Page 99 of Fierce

Complications

On Monday, I told myself that Hope was right. It was never going to work, the whole thing was nothing but distracting, and I had more important things to do anyway. Things I’d neglected because I’d wanted to spend the weekend with her, which wasn’t one bit like me. So I’d thrown myself back into it and tried not to think about the frozen look on her face as she’d been folding that blanket, the way she’d smoothed the corners with fingers that had trembled. Or anything she’d said, because it didn’t matter. None of it was news, we were both better off, and it was over.

On Tuesday, I told myself the same thing. I buried myself in meetings, in spreadsheets, in decisions. But when I set my laptop aside at last and turned out the light in the bed where we’d made love, I lost the battle not to look at the pictures on my phone. And to think about Hope.

Hope in her blue dress, fast asleep with her head on my chest and my arm around her, on the boat in Paris. Hope and Karen on Women’s Wednesday, a snap I’d taken without them noticing. Karen with her feet in Hope’s lap, Hope’s hand stroking her sister’s leg. So much sweetness, and so much strength.

I looked, and I heard her voice again despite all my efforts.

It’s that I’m going to keep falling in love with you. I can’t help myself, because you’re...you’re what I want. You’re kind, and strong, and sweet, and fierce, and—and I can’t even say what. You’re what I want, and I can’t stop wanting it.

I couldn’t stop wanting it, either. That was exactly the problem. I wanted to be the man who could have pulled off at the next exit and taken her in my arms. I wanted to be the man who could have said all the things she needed to hear, and could have meant them.

But I wasn’t that man, and she was right about something else, too. That we were a mismatch. She needed somebody who could love her back the way she deserved to be loved. And that wasn’t me.

On Wednesday, I went down to the Publicity department. I needed to talk to Martine about Shades of V, now that the deal was about to be signed. Of course, I could have had her come to my office. But if I wanted to see that Hope was there, that she was all right...well, of course I did. I didn’t want to text her, much less call her. Prolonging all of this would be a mistake. I’d always believed in a clean break. But that didn’t mean I didn’t want to make sure she was all right.

Women’s Wednesday. Tonight, she’d be sitting on the couch with Karen. Karen’s feet in Hope’s lap, Hope’s hands stroking over her sister’s legs, giving her that love that came so easily to her. They’d be doing all of that, as long as Hope was all right. I needed to check, that was all.

Except that she wasn’t there. I walked by the cubicle and cast a casual glance inside. No laptop. No papers. No coat. Nothing.

I couldn’t have said what I was thinking. I wasn’t thinking anything. I was walking into Martine’s office without knocking, having her look up with a frown from her phone call, then end the conversation with a hasty word before turning to me.

“Yes?” she asked. “What is it?”

I thought about being subtle. For about a tenth of a second. “Hope,” I said. “Where is she?”

Something in Martine’s expression shifted. “She was out half the day yesterday, and she hasn’t come in at all today. She isn’t eligible for sick leave yet, and this isn’t acceptable. I know you asked me to hire her, but I’m afraid she’s not up to the job. I need reliable assistants. To mention only one of my concerns.”

I wasn’t listening to that. “Why?” I demanded. “Why hasn’t she come in?”

Martine shrugged an elegant shoulder. “Who knows? It certainly isn’t because she’s sick. All I got was a lame excuse. I’m guessing she’s hoping to be laid off and collect unemployment, considering her pattern of absences. Not to mention that I’ve had to speak to her about her work several times. If she does come back, whenever that is? I’d prefer that you found her another spot, if you’re determined to...keep her.”

I wasn’t listening. I was already gone.

The knock on the door made me jump. It was more hammering, really. Something was wrong.

“Who is it?” I asked through the front door.

“Hemi. Open the bloody door.”

The last person I’d expected. The last person I needed to see right now. “I can’t talk.”

“You’d bloody well better talk, if you’re not trying to lose your job.”

Oh, no.I unfastened the chain, slid the deadbolt back, and opened up. “How...how did you get in?”

“How do you think?” There wasn’t one bit of tenderness in the eyes that bored into mine, not that I would have expected any. “Your security is rubbish. I walked in behind a bloke who didn’t even ask me what I was doing here. I could have been anybody.”

I couldn’t handle his anger, not now. I couldn’t handle him being here. “This isn’t a good time.”

His face was closed, set, and hard as iron, and the skin prickled on my arms, because this was Hemi at his most formidable. “You’re not at work, and you weren’t there yesterday, either. You didn’t answer my text. How the bloody hell do you expect me to protect your job if you don’t do it?”

“I turned the ringer off on my phone.” I was getting flustered in spite of myself, even though this was my apartment, my space, and Hemi and I were done. We were done. “Because I couldn’t talk. But...my job? But I told Martine. I told her.” This was the worst thing, the thing I hadn’t dared to think about.

“What did you tell her? And why do you keep looking back into your apartment?” Something in his face changed again. “Oh, no. You’re joking.” He was walking straight past me, straight to the bedroom, and opening the door.

A cry from inside, and I was rushing through behind him. “It’s OK, baby,” I said as Karen moaned and rolled over, her arm going up to shield her eyes. “It’s OK.”

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