s another reason I don’t mind the long hours. Another reason I spend most of my time here, even if I can barely admit it to myself.
The cabin, once my only sanctuary, has taken on this ominous feeling. Not dangerous exactly.
Just… off.
And nothing specific has happened, beyond a handful of calls from Drake’s lawyer, imploring me in his measured tone to do what’s “best for everyone.”
But have you ever felt like someone was watching you?
And then you turn, and there’s no one there?
That’s what the cabin feels like now. All the time.
I don’t know if it’s my brain in overdrive or if I’m finally realizing how many threats can live in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to emerge.
Let’s be honest. What exactly am I going to do about it? Fight them off with a mop? Sic Gus on them and hope for the best? I don’t own a gun, not that I’d know how to use one if I did. And I highly doubt waving around a butter knife is going to send anyone running.
So I stay where I feel safer.
And that’s here onsite.
Right before the job started, Nolan had state-of-the-art security installed across the entire property.
The kind of setup you’d expect in a federal building, not a private residence.
Cameras everywhere. Coverage so tight you probably couldn’t fart without it being logged, time-stamped, and analyzed.
Overkill, to be sure, but at least I know if someone makes it through the system, there’ll be a record of it—a trail, someone to go after. Which, honestly, feels like the best-case scenario these days.
Or maybe I’m being ridiculous. Too little food, too little sleep, and too little sex is turning me into someone I don’t particularly want to know.
All I have to do is survive until the trial and then… well, who the fuck knows what then?
Hopefully my life will improve, but I’m done waiting for miracles.
I’ve always hated Valentine’s Day. Even when I was happily coupled, I couldn’t stand the holiday. There’s something stilted about being forced to prove your love on one designated day of the year.
But it’s downright loathsome this year, especially as I watch Romy bounce around the job site, happy as a Disney character, collecting bouquets of flowers like she’s starring in her own romantic comedy.
Deliveries keep showing up, one right after another, and for all I know, every single one of them is from Eddie.
I’ve counted five so far. Who the hell gets five bouquets of flowers on Valentine’s Day? I swear to God.
But my real low point arrives when she marches over to my desk and sets one down on the corner, a bright, cheerful arrangement of sunflowers and dahlias. “Here you go. Why don’t you take one?”
Dear God, she’s pawning her unwanted flowers off on me.
I force a smile, biting the inside of my cheek hard to keep any nasty barbs from slipping out, because she doesn’t deserve them. None of this is her fault. My love life—or lack thereof—isn’t on her. None of it is. Even if she is sleeping with the man I love.
But Romy, being Romy, doesn’t seem to notice the tension tightening my shoulders. She perches on the edge of my desk and idly plays with the petals of her donated bouquet. “So, are you doing anything for Valentine’s Day?”
A sharp laugh breaks out of me. “Yeah. Me, a pint of ice cream, and my dog. It’s going to be a banner night.”
She wrinkles her nose. “That’s unacceptable. I love Gus, we all do, but you need a better date than that.”
No shit, Sherlock. But I only want one man, and because the universe is a sadistic bitch, I’m not allowed to have him.
“We’re all going out,” she continues. “Big group. You should come with us.”
I hesitate, my mind running through worst-case scenarios like a horror reel.
I haven’t the slightest clue what this group outing will consist of.
Will it be a bunch of twenty-five-year-old beauties discussing their non-existent wrinkles and their need for Botox?
Some Hollywood elite flapping their money under my nose when I can barely afford a slice of pizza?
Or the guys from the crew, where I get a front-row seat to watch her flirt with Eddie—and, just for fun, Eddie flirt right back with her?
Hard pass.
Any and all of those options sound far more painful than spending the night basking in my loneliness with my dog by my side and a pint of chocolate chip cookie dough on my lap.
“I appreciate it, I really do,” I say, keeping my tone light even as I fight every word. “But I’m not much fun to be around anymore.”
“Oh, come on. You could be.”
No, I really couldn’t.
But I don’t say that part out loud, because that opens the door to questions I have no intention of answering. Instead, I shrug and go with my standard fallback. “I’ll think about it, okay?”
Romy knows it’s a lie, but she lets it go. Leaning in, she presses a quick kiss to my cheek. “Cheer up. Oh, and just so you know, Nolan’s coming later. Figured he’d surprise you.”
Of course he is.
She bounces off toward the front of the house, and I wait until she’s gone before dropping my forehead onto the desk with a soft thud.
“Fantastic,” I mutter. “Just what I need today.”
Nolan arrives a couple of hours later, sweeping in with a caravan of people in tow.
I’ve never met anyone who travels with so many assistants.
At this point, I’m half convinced he has people on payroll just to tie his shoes for him.
Not that the man isn’t capable of doing it himself, but when you have that kind of money, people get creative with how they use it.
He steps inside, taking in the space before his gaze cuts to me, dragging slowly over my khakis and old sweatshirt.
“Ah,” he says, a hint of teasing in his tone. “Dressing for the job site now, I see.”
Great. Here we go.
I brush my hands against my pants, noting the bright turquoise paint smudge near my knee. “I would have dressed up, but I wasn’t expecting you today.”
He waves a hand at me, dismissing the concern entirely. “I don’t care what you look like.” He gestures loosely around the room. “I care what the house looks like. Besides, life’s too short for uncomfortable attire.”
Right. Tell that to your assistant teetering around in stilettos and a micro mini. In February.
It’s then he spies Gus, curled up by my desk. Their eyes meet, and Gus’s tail gives a slow, hopeful thump against the wood.
Shit. I definitely wouldn’t have brought him today if I’d known Nolan was coming.
“I’m sorry. I’ve been working longer hours, and he’s older, and I didn’t want to leave him alone—” The words trip over each other in their rush to escape my mouth.
Nolan holds up a hand, cutting me off before I can dig myself any deeper. Then, without another word, he crosses the room and crouches down in front of Gus. “Well, aren’t you a handsome guy,” he murmurs, scratching behind his ears.
Talk about being caught completely off guard. That was not the reaction I expected.
And Gus, traitor that he is, leans into Nolan’s attention. Apparently, this is his new favorite human. Eddie? Eddie who?