Page 74 of Play With Me

“Sorry, Mick and I are arguing about whether or not to call Paul. Where are you? How fast can you get here?”

“I’m already on my way. Did you open the letter?” The doors leading outside swing outward, crashing loudly against the building exterior as I push them open with more force than necessary. My mood reflects the storm currently brewing above the New York City skyline. Dark and cloudy, filled with a shit ton of rage I’m about to unleash on the senator.

“Mick got here before I did, and he opened it,” she says in a quieter tone.

Of course he fucking did.

Thoughts begin to form. Desperate attempts to figure out a hundred-thousand-piece puzzle that’s about to be taken away from me for taking too long to solve it.

If Mick went into my room to pack my shit himself, that means he saw every note. Every photo.Every piece of information I linked with red strings and every file I poured through while trying to make connections.

As I hail a cab, my phone vibrates—an incoming message from Mick.

Yes, there is. Your services are no longer needed.

I’m letting you go. You’re safe from ME…

“This is all it says? There was nothing else in the envelope?” I clutch the letter as I ask Mick, but my eyes dart to Martin and Nikolai, who are wearing matching skeptical looks.

“Just the rose,” Carmela answers. She’s still wearing her jeans and shirt from earlier, fresh-faced, with her hair thrown up on top of her head. She’s holding the fresh, bright red bloom, fingering the black ribbon tied just beneath the peduncle. I note that the thorns aren’t present on the stem this time.

“We dusted for prints. The only ones that came back were Mick’s,” Nikolai says tightly.

“Because I touched it when I took it out of the envelope, obviously,” Mick snaps from where he sits at the bar with a nearly empty tumbler and a bottle of Blue Label Johnnie Walker.

“No nursery rhyme, once again,” Martin speculates. “Furthering our suspicion that it is two separate people working together.”

“Though perhaps not working together at all,” Nikolai adds.

I’ve had this worry for weeks now. Too many factors don’t add up, too many inconsistencies. Everything points to two different minds at work—or even one person with multiple personalities.

Or one very desperate man who is on the verge of losing everything.

I narrow my eyes toward Mick again. He looks like he’s had better days. From across the Grand Room, I can see the bags under his eyes and the unkempt manner of his overgrown beard. His suit jacket is slung over the back of his chair, revealing a rumpled dress shirt.

“You look like shit, Mick,” I goad.

I don’t get the reaction I’m looking for. Instead, he huffs a laugh into his drink. “Yeah, well. I resigned and made a statement about divorcing Kate. Both will hit the evening news. And I’m not exactly welcome at home right now.” He turns in his chair and looks at me, green eyes glowing triumphantly. “Good thing I have two of them.”

I snort at his sheer audacity, but when his eyes slide to Carmela, dread fills my body, pulling it down like a sinking ship. Following his gaze, I see her staring at him, mouth slightly open, surprise flickering across her features. It isn’t an angry type of shock, though. It’s lighter and raw and so goddamn intimate that I have to swallow the bile that rises in the back of my throat.

“You made a statement?” she whispers.

Those four words hit my heart like a sledgehammer, sending a crack down the middle as wide as the Amazon River. It’s like the rest of the room melts away as he rises from his chair, never breaking eye contact with her while he dips his head affirmatively. “That’s right, tiny dancer, I did.”

For a single moment—a fleeting split second that crushes every last part of me—she looks like the happiest woman alive. Then, she shutters her emotions, eyes darting in my direction as she clears her throat. “I’m sure you’ll have a lot on your hands, then. You should probably find somewhere to hide before the press catches wind.”

My lungs burn with the breath I’m holding as she crosses the few feet between us and presses against my side. Mick scowls at me. From my peripheral, I see her turn her face up to my profile as she reaches for my hand. An outsider would think Carmela’s clearly declaring that she’s choosing me. But herpalms are sweaty, and there’s a tremor in her limbs she can’t control.

You want him, don’t you, baby girl? The life he always promised you is finally yours for the taking. All that stands in the way now is me.

“Mellie…” Mick’s tone is a warning. A tapered threat in the form of a stupid nickname that she probably secretly loves. We haven’t deep-dived into the beginning of their relationship. It’s obviously painful for her, and I don’t want to fucking hear it—but the last five minutes have done nothing but remind me that I’m just an accidental smear on a much bigger canvas they’ve been painting for years.

They have a daughter together—a history, no matter how sordid it is. Suddenly, I’m glad I didn’t tell her I love her in California. My insecurities seep from my pores, drenching every inch of my flesh to form protective armor around myself.

“We’re going to head home. Have a good night, Mick. Martin, Nikolai, we’ll talk tomorrow,” Carmela announces. Her fingers grip mine as she pulls me from the room. We don’t say a word to each other until we’re secured in her apartment a few blocks away, each of us clutching a glass of red wine like it’s a lifeline.

“It’s too easy, Cara. It doesn’t make sense,” I speak to her back as she peers out the large windows along one wall.

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