Page 20 of Renegade

Maybe it was Veronica.

I threw a twenty down on the wrought iron table and made my excuses to Pete and Eddie. I’d barely made it out of the parking lot when it hit me.

Victoria!

That had to have been it. Damn, it would’ve been more helpful if she’d been screaming her own name instead of just mine.

Violet?

Vivien?

V—What the fuck is this guy doing?

The sedan in front of me had a taillight out and was weaving in and out of cars like it was a damn NASCAR race.

It was most likely a drunk driver.

And I was most likely not going to make it home any time in the foreseeable future.

The sedan veered to the right, banking its tires up on the curb before overcorrecting and swerving back into the middle lane.

Time to call for back up.

I hope David was just living it up because, while he was off getting laid, I was going to be stuck under a mound of paperwork thanks to the dickhead in front of me.

Some guys had all the luck.

Lauren

Lubbock, Texas 2009

“You doing okay today?” Dr. Mulloy peeked around the corner into my small office. Small was a bit of an understatement. There was a desk, filing cabinet, and chair—that was it. To get to my desk, I damn near had to turn my body sideways and squeeze in.

I closed the book in front of me. “Yes, just reconciling the credit card statement from last month.”

“Lauren, you know that I need you on top of things. If you’re already a month behind, then you may need to stay late to catch up. We wouldn’t want anything slipping through the cracks.”

I resisted the urge to scream. The clock read eight sixteen; this had to be a new record for her. “Well, I can only reconcile the previous month right now. So, I guess you could say we’re all caught up.”

She gave me a sympathetic smile as if I was a clueless child. “Lauren, I hired you because you seemed like someone who would keep my practice running smoothly. If that’s not the case anymore, then you need to make me aware of that. Okay?”

It had been like this for the last two years. I could tell her that the sky was blue and she’d sniff in a deprecating way before asking me to stay late and fix it.

I pasted a smile on my face. “It’ll be taken care of; you have nothing to worry about.”

Dr. Mulloy reminded me of Samantha Jones fromSex & the City. I’d only watched the re-runs when they aired on TBS in college, but I felt that I had a pretty good understanding of the show, however edited it may have been. She was gorgeous and blonde; and probably the only person who could tell you off with a smile on her face. She wore designer blouses and heels in a business where there was a good chance they’d end up covered in some bodily fluid before the day was up.

When I initially met her, I’d thought she was working the front desk—the pretty face hired to make the company look good, but no—the company was all hers. The woman oozed sexuality, yet somehow kept it completely hidden from patients. Sure, the occasional dad would show up to an appointment and try to convince her to go to dinner, but she would respectfully turn them down.

If it had ended there, I might never have seen the resemblance. It didn’t though—she’d show up every Monday morning, complaining about how little she’d slept during the weekend or how sore she was, thanks to whoever the flavor of the week was. It had made me uncomfortable at first; I kept expecting HR to intervene, before remembering that I was HR and all that would result in would be me losing my job. These men never seemed to last longer than a week. There’d be the obligatory bouquet of roses that would be delivered to the office and that was the last I’d ever hear about them.

She gave me an absent smile before disappearing again. Two years in and I got the impression that she only popped in for these little visits in the hopes of busting me doing something wrong. However, there was more than enough work to keep me busy for the next ten years. Both real and imaginary.

How’d a nice girl like me end up in Texas?

Well, it was a funny story. After Monica made off with my graduation gifts and several of Josué’s things, I’d been prepared to bail. I hadn’t expected that he’d let me continue to stay there—like mother, like daughter, right?

I’d waited until he fell asleep before grabbing a couple of pairs of underwear and a toothbrush—the only items I felt comfortable taking. I’d just made it to the front door when his voice stopped me.

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