Chapter Eleven
With another long workday done, Chelsea let her weary eyes slide shut the moment she’d shifted into park in her condo’s parking space. All she had to do was make it through the next day, and the weekend would open its arm and save her.
Daily tasks in the office had never been so exhausting, and she’d never had such a bad day.
The bad luck started before she walked in the front door and had crashed into a maintenance man and his bottle of paint stripper.
The noxious odor made her sick to her stomach all day.
Calhoun gave her the worst looks, as if she wanted to smell like a toxic waste dump.
Don’t fumes like that give people cancer? Brain tumors? Nosebleeds?
Chelsea hadn’t been able to change into a backup pair of sweats because she’d had to make a court appearance late in the afternoon.
When she returned to the office, Calhoun had made adjustments. She could work on Zee Zee Mars as long as Mac was looped in on every single angle.
One look at Mac, and she knew he didn’t want anything to do with Mars. She could see his resentment, and lectures would inevitably stem from the change in their partnership.
At Calhoun’s direction, she and Mac stepped into a conference room, and Chelsea wasted their time explaining what Mac didn’t seem to give two hoots about. His eyes glazed over when she pinpointed her hunches and mentioned assumptions.
When Mac couldn’t have seemed any more disinterested, she’d asked, “Why didn’t you tell Calhoun I had this handled?”
He’d shrugged and responded that Mars was a good investigation to tie his name to.
His admission had shattered a large slice of respect she held for him. That coupled with how she never understood his aversion to this investigation’s reliance on gut reaction. Zee Zee Mars would be found no other way.
Chelsea rubbed her hands into the hollows of her eyes and summoned enough motivation to get out of her vehicle and go to her condo.
Knock. Knock. “Hey.”
Chelsea jerked, earning a small laugh from Liam, then a quick wave.
She opened the door. “You wouldn’t be grinning if you realized how close you came to becoming acquainted with my door.”
His lips curled up, and he moved to the side, allowing her to step out. “You wouldn’t have.”
“I would’ve if I didn’t recognize you.”
“But you did.” He waited for her to pull out her purse then shut the driver’s door. “Catlike reflexes.”
She scowled. “I might still, just because.”
“Because you like breaking stuff?” He chuckled, taking a playful defensive step back.
The queso incident would never be forgotten. Volcanic embarrassment rocketed up her spine.
Her cell phone rang, and she used the phone call to change the subject. Unknown number. She silenced the call and turned back to Liam. “Why are you hanging out in my parking lot?”
“I wanted to check on you.” He gave her an undecipherable look. “Did you know that glass shards can travel inside your body?”
Her face puckered.
“It could take years for a sliver to come out.”
“That’s why you’re here?”
“It sounds problematic—and gross.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t have glass shards coursing through my body.”
“Would you know?” he asked.
Chelsea rolled her eyes even if somewhat amused. “That’s why you’re here?”
Ignoring her question, he said, “Sometimes they pop out. Like a pimple.”
“Ew, Liam.” But that shouldn’t embarrass her after the queso-throwing incident. “I’ll keep an eye out for unexpected blemishes.” She turned toward her condo building, and he fell into step with her, so she stopped. “Do you have other first-aid fun facts?”
“I had a shitty day.”
Oh. Chelsea offered a sympathetic nod. “I can relate.”
He ambled forward, and she caught up as they crossed the parking lot and stepped onto the sidewalk.
“And I did some Googling.” Glancing down, he gave a wry smile. “Glass jar wounds. Cheese sauce poisonings—”
Chelsea elbowed him.
“Ooffh.” He covered his ribs, sidestepping out of striking zone. “Easy there, killer.”
“Watch out, or someone’ll be able to Google death by funny bone.”
Unafraid, Liam slid back to her side. “Ha, ha.”
They hit the stairs to the second-floor walkup and stopped at her condo door. She pulled out her keys. “Why’d you have a shitty day?”
He sobered. “I had a meeting with this… lady.”
Twisting the key in the door, she said, “I hear those are scary.”
He quietly chuckled. “She has an ice chest instead of a heart.”
They stepped inside. Chelsea dropped her purse and tossed her keys on a small table. “Ah, that makes more sense.”
