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My phone chimes. I open the screen to see a photo of Cat going to town on a small pile of his favorite cat food, followed by a text message.
Cat is fine. I found him out on the balcony, by the way, with your next-door neighbor, Finn. He didn’t call the cops on me, but you might want to let him know I was there with your permission. Just in case!
Thanks for feeding Cat. I’ll talk to Finn. I hope he didn’t give you any trouble.
Christ. Natalie, alone with handsome, super-straight, rough, and rugged Finnegan Hale. That’s a mental image I do not need. The scene plays itself out in my head anyway. Him, tall, dark, thick with muscle, his good looks just a bit craggy, like an action movie star, playing the hero opposite Natalie, sweet and curvy and wholesome and lovely. He’ll fall in love with her inside of a minute—ask me how I know—and she won’t be able to resist him. They’ll fall into bed, move in together, get married, and spend the rest of their lives naked and smiling, happily ever after.
Good. Natalie deserves that kind of happiness.
Tiny bubbles pop up and bounce as she types, then stop. More bubbles pop, then stop.
No trouble.
I knew it.
I’ve got two days to prepare myself for it, for Natalie to tell me they’re together. If he breaks her heart, I’ll ruin him.
I work through the weekend, closed up in my apartment against the cold and the rain. Cat keeps me company and ignores me by turns, as is his habit, while I ignore the sounds of life from my next-door neighbor. Sometimes I hear him laughing. Occasionally, there’s music. I wonder if he can hear me, and how much, and if he’s ever had a woman alone in there. If he has, I haven’t heard them. By Sunday afternoon, I’m climbing the walls, certain that every tiny sound is going to be Finn and Natalie together. I give up in disgust and head to my office. At least there, I know nobody’s getting laid.
The building is all but deserted. The ride in the elevator is prompt, and I find myself relaxing in the quiet. This was a good idea. I’ll actually get a jump on my week, get ahead, and maybe take off a couple of hours early on Friday as a treat. Natalie, too. I’ll send her home early. She’ll be wide-eyed and grateful and?—
Whatever mental lock box I packed my errant feelings in for my assistant needs work. It’s been this way all weekend since she told me she’d met Finn. So what if she met him, and they hit it off? Even if they didn’t hit it off, she probably has a boyfriend already, though I know she’d been through a tough breakup when she first came to work for me. A woman like her wouldn’t be single for long. I haven’t seen any evidence of a man yet, though.
The main door to Pendergrass Law shuts behind me, and I remind myself once more that Natalie is an employee, that her personal life is none of my business, and that thinking of her in any way less than professional—especially picturing her with my next-door neighbor in a Hollywood-style whirlwind romance—is beneath me. She deserves better.
That thought, combined with being back in the office looking at her desk, finally quells the urges I’ve wrestled with all weekend. The heavy fog of arousal finally begins to dissipate, and I let myself into my private office with more than a little relief.
The sight of my desk stops me in my tracks.
The tidy stacks of sorted papers I’d left are gone, scattered everywhere. Drawers are pulled open, and the floor near my chair is littered with office supply detritus, as though someone had shoved around the contents and didn’t care what spilled over.
The note.
First blackmail, now a break-in?
I take photos from every angle I can without disturbing the mess and send them on to Rand. Then, I drop into the chair across from my desk usually reserved for clients. I scrub my hands through my hair, cell phone in my lap, and wait. It doesn’t take long.
The phone rings.
“What the fuck, Nic?” says Rand.
“I just walked in and found it like this.”
“Your office?”
I give him the address, which is probably redundant. “I just got here about five minutes ago.”
“Call the police,” says Rand.
“I already called them about the note.”
“Yes, now I’m telling you to call and report a break-in at your workplace,” says Rand. He swears creatively. “I don’t have anything for you yet on the note. I thought for sure you’d have a few days.”
“You think this is related?”
Rand scoffs. “You going to tell me you think this is a coincidence?”
“That seems unlikely.”
