Shot in the Dark (Blackbridge Security #2) - Marie James Page 0,26
Brooks from any real damage I’d like to do to him.
“I was busy,” I grind out through clenched teeth. “With Whitney.”
“What?” His head snaps back like I’ve clocked him in the jaw. “Why would you leave her to come back here?”
“We were having coffee,” I explain, even though I don’t owe him a damn thing.
“What’s going on?” Flynn asks as he makes his way from the hallway where his office is. “Why do you look like you’re about to commit murder?”
“Because I am,” I answer without pulling my eyes from Brooks.
“He came back to the office instead of continuing his date with Whitney.” Brooks still sounds confused.
“The twelve-inch dick girl?” I growl at Jude as he stands and walks closer.
“She’s more than a box of sex toys,” I seethe at all of them when I see each of them smiling back at me.
That fucking box. It’s the catalyst for everything that is happening between Whitney and me, and it’s also the bane of my existence. She was adamant that she’d never take any of my things, and I’m pretty certain that if she did end up with something of mine, she’d bring it to me, whether we had met or not.
I think honesty is always the right choice.
She’d said those words mere moments after introducing ourselves.
I had the opportunity to tell her then but losing her isn’t an option. So long as that box in my closet stays hidden for the rest of eternity, I’ll be fine. Maybe in a couple years after we get married—should be an easy task to sell considering she doesn’t even have to change her last name—I can tell her and we’ll laugh about it, add the story to something we’ll tell our kids. When they’re grown of course.
“He’s half in love with her already,” Flynn observes. “See that faraway look in his eyes?”
“What did she say when you gave her the box?” Brooks asks, the hint of deviance in his eyes making it clear he knows I haven’t returned it.
“He hasn’t,” Flynn responds before I can make up a story and lie.
“Deacon said he did,” Jude interjects.
“Really?” My head snaps in his direction. “Do you guys have nothing better to do than just sit around and talk about my life?”
They all shrug, so in sync, I’d argue it was a choreographed move.
“You have to tell her,” Flynn argues. “Secrets like that have the potential to ruin everything.”
Don’t I know it.
But it’s already too late, right?
I was literally holding the box in my arms yesterday. I had the opportunity to follow her off the elevator on the ninth floor and down the hallway to her door. Maybe she would’ve laughed and we could’ve gotten to know each other during the conversation while I explained how I ended up with the box. After her disclosing today that sometimes they try to give her my boxes, it would’ve all worked out. She finds me attractive. I could see it in her eyes when she turned around in the bistro earlier. She wasn’t disappointed that the guy she’s been getting to know online is the same guy that has the foul-mouthed parrot.
But that’s a whole other set of lies, isn’t it?
I’ve well and truly fucked myself around every corner where she’s involved.
Instead of heading straight to her apartment to return her things the day the mistake was discovered, I’ve manipulated her into friendship, under false pretenses I might add, because Orc’s Realm isn’t a hard game to figure out. I’ve invaded her privacy and watched hours and hours of video of her working out, getting deliveries to her apartment door, and watching her check her mail.
Every step I’ve made to finally meet this girl in real life has been fabricated on my behalf, other than the chance meetings we’ve had.
“Jesus, I’ve fucked up,” I mutter.
“Yep,” one of the guys says, but I’m too lost in my own thoughts that I don’t know who it was.
Honestly, during my downward spiral, I’d forgotten they were even standing there.
“I have work to do,” I grumble before turning around and walking toward my office.
Thankfully, they don’t follow me, and they must somehow understand where my head is at because they also don’t laugh as I walk away.
I give myself an hour. Sixty minutes to gather everything that I can on Whitney Nelson, because then I have to go cold turkey.
I shoot her a message on TalkToMe before digging deeper into her keystrokes. This, of course, is just another violation, but not being