Page 4 of Miss Belief

Teagan

Typically, Reid’s post-breakup lunch consisted of a double cheeseburger, side of fries, and a large Coca-Cola. Every single day.

Which is why today I instead got him a chicken Caesar salad and a bottle of water.

That was the meal the old Reid had eaten for lunch—I knew because I’d researched every detail of his life during my borderline stalking of him over the last year. And since I was about to officially stage an intervention, I was going full in. Starting with the damn salad.

I was still angry about the information Fred had given me this morning. What in the hell had Reid been thinking to be drunk at work? Worse, to be drunk at work as a director of security in a country with strict penalties against public drunkenness. It was beyond stupid. He could lose his clearance and his job. I might be tolerant of heartbroken, mopey, and even dickish Reid. But stupid Reid? Nope.

I’d reached my limit. I wouldn’t sit back and watch him piss away his career on a cheating ex-fiancée who had never deserved him to begin with.

As I raised my free hand to knock on his door, a lump the size of a golf ball formed in my throat. Although I often spoke my mind, I certainly didn’t go out of my way to make someone feel bad. But my intentions didn’t always line up with my behavior. Sigh. Let’s hope this time could be different.

When he answered my knock with a “come in,” I entered with lunch in hand. Reid glanced up from his computer, pausing a moment in his phone conversation to focus his deep blue eyes on me.

My stomach clenched with his attention.

Here at Delmont Security, he was responsible for commercial security. This consisted of designing security systems for high-end hotels and businesses. Since he’d been out of the billable role for the last year while filling in for the HR director, he was starting fresh with a number of new business pitches. From the sound of his conversation, he was finishing up a successful sales call now.

My eyes were drawn to the cityscape of Dubai, visible from his office window. I remember being in awe when I’d first arrived. The grandeur in the desert was a sight to see with all of the incredibly tall buildings and wealth on display.

Shifting my gaze, I focused on the corner of Reid’s desk where a giant, framed picture of his fiancée used to sit.

I wondered what he’d done with the photo. Was it in his desk drawer for him to pine over every time he opened it? Broken into little pieces from throwing it against the wall, or had he simply tossed it in the bin for someone to wonder what had inspired such an action? There was no guessing between the many possible outcomes if it had been me. Option two for the win.

He hung up the phone before glancing at the contents of his lunch tray. Sitting back in his chair, he appeared mildly amused. “I suppose getting me a salad instead of a burger is tied to your earlier statement today about removing my head from my ass.”

“Yup. It’s step one for ass removal.”

There was a hint of a smile around his lips when I took a seat across from his desk in the visitor’s chair.

“And what, pray tell, has brought this newfound interest in where my head is located?”

Blunt but tactful, Teagan. You can do this.

“I know you’re going through a breakup, and I care about you—” More than he would ever know.

He leaned forward, forearms on his desk, scowl firmly in place. “Cut the feeling-sorry-for-me crap and spit it out, Teagan.”

My temper spiked. “Fine, first your reaction right there is that of a jerk. I don’t feel sorry for you. I know you’re dealing with a breakup and coping the best way you can, but you can’t keep acting the way you have. I’m trying to be fucking delicate here.”

A chuckle broke from his lips. “Fucking delicate like a Mack truck.”

I cracked a smile. “Yeah, well…”

He let out a long sigh before running a hand over his face. “I realize I’ve been off lately.”

“You were drunk last night. In the office.”

His eyes went wide while his face took on an unmistakable blush. “Why would you say that?”

“Fred in Tech Support said you forgot your password, and when you couldn’t follow instructions over the phone, he came up here to your office. He could smell the alcohol on you, Reid. And he came by this morning to talk to me because he doesn’t want it to be someone else next time, someone who might go to HR instead.”

“Terrific,” he muttered.

I leaned forward, placing my elbows on his desk. “You’re going through a rough time. I get it. And I thought seeing you mopey was bad, but seeing you cold and indifferent is worse.”

“I realize I haven’t been easy to work for these last few weeks.”