Page 48 of The Final Faceoff
“Did you personally request the chocolate?”
He shrugs. “I may have suggested it. Though he only authorized dark chocolate. He believes that the milk in the other chocolates might make you puke—again.”
“Did you also personally inspect this for ginger?”
His lips twitch. “I did, in fact, confirm that this is a ginger-free zone. We’re sticking to gum.”
A slow, dramatic sigh escapes me as I pull the gum from my mouth, wrapping it in a napkin before tossing it in the trash. Only then do I pick up a cracker and pop it into my mouth.
“Have I mentioned I like you, Leif Crawford?”
“Not enough.” Leif grins, leaning against the counter as I nibble my way through half a cucumber stick. He doesn’t push, doesn’t try to make conversation, just lets me settle.
Which is exactly why I do not expect myself to say, mid-chew—“I think I found Marcus.”
The words slip out before I can second-guess them, and the second they do, the atmosphere shifts. Not drastically. Not in aholy shitway. Just a small shift—like a temperature change that’s barely noticeable at first but lingers.
Leif straightens slightly, his arms still crossed but his attention sharper now. “What?”
I swallow, setting down the half-eaten cucumber stick, suddenly feeling way too aware of what I just admitted.
“I mean, I might have,” I hedge, tucking my hair behind my ear. “I’m not one hundred percent sure yet. The best way to confirm anything would be with the hotel, right? But when I called to ask for his information, they told me they respect the privacy of all their guests. They didn’t even care about the emergency.”
Leif doesn’t say anything, just waits—because he knows me well enough to know I’m going to keep talking whether I want to or not.
I exhale. “I’ve been . . . looking. Using my research skills. Documentary-style sleuthing. Nothing weird.”
“So stalking every guy whose name is Michael, Marcus, or Mark?” His expression says he’s not convinced of the ‘nothing weird’ part, but he doesn’t interrupt.
I roll my eyes because yes, I wasn’t sure about the name. Though now I think I am almost positive that he is indeed Marcus. So I push forward. “Anyway, I started digging through some old networks, cross-referencing locations, checking social media in a non-stalker way?—”
Leif’s brows lift slightly, and I scowl. “We will go with not-stalker way, Leif.”
He gestures vaguely for me to continue, but I catch the corner of his mouth twitching, like he’s barely suppressing a smile.
I roll my eyes but keep going. “And . . . there’s a good chance he’s in New York. However, he’s originally from Boston. See, it matches with the New England thing.”
Leif absorbs this, his gaze holding mine, unreadable. “And you think it’s him?”
I hesitate. “The pictures on his social media make him look like it’s a yes. Unless he’s a friend or . . . it was dark, and I had a lot of tequila. So yeah, I think it could be or not.”
His jaw shifts slightly, like he’s chewing over what to say next.
“I can’t believe you barely exchanged any information with the guy who . . .” He trails off, but he doesn’t have to finish the sentence.
We both know what Marcus, or whatever his name is, did.
“Because you know all the girls you’ve slept with, Crawford,” I say with a little judgy tone. “Can they find you if they were in my situation?”
“Let’s begin with it’s been a couple of years since I’ve had a one-night stand,” he clarifies, and he sounds almost appalled. “End with I’m easy to find. So yes.”
“But can you name them all?” I narrow my gaze.
“Not the point, Hailey. I haven’t slept around for a couple of years,” he says, actually annoyed.
I narrow my gaze. “So you’ve been dating then?” My stomach twists. I don’t like that. He doesn’t do serious relationships. If he did, he would tell me, right? I mean, I’m his person.
My throat tightens. God, I want to cry. Damn these pregnancy hormones.
