Page 98 of Daring You

26

Astor

2 Hours Earlier

My heart’sat my feet.

It’s like trying to walk on the bottom of the ocean when I move, but I push through the barrier and get out of the hired car, hook my tote on my shoulder, and step through security of my firm’s building as if it’s any other day and not the one where I ruin Ben’s life.

“Miss Hayes, you’re late,” one of the security men, Mortley, jokes.

My usual mornings consist of getting here at 5:30, six if I’m slacking. This morning I’d been planning to arrive at—gasp—7:30, after talking to my brother, but I guess Mortley will just have to accept I’m here at a random, unpredictable, half past six.

“Big day?” he asks as I fish for my swipe card.

“Always,” I try saying in my usual voice.

“You okay, there?”

I can’t turn my attention from my bag, to him. If I do, I’ll see concern, and I have to fix this mess before I worry about insulting a security guard I’ve known for two years and who’s always been kind to me.

“Yes…I’m…uh, I can’t find my swipe card…”

“It’s alright, Miss Hayes. Go on through.”

“Are you sure?” But I’m already pushing through the waist-high turnstile next to his desk.

“You are who you say you are, unless you’re an agent with a Mission Impossible human mask.”

Mortley chortles at his own joke.

“Thank you,” I say sincerely. “And I’m sorry I forgot to bring you coffee this morning. It’s been a crazy day.”

“Not even sunrise, and you got crazy in your day. You need the caffeine more than I do.” Mortley winks. “See you soon, dear.”

I wave as my heels clack across the polished marble and to the hallway of elevators. One comes immediately, and I rehearse what I’m going to say to Taryn, to Yang, to fucking Mike.

Each of them have a very different outcome.

The matte metallic doors slide open and I step through, into the firm’s lobby area, sparse in furniture but chic with uncomfortable white leather chairs and a half-circle receptionist’s desk. No plants are allowed, because nobody in the office ever remembers to water them.

The floor is also sparsely populated, as most high-level attorneys like to pull all-nighters rather than come in at dawn.

I’m half-walking, half-sprinting down the hallway of glass-sided offices when I see Taryn at the other end, flying out of one of the conference rooms.

“Taryn!” I say.

She glances over at me, then scurries to meet me halfway. “Astor, where have you been?”

“Battling bridge traffic. How much do they know?” I say while still walking to my cubicle. Taryn keeps pace close to my side.

“We hadn’t gotten all the way to the check’s endorser, but I had some emails with your theories. A lot of our work on the cloud has been deleted. Do you know anything about that?”

I keep my face carefully blank. “Nope.”

“I’ll ask about that later,” Taryn says pointedly. “Considering the hellfire occurring right now. Mike found the emails between you and me that I kept in a personal folder. He’s saying the boy is Ben Donahue. That famous NFL player. Can you believe it? Don’t you know him? Or your brother? Something like that?”

“Yes,” I say through my teeth.

---