Page 97 of Dirty Boss


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It’s seven when Cole and I leave separately, and seven-thirty when I walk into his apartment to have him greet me at the door. I’m naked in three minutes. And in another fifteen, I’m moaning Cole’s name, before we end up sated and pressed close on the couch. His kisses me and stands up, pulling on his pants while I put on his shirt. He walks to the bar and returns with champagne and two glasses.

“To celebrate,” he says.

“Celebrate what?”

“Only six months to hide like this, not nine. I got your program changed and your pay spread adjusted as well.”

I remember Cat’s comment about six months now. She knew, she let him tell me. “Oh my God. Are you sure?”

“HR is editing your paperwork on Monday.”

I can get my mother moved out of that rat trap sooner. I can pay off bills and I will have my degree three months sooner. I can—I’m going to cry. I throw my arms around him. “Thank you, Cole.”

He wraps me in his arms, and I have my Cinderella moment for real this time, but it’s kind of terrifying. I’ve been here before, in some way. A perfect mom and dad. Top of my class at Stanford. On my way to success. Then the ball dropped. The rope snapped. The blade cut. I hold Cole just a little tighter, afraid something is going to go wrong, but soon I’m back to sipping champagne with Cole, debating our new case, and I forget to worry.

Nothing is going to go wrong.

I won’t let it.

Chapter forty-six

Lori

The next day Cat celebrates my six-month plan by bringing me coffee. That night, my mother bakes me yet another cake. I celebrate by working twice as hard. I have papers to write and cases to manage with Cole. Three weeks fly by in a blink of an eye. I spend most nights with Cole, but stay home on my mother’s off nights, though she insists on pulling so many extra shifts that I barely see her. She even takes on a charity event at the hospital that has her gone most weekends.

Monday, four weeks from the day we left LA, Cole and I are in his living room watching the news, drinking coffee, and working on the murder trial, when the headlines flash: David Curry’s death has officially been ruled a suicide.

As if on cue, Cole’s cell phone rings. “Tara,” he says answering on speaker. “You’re on speaker with myself and Lori.”

“Did you hear?” she asks.

“I just saw it on the news.”

“Aspirin and Benadryl,” she says. “He took a whole bottle of aspirin and Benadryl. You know they knew this before now. That bastard Waller. I hope he gets his.”

“He will,” I promise. “He will.”

“So I hear from Savage. I cannot wait.”

“Wait,” I say. “Are you dating Savage?”

“I’m fucking him. We’ll see where it goes. Ciao.” She hangs up.

“What is happening with Waller?” I ask Cole.

“From what Royce told me, they were letting him hang himself a little tighter before they arrest him.”

The next morning, I walk into work, and Cole calls me into his office. “Waller and the police chief, as well as three additional members of the force, are under official investigation.”

“Finally,” I say, perching on the arm of his visitor’s chair. “I know it’s crazy,” I say, “But this feels like my first big win. Something that in some small way, I helped make happen.”

“It should. You did. It’s a big deal. And more good news,” he says. “Ashley is going to be on her way home soon, though I think her attorney in Paris tried to hire her away from me. Bastard.”

“You’re on temp number three,” I say. “Apparently, you’re nicer to me than them. Or so Maria claims.”

“Maria is full of crap.”

Maria pokes her head in the door. “Maria is not full of crap. Maria knows you can be a bastard. Another temp just quit.”

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