Page 90 of Greed

Nothing else leaves her lips — absolutely nothing about how our relationship reaches beyond the office.

“I can’t stay,” she explains. “I wanted to stop in on my way to a meeting to congratulate you.”

I glance at the watch on my wrist. “A meeting now?”

She nods but stays silent.

“I’m glad we had a chance to meet,” Holden says. “I heard you work for Rook, so please accept my condolences.”

A weak smile glides over her mouth. “Thank you. I hope you both enjoy the rest of your night.”

I push off the stool, so I’m on my feet too, but a sudden rush of dizziness hits me. I reach a hand out to the bar to steady myself.

Holden reinforces that by grabbing hold of my forearm. “Looks like someone needs to be cut off. Right, Uncle Decky?”

I shake off his words and his hand. “I’m good.”

“You had a lot of shots and no food,” Holden says. “I’m taking you home.”

“I’ll leave you to that.” Abby’s voice comes at me from behind. “Goodnight.”

By the time I’ve glanced over my shoulder again, all I catch is her back and the sway of the red skirt of her dress as she rushes toward the exit.

“What the hell just happened?” I mutter.

“Your girlfriend has a meeting to get to,” Holden reminds me. “You need to sleep off the shots, so let’s get you home.”

CHAPTERFORTY-EIGHT

Abby

I flinchwhen I feel something brush against my bare shoulder.

Convinced it’s a wayward housefly, I swat my shoulder to stop it dead.

“Ouch!” Carrie exclaims with a giggle. “Remind me never to surprise you again, Abs.”

I glance back to see a smile on her face.

“Have you been crying?” she asks in a trembling voice. “Why do you look like you’re crying?”

I swipe a hand over my right cheek before I chase away nothing but air from my left cheek. “No crying. I’m just tired.”

Her hand moves to my shoulder again, but this time it curls around the strap of my tote bag. “Why don’t you put this heavy thing down?”

I grip my tote so tightly that my knuckles ache. “That’s okay. I’ve got this.”

Perplexed by that, her brow furrows. “Did you bring work home with you again? Are you hiding some big legal secret in there?”

“Something like that,” I lie.

She steps in place beside me. “When did you get home?”

I add another lie to the first. “Just a few minutes ago.”

The truth is that I’ve been staring out this window for more than an hour. I kicked off my shoes and headed straight for my bedroom, hoping that the skyline of Brooklyn would offer me answers to all the questions bouncing around inside my head.

“I guess you noticed that I’m late getting home.” Her voice takes on a higher tone. “I went out with some co-workers for a drink.”

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