“Nothing about her makes sense.” Looking around the room, Liam said, “I expected you to be more organized.”
“You’ve never been in here?” She tried to think of a time he had been, but with Julia’s unit in the same complex and so close, that was where he’d met them if they were going out.
Occasionally, he’d picked Julia up from her unit, but he never came upstairs.
“Huh.” She extended her hand, exaggerating the gesture. “Then welcome.”
He eyed her pile of junk mail next to the keys.
Chelsea shrugged. “I don’t check voicemails, and I don’t do junk mail either.”
“You’re just a regular rebel, huh?” Liam walked across the small entryway to the living room and fell onto the couch.
“Make yourself at home.”
He stretched his arms out. “How was your day?”
She snorted.
“That good, huh?”
“I’d classify mine as awful also.”
“Mean ice-chest ladies?”
She smiled. “Nope. Overbearing men.”
“I’ve heard that type exists.”
She laughed and realized it was the first time all day she enjoyed a conversation. That said a lot about how her partnership with Mac was deteriorating and how she appreciated Liam’s unannounced drop-by.
They weren’t friends. Liam could be classified more like an associate or maybe an acquaintance, though that seemed too impersonal.
Wait! Liam was at her condo and not patrolling the Nymans. Had he let go of the depressing and impossible need to fix the past? She wanted to ask but didn’t want to rehash what had happened.
“You know what?” he asked.
“If you tell me another glass-shard-pimple fact, I’m going to throw you out.”
His wide chest lifted with a stifled laugh. “We need to get drunk.”
Her eyebrow arched. “I’m sorry. What?”
“We need a drink. Preferably a shitload of them.”
“We don’t.”
“I do.”
Well, she wasn’t going to tell him to go drink alone. But maybe she was too practical for weekday drinking. “I could make you a smoothie.”
His eyebrow arched.
“They’ve been known to do the trick.”
“Unless your smoothies include tequila, triple sec, a couple limes—”
“I’m not making you a margarita!”
“I’m more of a bourbon or beer guy, anyway.” He narrowed his eyes. “And you’re what? Gumdrops? Lemon drops? Whatever they’re called?”
She dropped on the couch next to him, cocking her head.
“I know you drink.” He faced her. “You might not curse, but I know you drink.”
“I curse.”
“Yeah, what the Scooby Snacks did that snickerdoodle do isn’t—”
Chelsea smacked his arm. “Oh, excuse me that I employ a little creativity to liven up the day.”
“If you think calling out fudge berries is great, you have to let me introduce you to my good friend tequila.” He leaned close and whispered, “That asshole really knows how to liven up a day.”
“I know tequila,” she insisted.
“Do you?” He tilted his chiseled jaw.
“Promise. But I’m not going anywhere tonight.”
“All right.” Liam clucked and pushed off the couch. “Your loss.”
Disappointment swelled in her chest. She wanted their laughter to linger. “Some other time?”
“Sure.” His shot-down grin mirrored how her chest felt, but he headed to the door. “Whenever. Let me know.”
Chelsea stood. Remorse pushed her to rush. With quick steps to catch up, they bumped when he slowed and turned.
“Whoops.” Flustered, she took a step back. “Sorry.”
The slight space separating them was still too close, and Liam had to look down.
Chelsea inched back again, flush and offering another apology.
Hope brightened his emerald eyes. “Change your mind?”
Had she? Her heartbeat drummed. Chelsea swallowed, not sure why she’d hurried to the door. “Well, um—Are you going home?”
He pursed his lips, not as though he were thinking over his options, but maybe as if he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say.
Chelsea wrapped her hand around his arm. Instantaneous warmth spark under her palm, and she drew back, not anticipating the hard-cut bulk of his muscles. She tucked her hands away, safe and hidden, under her crossed arms.
The front door was an arm’s length away, and despite the cool night, her condo seemed as if it had warmed. The air felt fuzzy.
“No,” he finally said in a low, rumbling tone. “I’m not going home.”
A zing tingled up her neck, and she stepped away from the source she didn’t understand. “Don’t drink alone.” She rocked back onto her heels. “Okay?”
The corners of his lips tightened, not quite smiling, then he backed away. “Have a good night, Chelsea.”