CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX #2
I ignored her and focused on photographing the next stack of documents. For a few minutes we fell into a rhythm—no innuendo, no bullshit. She moved along the opposite side of the cramped trailer, leafing through dusty ledgers, reading names aloud while I checked them against incident reports.
Every so often, one of us paused, found a new atrocity: ghost employees listed on payroll, shell companies masked by generic addresses, construction “accidents” that looked suspiciously intentional, payments funneled through businesses that shouldn’t exist—and always, too many goddamn names.
“This one,” Lila said, voice low.
I stepped around the desk. Her finger hovered under an entry dated nearly three years ago. A payment, another payment, then a gap.
“Recognize it from any files?” she asked.
I shrugged. “No.”
She glanced up, eyes dark. “I do.”
I frowned. “From where?”
“Not telling yet.”
I crossed my arms. “Lila—”
She shook her head, lips pressed tight. “I’m not giving you half an answer.”
“You’ve been giving everyone half answers since Cortez dropped your name.”
Her jaw clenched, a tremor in her voice. “You think I’m enjoying this?”
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re doing.”
“Neither do I!” Her tone cracked, echoing off the metal walls. Silence followed. She turned away, shoulders tight. For a heartbeat, neither of us moved.
Then she exhaled and pressed both palms to her face, smoothing her features. “I’m trying to figure out why a man I’ve spent my entire adult life pretending doesn’t exist decided to make damn sure everyone knows I do.”
That was something raw, unguarded. I should’ve left it alone. Instead, I asked, “Why?”
She spun, eyes flashing. “Why what?”
“Why pretend he doesn’t exist?”
A bitter smile curved her lips. “Because some fathers give their daughters trust funds and daddy issues. Mine gives people reasons to disappear. And he isn’t even the man I’ve called Dad my whole life. I have a father figure. It’s not that sick fuck sitting in jail.”
Her confession hung heavily in the stale air.
I studied her profile: the sharp plane of her cheek, the set of her jaw.
Then I forced my eyes back to the cluttered desk, documents I couldn’t unread.
Lila’s revelation unsettled me more than I’d expected.
Mostly because I realized I hadn’t noticed a woman in years, not like this.
My marriage, my life, kept me blind. Now something about how she held herself, how her hair caught the dim light, made me see her.
She leaned over again, reaching for a folder. Her shoulder brushed against my chest. Instinctively, I stepped back. Immediately, she noticed.
“You do that every time,” she said quietly.
“Do what?”
“Move away from me.”
“Maybe take a hint.”
Her lips curved, mischievous. “Maybe I already did.”
“Then start acting like it.”
She turned, filling the narrow aisle with her presence. “I’ve tried.”
I let out a short laugh. “You have a fascinating definition of trying.”
She straightened, stony. “I said I tried. I didn’t say I’m good at it.”
“That’s your problem.”
She stepped closer, just inches from me. I didn’t move. That was my first mistake. Her eyes flicked down to my mouth before returning to mine.
“You could tell me to leave,” she said softly.
“I’ve told you that plenty.”
“Not tonight.”
“Lila—”
“Tell me.”
I should have. Outside, I knew Eric was waiting by the truck. My wife was at home. My daughters were probably asleep. My wedding band felt suddenly leaden on my finger.
“Leave.”
Her gaze searched mine. Then she nodded, soft. “Okay.”
There was no smirk or argument. She stepped past me, only to freeze. I felt her shift, sensed her looking back.
“You know what pisses you off the most?” she whispered.
I shook my head.
“It isn’t that I want you. It’s that you finally want me back.”
I swallowed hard. “You’re fucking delusional.”
“Then this should be easy.” She was close to the distance and kissed me.
My body locked. Her lips were warm, insistent; one hand curled lightly on my shirt. I should have shoved her away. I didn’t. I kissed her back, my free hand sliding to her waist following the curve of it before a trickle of common sense had me ripping away from her.
Lila stumbled back, startled. The trailer was deathly quiet except for my harsh breaths. She touched her mouth, not saying a word. I ran both hands over my face and turned to the door.
“No. That doesn’t happen again.”
She didn’t argue. She picked up her flashlight and turned back to the desk. “Then you leave.”
She offered me the exit I’d accused her of withholding. I hesitated at the door, hand on the cold handle, heart hammering. To home and everything I’d built. I stayed rooted, knowing I still had a choice.
When I released the handle, I knew exactly what I was doing. I turned. Lila’s eyes lifted, something shifting in her expression.
“Ethan,” she breathed as I crossed the trailer.
This time I kissed her without hesitation—no shock, no second-guessing.
My hands settled at her waist; hers caught my shirt as I backed her against the far wall.
She broke the kiss first. We hovered for a breathless instant, staring into each other’s eyes, then her hand slipped into her pocket.
She withdrew a single condom, holding it between finger and thumb.
And just like that, the last illusion vanished, I knew precisely where this was heading.