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“Who is this woman?” she says, clearly baffled by the limited information behind my order.
“Just find her,” I say, and disconnect the line, setting the phone down and pressing my hands to the counter. Fuck. I should have kept eyes on her. I knew she was running, but she didn’t want to. She was afraid of something. I needed more time to get her past whatever it was. I’m going to get that time. I’m going to make sure of it.
I tear away the towel, and return to the bedroom, making fast work of getting dressed, but I don’t bother to pack. I’m keeping the room another few weeks. I’ll be back, and sooner than planned. I’m about to exit the bedroom when I walk back to the bed and grab the note Lori left for me. I read it again, and grimace with the “perfect hello” she didn’t want to ruin with a “bad goodbye.”
“All right then,” I murmur. “We won’t say goodbye, but we damn sure will say hello again.” I stuff the note in my pocket and head for the door. I already have a car service waiting on me downstairs, and waste no time heading that direction.
A short elevator ride later, I’m street-side and I climb into the backseat of the car, directing the driver to the corner where I met Lori, and have him pull to the curb. I get out with the insane idea I might actually see her. I walk to the exact spot where I ran into her. I walk the whole damn sidewalk, left and right, and a block in either direction, and of course, she’s not here, there, or anywhere. I head back to the car and slide into the backseat. “Airport as planned,” I order the driver when my cell phone buzzes with a text: Photos in your inbox, but there are only two Loris who spell their name as you indicated, and none fit the description you gave me. I included all other spellings and there is only one possibility, but she is thirty-two.
I switch to my email and open the file, scanning the photos. My Lori is not in the photos. This makes no sense. I think back to our conversations. Holy Hell. She never actually confirmed she was an attorney. I have a name and nothing more.
Lori
“What’s your dirty secret?”
The question is delivered by Daniel, a handsome, familiar man, in an expensive suit, from the other side of the coffee bar counter; the side without the register, which I know far more intimately than him.
“I have no secret,” I assure him. That’s my programmed answer that I’ve given him every one of the early mornings I’ve been working here, only this time it feels like a lie. I do have a secret. I have Cole and despite my rushed shower and change of clothes after leaving his place, I swear I can still smell him on my skin.
“Have a drink with me and tell me,” Daniel presses, keeping to his daily script.
“Actually,” I say, leaning forward and lowering my voice. “I’ll tell you now.”
He leans in closer. His eyes light. “Tell me,” he urges.
I could say “I let a stranger spank me last night” but that’s my only dirty secret, and I want it just for me. Instead I say, “You have a girlfriend,” thinking of Sally, who joins him here every Saturday morning.
He wiggles a brow. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
Thankfully, a line is forming, and I motion him to the end of the bar. “Your regular order is ready, and I charged your account.”
“We’ll invite Sally,” he suggests.
“No and go,” I order, and then shout out, “Next!” to force the issue.
He grimaces but leaves, and I don’t really think that he’s serious about a hook-up anyway. I certainly hope not for Sally’s sake, which momentarily conjures a memory of Cole’s guttural “I fucking hate him” about his cheating father.
My next customer steps to the counter and I shake off the memory, and the line churns endlessly it seems until finally my shift is over. Karen, the “coffee-making girl” as she calls herself, makes me a white mocha and I have about fifteen minutes to drink it before I have to change, and head to my day job. Cup in hand, I round the bar to find Cat sitting in the corner, where she’s been since I avoided her upon my arrival, certain somehow she’d know I’ve now been spanked. It’s a silly notion, but I can’t shake it. Nevertheless, she’s my boss and friend, and I walk in her direction.
“Good morning, my coffee queen,” she says, blowing blonde hair from her pretty green eyes. “Who shouldn’t be a coffee queen at all.”
“We do what we have to do,” I say.
“Except you don’t have to do it anymore,” she assures me.
“Cat—”
She holds up her hands. “Before you tell me you aren’t taking my charity, I need help. My column was officially syndicated and I’m co-authoring on the book I told you about last night.”
“You syndicated! Oh my God. That’s incredible. I’m so happy for you. Seriously. No one deserves this more than you.”
“I’m excited but overwhelmed and so is Reese. He has his merger and a case that is heating up. We talked last night, and we agree. He can’t co-write the new book with me. I need a full-time research assistant and Reese talked to one of the consortium members and he said you in this role looks good to the board.”
If only I could afford to take it, and I hate so much that it’s just not an option. “Cat,” I breathe out. “I can’t—”
“Three times what I’m paying you now, but you have to work obsessively with me,” she says. “There’s no room for the other jobs. I need you. And you’ll earn the money. If Reese needs research help, I need you to cross over.”
I swallow hard, thinking of her offer last night to help me with my mother’s medical bills. “I know what you’re doing,” I say. “I love you, but no. I decline.”
