“No doubt,” Seth said, his head pounding even harder as he tried to figure out how the hell to break this kind of news to his sister.
“Ready to hear about the other job?” Franklin asked.
The other . . .?
Ah, fuck.
Seth was so busy reeling from news about Garrett—no, Alonzo—that he’d nearly forgotten that he’d also hired Franklin to check into Clay Battaglia’s whereabouts.
“Sure,” he managed.
“Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to get as much on this one. There’s plenty on his arrest and crimes, of course, but the details of his plea bargain are locked up pretty tight, courtesy of the feds. What I could figure out was that he’s on house arrest for the next six months, which means he’s not going to be making his way out to New York anytime soon. He’s got probation a year after that. All of his phone calls are monitored, as are his texts, his tweets, and pretty much any time he takes a shit is recorded.”
“Doesn’t sound that different from prison,” Seth muttered.
“I have no way of knowing for sure whether he’ll get in touch with Ms. Baldwin,” Franklin continued, “but I’m inclined to think no.”
“Why’s that?” Seth asked, grateful that the man was passing along at least one piece of semi-good news.
“Because he’s engaged.”
Seth’s head snapped up. “Say that again?”
“A jail bunny named Julia Sharna. Visited him in jail every day. He proposed the day he was granted the plea bargain. Incredibly, the press hasn’t gotten ahold of it yet, but it’s only a matter of time. She’s got a fat rock on her finger, and she’s been seen coming and going between her apartment and his place with moving boxes.”
Seth sat back in his chair with a slump. The pulsing in his head had receded just slightly, courtesy of the pills Etta had given him, but he had a whole other kind of pain now.
For his sister.
For Brooke.
And right on the heels of the hurt was anger at these two shitheaded men that had messed with women he lov—
Cared about, he mentally corrected. He couldn’t love Brooke.
Could he?
Right now, the semantics didn’t matter. What mattered was, instead of feeling relieved that her ex would be keeping his distance, there was no way that news of his whiplash engagement to another woman wouldn’t hurt her.
He definitely wouldn’t have minded being off base in this case. Seth said a curt good-bye to the private investigator, promising him the final payment installment and thanking him for his work.
He’d barely dropped the phone on the desk, trying to get a grip on his next move, when there was a knock at the door.
Seth propped his elbows on the desk, his head in his hands as he hollered for his assistant to come in. At least he hoped it was Etta. If it was that pipsqueak Jared . . .
“Bad time?”
Seth’s head snapped up. It was neither Etta nor Jared.
It was Brooke.
“Hey,” he said, wincing when he realized his voice sounded slightly hoarse.
“Etta said you weren’t feeling well?” she asked, closing the door and coming into the room. She was wearing jeans today that outlined her every perfect curve, tucked into knee-high brown boots with a soft-looking blue sweater that made her eyes seem even brighter than usual.
Damn, she was beautiful.
“Just a headache,” he said, standing and going around the desk to kiss her cheek.
She placed a hand on his cheek before he could pull away, searching his features with narrowed eyes. “Seems like more than just a headache. What’s wrong?”
Everything.
Everything was wrong.
His sister was marrying an imposter with a gambling addition, and Brooke was about to find out that the man she was supposed to marry had opted to marry someone else rather than contact her with a motherfucking apology.
“Just a long day is all,” he said, looking away from her.
Brooke bit her lip, and for the first time, he registered that he wasn’t the only one who wasn’t himself. Brooke also seemed more tense than usual.
For a moment he wondered if Tommy Franklin had been wrong, and if news of Clay’s engagement to the jail bunny had already broken.
But no. She didn’t look broken so much as nervous.
“Come sit with me a sec,” she said, taking his hand and tugging him toward the couch that was strangely sort of becoming their place. For a piece of furniture he’d barely touched since moving into this space, it was getting plenty of use these days.
Seth glanced at his watch regretfully. “I can’t. I’m supposed to be