Page 95 of Inflame

She turns in her seat so fast that she nearly knocks over my glass of champagne. “What? What are you talking about? He is staying there with me. We live together.”

I can see the wheels turning in her head as she soaks up all of the information I am telling her. I didn’t want to ruin her trip by sharing what Tyler found out with just some extra digging. Although, it turned out to be rocky regardless for other reasons.

“He has three places he owns. You are living in the least expensive one. It’s not even his primary location. He has a vacation home in Malibu and a single-family home on the outskirts of Portland. Probably doesn’t even get his mail delivered where you are staying. Ever notice why there’s probably no kid toys lying around? No bills addressed to him coming through the mail?”

“He always says that he gets his mail delivered at his downtown office. And he doesn’t want to spoil Finn with materialistic items, so when it’s his turn to watch him, they always go out on an adventure.”

“Or play at his main residence,” I counter. “According to my sources, there’s a huge playground set up in the backyard, an in-ground pool, and a sandbox.”

“Fuck,” she whispers under her breath. “You sure?”

“I wouldn’t be telling you all of this on a theory. Yes, I’m sure.”

“He repeatedly tells me he has business meetings weekly in Seattle and instead of making the commute, he stays a couple of nights there.” She shakes her head and runs her hand through her hair, pushing strands from her forehead. She looks pale, as if a migraine is building. “I bet he isn’t even going there.”

“I’m not sure. I’m only telling you what I know. Concrete evidence.”

“Why? Why do you even care if I know or not?”

“Because he is an evil bastard who is emotionally and physically abusing you.”

Her mouth seals shut, and she goes back to looking out the window. “He was just really angry with me over the whole bet.”

“No matter what, abuse is wrong.”

The flight home seems to go by faster this time around. The flight attendant gathers trash, while the pilot instructs everyone to remain seated and to prepare for landing. The sun is about to set, painting the sky with golden hues. Claire pulls out her phone and snaps a few pictures to capture the moment. Her fingers are trembling so much that I worry she will drop her device. I can tell she is about to break and is fighting so hard to keep herself from falling apart.

I would be lying if I said it wasn’t affecting me too. How could it not? I am no white knight. But I do have a heart. After all, I was raised by a saint of a mother. Deep down, I know how to treat a lady. Problem is, life has jaded me enough to know that love doesn’t last—so why bother? I would rather invest my energy into work and not build a future on an illusion or concept that is constructed for fairy tales.

The pilot lands the plane smoothly. It only takes ten minutes for us to taxi to the bridge and unload. Claire doesn’t fight me with her luggage and from the exhaustion in her eyes, I know it’s because she has mentally checked out.

Once we pick up our belongings at baggage claim, we make our way outside to the SUV that Collins has idling at the curb. He drives us to Claire’s place first, which is in downtown Portland, but is not in a building that I would classify as luxurious by any terms.

“I’ll walk you up and help you with your things,” I state.

“I’m fine,” she murmurs, hugging Angie and saying her goodbyes.

“It wasn’t an offer. This is what I’m doing.”

She doesn’t even argue. I see defeat in her eyes, and the sparkle that once was there has dulled. The apartment building is supposed to only allow residents access, but the keycard reader on the main entrance is broken. The cameras situated to look out onto the streets are obviously decoys and look to be dated at least by a few years. There are no security guards that I can tell, and definitely no check-in desk with a live employee to monitor movement.

I will bet that Claire’s actual apartment is lacking a personal system as well. How is she even able to stay here and feel safe?

I must be murmuring my distaste as we walk to the elevator, because Claire stops to ask me what I said. I just wave her off and hope that Graham catches on to this lack of safety and makes some changes for her, since his fiancée spends a decent amount of time here. I am shocked that Collins hasn’t had a fit. I’m on the verge of one myself.

I can tell Claire doesn’t want to be here. Ethan isn’t planning to return until tomorrow morning, so at least she doesn’t have to worry about him right now. Yet, it still feels weird to just drop her off in this dump. It’s like she doesn’t belong. She deserves so much better.

When she pushes the door open to the stairs, I look at her with confusion.

“Elevator is broken.”

“Why isn’t there a sign on it, then?” I ask, looking for where it might have fallen down. I don’t even see sticky residue from where tape may have been stuck.

She just shrugs.

I have no problem taking the stairs and often do just to get a little cardio in or work my calves. However, having a nonworking elevator in a huge apartment complex seems frustrating. Claire doesn’t seem to mind, so I don’t make a big deal about it.

She directs me to her door, and then digs in her bag for what I assume are her keys. Getting frustrated, she flops down to her knees and empties out the contents onto the fraying carpet.

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