Page 63 of Enigma: The Final Chapter
When I reach the door, Alex questions, “Did you know Isaac and Regan kissed?”
After inhaling a deep breath, I turn around to face him. “Yes.”
He balks, surprised by my response.
“And if you stopped and evaluated the facts like you're requesting me to do, you’d realize why they kissed. Isaac isn’t a threat to your relationship with Regan, Alex. Only you are. And if you wait too long, you'll lose her, and you’ll regret it every day of your life.”
With that, I leave his office without a backward glance.
Ten minutes later, I'm pushing the buzzer for Brandon’s apartment. Brandon lives in a fancy apartment building on Tivot street. It’s the reason he was on the scene so quickly when Hugo was shot. He administered aid to Hugo until the first responders arrived. Hugo’s memories of the incident are fuzzy at best. All he recalls is chasing the white Range Rover, then waking up in the recovery unit at the hospital. Lucky for him, Brandon is well-trained in first aid.
When Brandon fails to answer the buzzer, I step out of the alcove and glance up at his window. The living daylights are scared out of me when I’m suddenly grabbed in a tight squeeze. When I spot the boyish face of the person responsible for shoving me one step closer to my grave, I slap his shoulder.
“Jesus, Brandon, you scared the shit out of me.”
He smiles his infamous lopsided grin. “Sorry, Izzy.” He's dressed down in designer jeans and a thick wool coat and is balancing a brown paper bag of groceries on his hip. “What are you doing here?” His tone is friendly but with a dash of apprehension.
“I just left Alex’s office.”
His lips etch into a hard line as he curtly nods. After placing a code on the security door and opening it, he gestures for me to enter first. When I slip under his arm and walk into the warm, inviting foyer, he scans the street before following me inside.
I work out why he’s so cautious when he asks, “Does Isaac know you’re here?”
I grimace before shaking my head. “He’s in a meeting. I left him a note.”
He nods but remains quiet. When the elevator arrives in the lobby, he once again motions for me to enter first. Our ride to the fifteenth floor is done in silence, which is surprising. Usually, it’s hard to get a word in between us.
I follow Brandon into his lavish, well-decorated apartment. His furniture is high-end, but it still has a masculine bachelor-pad feel with dark colors and glass and steel features. The living area is nearly double the size of the one in my apartment, and the kitchen is even bigger than that.
After placing milk and perishable items into the refrigerator, he offers me one of the beers in his hand. I scrunch up my nose and shake my head. “Beer has never been my liquor of choice.”
“What about a glass of red, then?”
Not waiting for me to answer, he snags a wine glass from a frosted overhead cupboard and pours a generous helping of merlot into it. He hands the glass to me before entering his large living room. I shadow him, silently pondering why he's so reserved. I’ve never seen him so skittish—not even when Hugo had his gun directed at his head.
When he sits on a dark blue suede sofa, I fill the spot next to him. After folding my legs under myself, I curve my body so I can peer at his profile. “What happened?” I don’t elaborate on my question, certain he knows what I’m referring to.
He takes a swig out of his beer before mimicking my position, minus the legs curled under his backside. “We had opposing opinions on a matter.”
“We’ve all had that with Alex, but nothing bad enough to warrant him letting us go—”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m not concerned about my position.”
My eyes snap to his, shocked by his abrupt reply. This isn’t Brandon. He's the friendly, never-has-a- bad-thing-to-say-about-anyone guy. I’ve only experienced this side of him once before. It was the day he told me Megan drugged Jenni and was suspected of killing her father.
“What’s going on, Brandon?” I dip my chin, coercing his eyes to mine. When I get them, I say, “Something is bothering you. You seem off, upset even.”
He takes another swig out of his beer before placing it on the steel and glass coffee table. He stares into the distance for several heart-thrashing seconds while sucking in big breaths. When his gaze drifts back to me, I lose the ability to breathe from the anxious look hampering his normally carefree face.
“If you knew something would hurt your friend, but you also knew they’d never forgive you if you didn’t tell them, would you tell them?”
I swallow, intuitively conscious that his statement is about me. It isn’t just the fact I can hear his heart hammering against his ribs. It’s the sorrow in his glistening eyes.
“Yes.” My throat works hard to swallow. “I'd want to know.”
“Are you sure, Izzy? Because once you know, it can’t be undone.”
Ignoring the swirling of my stomach, I nod again. After he squeezes my hand, he moves to his leather satchel hanging over a chair in his dining room.
