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Anything to occupy my mind.
“Watching you walk out of my hotel, knowing you were on that bed and that you showered in that bathroom and that your clothes are hanging in that closet.” He let out a small but deep groan. “There’s something so fucking hot about it.”
“Why?”
“Because I know every minute you spend in there”—he briefly glanced toward the entrance—“you were reminded of me. Call me selfish, but I don’t care, it’s what turns me on.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at me. “You’re enjoying the hotel, aren’t you?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
I wished so badly it weren’t temporary and that I didn’t have my résumé in the hands of multiple private jet companies across the country, waiting to hear if they had any open positions. I could feel the sweat on my fingers as I gripped the paper package, a haunting realization that once I left LA, I wouldn’t know what things would look like or what would happen to Brady and me. A thought that continued to nag at me even though I was trying hard to push it away.
I needed something lighter, something that hid the shakiness in my voice, so I added, “Now that I’ve done a bit of traveling with the Daltons, I’ve stayed at quite a few of your hotels, and they’re all so incredible.” But the more I attempted to fake how I was feeling, the weaker my smile got. “Vegas, Charleston, Manhattan, Seattle, Chicago, Miami, Beverly Hills—I can’t choose a favorite.”
“Edinburgh will be.”
“Yes.” I pushed a laugh through my lips. “For more reasons than one.”
“It’s good to have you back. Charleston was too far away.” The narrowness of his eyes deepened. So did his gaze. “But something’s off. Something’s bothering you. What’s going on, Lily?”
“Oh boy.”
His brows furrowed. “What?”
I swallowed, the tightness attacking my throat. “When I was coming down to meet you, passing the front desk on my way out, one of the front-desk clerks stopped me and handed me this.” I wiggled the envelope, my skin so slippery and my fingers jittery that I almost dropped it.
“What is it?”
“I took a quick peek before I came out here to meet you and …” My other hand went to my chest. “I had to stop. I couldn’t look at it anymore.” I put the padded mailer on his lap.
“Let me get this straight. I don’t know what this is”—he lifted the envelope—“but you’re telling me that one of my employees handed you this package without Diesel intercepting it?”
“Diesel came to the lobby with me. I got a call from the Daltons’ assistant to schedule my next flight, so while I stalled to talk to her, he headed home. He’s off tonight because I’m with you. And we’re talking about a matter of seconds—that’s literally how long I was alone.”
“I’m not happy with anything you just said.”
He lifted the top flap and pulled out the photographs, flipping through a stack that showed snapshots of me in different locations—walking the Strip in Vegas, shopping in Charleston, eating pizza in Manhattan, visiting Pike Place Market in Seattle, walking the Navy Pier in Chicago, sunbathing in a bikini on South Beach in Miami. But it wasn’t just my travels that were included. There were also shots of me coming in and out of the Beverly Hills hotel, of me in Brady’s car, of us pulling into his house.
With each picture he passed, his grimace grew.
Until there was nothing but rage in his eyes.
Before Brady, a look like that would have terrified me.
But not with him.
With him, there was no fear at all.
All it did was make me fall harder.
“Was there a note?”
I took the empty package off his lap and rubbed my finger over the name that had been written on the front. “That’s David’s handwriting. He didn’t need to leave a note. Because now, I don’t have to suspect if he’s watching. I know he is.” I set the envelope back down, disgusted to even touch it. “That’s better than a note, and that was his intention.”
He ground his jaw before he said, “This is the first time you’ve heard from him since the flower delivery, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And there haven’t been any texts or calls from him?”
