Page 70 of Hard Limits

Carissa went for Alexa’s throat, but Chase got between them. The wails were deafening as the lawyers pulled them apart, but not before Alexa got a vicious elbow in Carissa’s side. Brax found himself smiling. Yes, this was the highlight of his month too.

He waited until Carissa had disappeared into the elevator before he gave Alexa a side hug.

“Good thing she didn’t take your white truffle shavings.”

“If she had, that video would be on a billboard in Times Square.”

“I’m sorry I ever brought her into your life.”

“Don’t worry. I fixed the problem soon afterward.”

“What do you mean?”

“Me and Grey used to collect all the spiders and put them in your room because we realised she hated them. Voilà: no more Carissa.”

“I love you. In a purely platonic way, of course.” Alexa wrinkled her nose, but Brax knew that secretly, she was pleased. “I’m glad you came here, sweetheart. It was good to see you again. Don’t be a stranger.”

“Whatever.” She headed for the stairs, Chase following with the laptops and a gift bag full of mouthwash, and Brax wasn’t sure he’d ever see her again. “I need to get back to the Batcave.” She flashed one last smile before she disappeared into the night. “Carissa’s mole here is Selena Bateman. She works in the finance department.”

CHAPTER 28

THE ASSISTANT

“Come on, Meera. Answer the damn phone!” I begged, but it was still turned off. I left one final message. “If you don’t get back to me by this time tomorrow—it’s, uh, nine a.m. in LA—then I’m coming to find you. Please call me. Please.”

I sent an email saying the same.

Where the hell was she?

When I’d visited the Portuguese consulate on Monday, they said they couldn’t help. That they were there to assist Portuguese citizens abroad, and if an American citizen had gone missing in Portugal, then I should call the US embassy in Lisbon. I’d already tried that. They said I’d need to file a missing persons report with the Portuguese police, and we all know how that went, don’t we? Anyhow, I’d become, well, my high school English teacher would have described it as “overwrought,” and when I couldn’t keep my tears in, the consul’s assistant had promised to make some calls.

Yesterday, I’d visited the consulate again to hear the results. The local police had found the hostel where Meera was staying, and the manager said she’d gone to the beach with a guy. Another tourist, he thought. Blond, skinny, spoke with a French accent or maybe Belgian. She’d asked the manager to store her bicycle and some of her belongings for a week until she got back.

Wasn’t that good news? The consul’s assistant thought it was good news.

But I wasn’t so sure.

The story sounded plausible in theory, but why hadn’t Meera told me of her plans? And why wasn’t she answering the phone? Perhaps the device had been stolen, the consul’s assistant suggested. Or she’d lost it. Or dropped it. Or forgotten the charger. There were plenty of explanations, but none of them felt right. Meera would have found a way to contact me. Borrowed a phone, found an internet café, sent a damn postcard.

And then there was the room at Pedro’s brother’s house. She’d been so excited to find a new place, ready to move on with the next phase of her life sans Alfie. Her move-in date had been yesterday. Would she really have sacrificed her work at the eco-project for what she herself had called a rebound fling?

I couldn’t see it.

If the hostel manager was correct, Meera would return to Fundão sometime tonight. She’d meet her friends, talk to the staff at the hostel, and realise I was searching for her. Tomorrow morning, that was the deadline. If I didn’t hear from her, I’d pawn my jewellery, the beautiful gifts from Mr. Vale, and fly to Portugal.

Once again, I considered calling Meera’s parents, but if I was overreacting, if she was just distracted by a hot French (or maybe Belgian) guy and having a great time, I’d ruin her life for nothing. And my own. No, I had to look for her in person. The more notice my brothers had of my intentions, the more likely they were to find me, but if I booked a ticket and drove straight to the airport, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars, I figured I’d be able to get out of the country without being caught. Getting back in would be a whole other challenge, but I’d cross that bridge when I came to it. Celeste said I could stay with her in Paris for a while until the heat had died down.

I still had no idea what to tell Mr. Vale. Leaving any job with no notice was horribly unprofessional, but leaving one where I was not-so-secretly in love with my boss would be a hundred times harder. For a moment, I considered telling him the truth. The whole story. That I was Indali, and Meera was Meera, and my father was a high-handed control freak. But I couldn’t bear to see the look on Mr. Vale’s face when he realised I’d been lying to him for all these months. Better to slip quietly out of his life.

For what was likely to be my final day at Dunnvale Holdings, I made an effort to dress nicely. A pencil skirt and silk shirt, the pumps Mr. Vale had bought for me at the airport, my lovely earrings and necklace. I should have known when Meera and I started this charade that something would go wrong. That it would all end in tears.

Although when I arrived at Nyx, the tears weren’t mine; they were Selena’s. She rushed past me carrying a cardboard box full of stuff, her expression tight.

“Selena, what’s wrong? What happened?”

She didn’t answer, just walked out the door and kept on going.

“What happened?” I asked Lyndsey when I reached the third-floor reception area.

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