‘I don’t give a fuck who he is or what he does. What I want to know is what happened.’ Has someone tried to murder me twice?
‘In which case, you don’t want to put the investigation on ice, right?’
I narrow my gaze at some cost.
‘It doesn’t have to be about her. Or it might. But do you really want to leave it to a third successful time to find out?’
‘Bring me the information. All of it.’ Better it’s in my hands than anywhere else.
‘That’s more like the twisty fucker I know.’
I shrug off his words. Even that hurts today. I’m left to ponder my decision for the rest of the afternoon, and though I know Rose has nothing to do with any of this intrigue, the echo of Rhett’s voice takes up space in my consciousness.
No one tried to kill you before she came into your life.
You still don’t know how she came to be in the will.
The fact that she found you that night could mean she’s in on the whole thing.
It’s all bullshit of course. And I can see he barely believes it himself, but I understand his reservations, because he doesn’t know Rose like I do.
39
Rose
The days pass and as the doctor suggested, Remy’s health improves steadily. Headaches lessen, dizzy spells dissipate, and the lethargy he suffered from seems to disappear almost overnight. Which means he’s back to work and no longer complaining about me doing the same.
Honestly, I did get his point. The company pays my salary, and he owns the company, so in effect, he pays me. But that doesn’t mean he gets to say where I’ll spend my days. There are a whole host of managers between him and me. Besides, I have colleagues to think about. Even if one of those colleagues would dump me in a heartbeat should Remy suddenly decide he prefers dick.
But things at work are good. It seems Olga has decided to stop being a mega-bitch to me, which certainly makes the days more pleasant. As for the accident itself, Remy remembers little about it, and the couple of attempts I’ve made to discuss it with Everett have fallen on deaf ears. I thought we’d reached a kind of understanding in the hospital, but I guess not because he still insists on being a pain in my ass every time I see him.
It’s a little after seven when my phone rings. I’m expecting Remy home around now and wonder if it’s him as I hop down from my stool and hurry across the kitchen, swiping it from the countertop next to the fridge.
Amber’s number flashes up on the screen.
‘What are you doing up?’ I know it’s later and I mentally calculate the time difference, coming to the conclusion that it’s three a.m. in Sydney. Late or early?
‘I’m on baby duty,’ she answers. ‘Byron has a meeting in the city tomorrow at sparrow’s fart.’ Sparrow’s fart is Aussie speak for early morning. ‘I don’t want him up half the night with the baby . I like him a little too much to risk him falling asleep at the wheel on the freeway.’
‘You’re sure embracing the language,’ I say, a smile leaking through my response as I make my way over to the island bench, hopping back up onto one of the velvety high-back stools.
‘I am raising my own little Aussie and living in a house full of the ratbags. I figured if you can’t beat them, join them,’ she says, using the insult as a term of endearment. I think.
‘How is beautiful baby Beryl?’
‘You know that’s not her name,’ she replies fondly.
‘Maybe not. But you know it’s going to stick.’ Given the whole family is already calling her Beryl and has been almost from the day she arrived. Byron had even sent a photo to my phone last week of her blowing spit bubbles, the accompanying text had read: Beryl loves bubbles as much as her mum.
But I think I’ll keep that to myself right now.
‘We won’t let it, will we Ruby-Roo?’ From somewhere nearby, a baby coos.
Mattie, Edie, and Ruby. All the “e”names together, and individually, all very cute.
‘Because Ruby-Roo is such an improvement on Beryl.’
‘Ruby’s a lovely name,’ Amber retorts.
‘Oh, agreed. It’s so pretty it doesn’t need the additional kangaroo suffix.’ Even if it’s a little cutesy.
‘Ah, listen to Auntie Rose sniping, Rubes.’
‘Urgh. I give up. But I will say you’re taking these early mornings very well.’ When we travelled, Amber was not a fan of early mornings,