Chapter 15
Trevor
Iexpected to see Maren at work today. Figured that while I may have missed her when she left home this morning, I would be able to catch up with her when she arrived at the office.
But then she never showed up, and I started to unravel a little. Thank God I have cameras on her house and was able to see her and Zara loading up into her van and pulling away, or I likely would have broken into her home to ensure nothing terrible had happened.
To be fair, I may have considered breaking in regardless. Just to be sure.
When Brooke refused to tell me why Maren was off work, I only became more agitated. I ended up spending the bulk of the day hiding in my office, busting my ass to get everything done so I could leave at the first possible second.
And I did. Unfortunately, that second came a lot later than I was hoping for, and by the time I was walking to my car, the anger and agitation I’d been carrying all day had morphed into something uglier. Something darker.
Something slightly more unhinged.
But Maren doesn’t seem the least bit threatened by the sight of me. If anything, it makes her even more defiant. She lifts her chin, staring me down like I don’t have her cornered. “It’s none of your business where I was today.”
“I didn’t ask if it was my business.” Everything is my business. Especially when it involves her. She works for my company. She’s my responsibility. No one else is watching out for her, so clearly that job falls on me.
For the first time, I don’t mind having weight added to my shoulders.
I move closer, barely managing to stop before my front is against hers. “I asked you where you were.”
I can find out. I may not be as skilled as Titus, but I do understand how to use the programs his team has designed.
I can easily pull up her bank statements and credit card reports to discover where she spent money.
I can call Heidi and have her get me the recordings from the traffic cameras in the area so I can plot her path.
Would all of that be crazy? Probably. But no one has ever accused me of being entirely sane.
“Be quiet.” She plants both hands in the center of my chest, giving me a little shove that doesn’t budge me an inch. “If you wake my sister, I will kill you.”
My eyes snap to the closed doorway leading to what I assume is Zara’s room. “Why is she asleep so early?”
I only have a couple nights to go on, but it seems like Maren is pretty strict about bedtimes.
For her sister at least. The light goes off in Zara’s room every night at 8 o’clock.
Then the flicker of the television illuminates the living room until after midnight while my little night owl watches her stories.
But it’s barely seven thirty on a Friday night. If anything, I would think she’d let Zara stay up a little later tonight.
Maren huffs out an annoyed breath. “She had a busy day. She’s tired.” Her brows lift. “Why aren’t you asleep? I can’t imagine you’re feeling well rested after spending the past few nights in your car, weirdo.”
I will admit, sleeping in my car isn’t the most comfortable, but it’s not awful. It’s certainly better than tossing and turning wondering if she’s okay. I sleep better knowing I can quickly get to Maren if she needs me.
“Is that your way of inviting me to sleep in your bed?” Now that I’m thinking about it, that would be a perfect solution. “Because I accept.”
Maren scoffs, her mouth dropping open. “Absolutely not. Can you imagine what Zara would think if she woke up to find a strange man sleeping next to me?”
That’s an interesting reason to reject the idea.
Not because she doesn’t want me in her bed, but because she’s worried about the confusion it would cause for her little sister.
It also tells me Maren doesn’t let anyone sleep in her bed.
Which is good to know. Because thinking about another man relaxing on her sheets makes me consider dragging the mattress into the yard and setting it on fire.
“I’m not a strange man.” I smile a little bit, thinking of how eager her sister was to know more about me. “We met yesterday.”
“Do you really want to bring that up? Because I don’t think you want me to start asking questions about why I keep finding you parked under a tree across the street.” Maren successfully reroutes the conversation.
And she’s right. I don’t want her to start asking questions. Mostly because I don’t know that I want to come up with answers. It’s easiest for everyone if we just ignore my questionable decisions and behaviors.
“You’re trying to distract me.” I decide to circle back to her questionable decisions and behaviors. “Where were you today that made Zara so tired?”
“Oh my God. Why are you so annoying?” Maren ducks under one of my arms, successfully escaping before going into her kitchen to open the refrigerator. “I’m allowed to take a day off work.”
I straighten, a little confused. “Of course you’re allowed to take a day off work. You get three weeks of paid vacation, plus seven personal days.” Again, my eyes drift to Zara’s door. “Is that not enough? Because I can email HR right now, and—”
Maren slams the refrigerator door and turns to me, rolling her eyes.
“If you email HR at seven thirty on a Friday night to ask if I can have more personal days, they’re going to blame me.
” She walks past, carrying a can of diet soda in one hand and a container of chopped fruit in the other.
“And I’m not about to have Bernice pissed at me. ”
I think of the woman in charge of HR, and imagine the passive-aggressive way she would attempt to make Maren’s life difficult if she believed her to be responsible for a late night email. “I would make sure she knows I’m the problem.”
It’s what I always do. I absorb blame. It’s easiest if everyone assumes I’m the problem and directs their ire my way. I can handle it, and it keeps things running smoothly between employees and departments.
Maren snorts as she drops to her butt on the couch. “You don’t want that chick mad at you. She’ll make sure anything you attempt to file takes three times as long as it should.”
I assume there’s only one way she knows this, and now I’m really contemplating sending Bernice an email. “Is there something you need me to handle?”
Now that I know more of what Maren’s life is really like, I can only imagine all the ways Bernice could cause issues. Vacation requests. Direct deposits. Health insurance changes. And it wouldn’t just cause issues for Maren. It could also cause issues for her sister.
I’m not in the habit of firing people, but if Bernice has caused any problems for Zara, she might be looking for a new job.
Maren switches on the television. “Why are you so dramatic all the time?” She starts a show on one of the streaming channels then drops the remote to the cushion beside her. “Not everything requires immediate action. Sometimes people just want to complain.”
