Page 11 of Miss Typed

“I understand. But if it’s a matter of clearance, then Reid could verify my background check, assuming it’s come in by now.”

Perhaps I could use her help on the client side of the monitoring. “I’ll confirm it’s complete, and perhaps we can go from there.”

“Great. Thanks. Oh, and, um, I wasn’t sure how to tell you this.” She bit her lip, which was a habit both endearing and sexy as hell.

“Easiest way would be to simply spit it out.” I could blame the military for my bluntness, but frankly, I’d never been one for beating around the bush.

“Miranda, your girlfriend I’m assuming, rang while you were out.”

My jaw ticked at the mention of the name. “Why do you assume she’s my girlfriend?”

Chloe moved a hand to her hair and then, as if she’d told herself to stop playing with it, put her hands back at her sides. “She said, and I quote, ‘with all the years I spent waiting for him, the least he could do is to return my call.’”

Leave it to Miranda to wax dramatic. She’d always had a flair for it.

Chloe cleared her voice, clearly feeling awkward about giving me the message. “Sorry.”

I raised a brow. “What are you sorry for?”

“I don’t know. I guess for being the messenger of bad news.”

“Not your fault.”

“No, but sorry.”

“Do you always apologize so much?” It was both adorable and off-putting. I hoped I wasn’t making her so nervous she thought she had to apologize all the time.

“Well, I’m Canadian, so we tend to apologize a lot. It’s automatic. Sorry.” She cringed at the latest outburst, causing me to laugh.

“I figured with the way you said your o’s. What part of Canada?”

“Toronto. I grew up there but went to university in Los Angeles.”

“What’s your degree in?”

“I didn’t graduate. Anyhow, I believe we’ve slipped into chitchat. I’ll, um, be going now unless you need anything?”

There was a story there. One she wasn’t telling. One I had no business wanting to know more about, but I couldn’t help myself. “No. I don’t need anything. I’ll return my ex-girlfriend’s call later.” Why? Why had I ensured Chloe know Miranda was my ex?

“Good luck.”

Talking to my ex would take more than luck.

* * *

I had a headache. Miranda had that effect. She made my head hurt. We’d broken up eight years ago, directly after my college graduation when I’d joined the military. Yet she hadn’t let go of the idea of us being together. Instead, she kept reminding me of the match our parents wanted. She kept telling me she’d waited for me and wouldn’t wait much longer. She accused me of changing into a man she didn’t recognize after I returned from my last active-duty deployment.

I didn’t need the reminder. I had it every time I looked down at my left leg and saw half of it replaced with titanium.

I’d finished the conversation by telling her to stop contacting me at work. Then I’d hung up. But not before she’d called me a cold, unfeeling bastard who’d wasted years of her life while she’d waited for me to finish out my active-duty contract. Maybe I was a bastard. I hadn’t cared she was upset. Hadn’t cared when she’d threatened to find someone else. Hell, hadn’t I told her to move on, time after time? But no. She held this fantasy about marrying into money and prestige, and doing country club activities with my mother. She treated me as if I should have come home grateful I could still have a trophy wife, a woman willing to be by my side despite my disability.

God, I hated the fucking word. Handicapped wasn’t much better. Before I’d moved here, my doctor had implored me to find a support group to talk through my feelings about losing part of my leg, but I didn’t want anything to do with it. I didn’t need to hear optimism and hope from people who were double, triple, or even quadruple amputees. I didn’t want to suffer the guilt that I hadn’t yet come to terms with my loss when others were so much worse off. A year ago, I’d assumed I’d spend my life in the Marine Corps, or at least die trying. Now, instead, I was in a fresh hell of unnavigated territory. All I could do was wait to see what life still offered me.

The knock on the door was unexpected, but when I glanced at the clock, I realized it was lunchtime.

“Come in.”

Chloe’s smiling face poked in. Jesus, she was like sunshine coming into a brewing storm. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”