Page 69 of His

I sigh. “I know, it was awful. I’m so sorry you had to see that.” I glance over my shoulder. So, um, have you told Leo? Have you seen him?”

“No.”

Phew.

She continues, “I went to the bar, but he was on a break, so I came here to wait for him until he gets home.”

My heart breaks for her. She is madly in love with this guy.

“Where’s Jackie?” I ask.

“I don’t know. I called her after I left, asking what to do, and she told me to go home and not return to the beach house until she gives me the okay.”

“Do you know if she called the cops?”

“I don’t think so. She seems like the type of person to stay out of other people’s drama, you know what I mean?”

“Brittney, listen, I need you to go home right now. Please.”

“What’s going on? What’s going to happen?”

“Honestly, I don’t know, but it’s best for you to leave.”

She glances in the rearview mirror at Astor’s car idling behind us.

“Honey,” I say desperately, “I need you to make a good decision tonight.”

“Go home,” she mumbles.

“Yes. On multiple levels, that’s the best decision right now. One, what is Leo going to think of you waiting for him all night? And two, whatever Astor has to say to Leo is not your business. Okay? Here,” I open my palm. “Give me your cell phone.”

I program my number into her contacts. “That’s my personal cell. I’ll call or text you later and I’ll let you know when to come back, if you’re even willing to come back to work.” I wink.

“Okay.” She nods reluctantly. “Thank you.”

“Be careful.”

“You, too.”

As I watch her pull onto the street, I get a weird feeling of something that resembles parental concern.

Forty-Five

Leo

I pop the trunk and set the grocery sacks next to the packed bags. I have ten more minutes until my break is over. I need to hurry.

After a quick glance over my shoulder, I transfer the perishables to the cooler, and the rest of the food to the dry bag. After slipping back into the truck, I count the remaining cash I have and sigh. It’s enough for what I need to do, but that’s about it.

I pull my phone from my pocket, click into the travel app and, for what feels like the hundredth time today, I confirm that my 5 a.m. flight is on time.

It will be tight. I have to work until past 2 a.m., then pack my remaining bags, then drive an hour to the airport.

Her face flashes behind my eyes, and I get the same sick feeling every time I think of her. Regret.

I am not the type of man Brittney Walsh needs, that much is clear. But knowing it doesn’t erase the memory of our one, short-lived night together.

I’d had my eye on Brittney since the first time she stepped foot in my bar with her friends. The third time, with a churning stomach and sweaty palms, I made a move.

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