“But…” My brain seems to buffer for a minute as I try to process what she’s saying. “If there’s a problem, it needs a solution.”
It’s pretty much my entire job description. How I spend the majority of my days and even a large number of my nights. There’s always some sort of a problem happening at a company as large as McKinley Security Systems, and, ultimately, solving it falls on me.
“Not always.” Maren kicks her bare feet up onto the coffee table as she pops the lid off the container of fruit. “Some problems can’t be fixed.” There’s an odd tone in her voice as she says the last part, and I can’t resist the temptation it presents.
“Like what?”
Maren pops a grape between her lips, chewing as she watches her show. “What do you mean, like what?”
“You said some problems can’t be fixed. What are they?” I need to know what problem she has that can’t be fixed.
That she believes can’t be fixed. Because I know I can fix it.
Maren stops chewing, her eyes rolling my way. “I don’t think I said that.”
“You definitely did.” She may not have intended to, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.
She swallows the mouthful of fruit, her throat flexing as it goes down. “I just meant in general.”
I shake my head, because I know damn well Maren isn’t a general sort of person. She is direct and to the point and will say exactly what needs to be said, regardless of how it will land.
“I don’t think so.” I move closer, drawn in by the sudden flash of vulnerability that skates over her features. “I think you had something very specific in mind.” Slowly, I lower to the couch, settling onto the comfortable cushions as I hold her gaze. “I want to know what problems you’re having.”
“I’m not having any problems.” She turns away, eyes going back to the television. “Everything is fine.”
I look around her home, taking in the space. Everything certainly appears to be fine. She has a comfortable place to live. Plenty of food in the refrigerator. A good job. Health insurance. A reliable vehicle. But if everything is as fine as she claims, then what was she talking about earlier?
My eyes settle on Zara’s door.
Maybe Maren wasn’t thinking of the way things are, but the way they used to be. About all she went through becoming a single mom with zero warning. No time to plan, no room to prepare.
I can’t imagine what that was like. How difficult it would be on someone my age now, let alone the age Maren would have been when it happened.
It makes where she is now even more impressive. It shows an amount of determination I don’t find in many people. A kind of grit very few individuals possess.
And it makes me feel even worse about my attempt to block her hiring.
Reaching up to loosen the tie at my neck, I try to find a little more room to breathe as I brace to do something I don’t normally do. Apologize.
“I’m sorry I tried to keep you from being hired.”
“You should be.” Maren doesn’t hold back. “I was freaking amazing at running that supply room. There was no reason for you to be a dick about me becoming a permanent employee.”
I give my tie another tug, hoping more space will make the truth easier to admit. “There was a reason.”
Maren’s eyes come my way, her brows lifted. “Are you serious?” She sits taller, her feet hitting the floor. “Because you know damn well—”
I hold up one hand, trying to slow her roll. “Calm down.”
Maren’s eyes open wide. “Did you just tell me to calm down?” She grabs a fistful of fruit from the bowl, winding it up.
I try to block what I know is coming. “You better fucking no—”
A collection of melon, strawberry, and grape hits me square in the face, bouncing off my jaw and nose before tumbling down the front of my suit.
I pull in a deep breath, blowing it back out as I close my eyes, digging deep to find any amount of patience I might possess.
I’m not sure it exists, but if it does, I’ll find it.
When I know I’m not going to have a knee-jerk reaction, I bring one hand up to wipe the juice from my eyes before lifting my lids to find Maren locked and loaded for another round.
I’ve got about a half second before I get another faceful, so I say the only thing that might save me. “I knew I wouldn’t be able to stay away from you.” I brace, just in case I’m wrong and nothing will keep her from launching another scoop.
Maren blinks at me. “What?”
I don’t want to have to say it again. I’d actually love it if we could both forget I said anything at all.
But I don’t see that happening.
“Maren? I’m hungry.” Zara’s little voice interrupts at the perfect time, taking her from being Maren’s little sister to my new best friend.
I turn to find her slowly making her way down the hall, steps unsteady but careful as she uses one hand to balance against the wall. Her eyes widen when she sees me, head tipping as she takes me in. “Why does he have fruit everywhere?”
“Because he’s an idiot.”
Maren stands, carrying the bowl into the kitchen before offering Zara a hand so it’s easier for her to stay balanced.
It’s clear Maren is attempting to direct her toward the table and chairs, but Zara isn’t having any of it.
Instead of covering the short distance to the spot where they likely enjoy their meals, she comes straight for me, smiling wide.
“My name is Zara. What’s yours?”
I meet Maren’s gaze, trying to gauge what she wants me to do here. I don’t want to be a dick to her sister, but if she genuinely doesn’t want Zara to be around me, I have to respect that.
Maren sighs, rolling her eyes. “His name is Trevor.” She helps Zara into the armchair angled beside the sofa. “But you can call him doodie head.”
Zara cackles, thinking it’s hilarious that her sister just called me a shithead. “I can’t call him doodie head. That’s silly.”
“Well, he’s silly, so it actually makes total sense.” Maren goes back in the kitchen before coming out with a dish towel and a bowl. She practically throws both at me before turning to her sister. “What sounds yummy?”
I toss the smashed strawberry in my hand into the bowl then grab a piece of discarded cantaloupe, holding it up. “I have some extra fruit, if you want it.”
Zara cackles again, the sound light and adorable. “Ew. That’s gross.”
“He is gross.” Maren grabs the bowl from my hands as soon as I’ve deposited the last of the wayward fruit. “Now what do you want for dinner?”
“Is Trevor going to eat dinner with us?”
I should let Maren answer. I know I am notorious for overstepping, and now is the time I definitely should not.
But…
I’m also not one to pass up a golden opportunity.
Settling back against the couch cushions, I give my new best friend a smile. “I would love to eat dinner with you ladies.”