Page 69 of The Promise Of You

I get back to my office, write my apology, and seal the card. Then I bring my card to Randy, pay him, and rush back to the pub.

He was working on the bouquet and said she should have it within the hour.

I pray to god I’m doing the right thing. That it’s not going to backfire on me. That I’m not coming on too strong.

My phone dings with a text message I don’t recognize, with a 617 area code. It could be a food provider. Or someone looking to cater an event.

Hey, Justin, hope you’re well. I need to talk to you.

Gisele

My phone dings again, a picture this time. A blonde who looks familiar.

I don’t know a Gisele.

Do I?

No. I don’t.

Haley barges into my office, looking flustered, so I pocket my phone. “Hey, boss, Declan wants to talk to you.”

Declan is our police officer. What’s going on? “Let him in.”

Ten minutes later, I’m surprised. I shouldn’t be. That little piece of shit Samuel pressed charges.

“The guy had a woman cornered in a locked space, and he was yelling at her. In her face. I’m asking you, Declan, what would you have done?”

“I hear you,” he says, looking at his notepad, pen at the ready. “Did you have any particular reason to believe she was in danger?”

Hell yes. She’s claustrophobic, and that alone is dangerous. But the guy was verbally abusing her. “He was in her face.” She was seconds away from fainting. She could have hit her head. Just having a panic attack is terrible enough. I can’t think of the consequences if I hadn’t been there.

“So they were having an argument.” He scratches his head. “Heard you had an argument with Ms. Sullivan as well. Hmmm.”

Shit. I hate that he’s making the comparison. I hate myself for what I did to her.

“Point is, people have arguments all the time,” Declan continues. “Her staff was there, they didn’t seem to think she was in danger. They actually said it was customary for Mr. Reynolds to have his ‘private’ conversations in the walk-in refrigerator.”

“You find that normal?” I snap at him.

He leans back in his chair. “Help me out, Justin. The guy is pressing charges against you. If you’re not telling me why you jumped him without warning and nearly broke his nose, there’s nothing I can do. Who’ll run the pub when you’re locked up?”

Fucking locked up? Is this guy for real?

“Lemme ask you again. Was there anything to make you think Ms. Sullivan was in actual danger?”

“Yes,” I reply without thinking.

“And what is that.”

Fuck. “I can’t tell you.”

He snaps his notebook shut. “You guys are a bunch of schoolboys. But I have to follow procedure.”

“Sure.”

“Don’t wait too long to change your mind. I’d hate to see your mugshot in the paper.”

Fuck. Me. My fists clench.

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