Office Grump An Enemies to Lovers Romance - Nicole Snow Page 0,136
and Associates flashes across the caller ID.
I groan. This guy never has good news.
“Heron,” I snap.
“I’ve got an update on the situation for you. They’re still in Saint Thomas. As far as my PI can tell, the kid is being cared for,” Gavin tells me.
I shove the tip of my pencil against my desk so hard the end breaks off.
“Considering what I pay you and your investigators, I still don’t understand how you failed to stop the jet before it left the fucking country,” I snarl, pain crawling up my throat.
Rage is my permanent state of being since that night.
I still can’t fathom what lies the bastard told Jordan to get him on a plane when Marissa would’ve woken up again soon.
“Mr. Heron, we’ve been through this,” Gavin stammers. “There was no stopping the plane. You’re not even a legal guardian, but I’m reviewing all options to force him back.”
“Options. Right. Something I don’t need to pay an attorney fourteen hundred dollars an hour for. I want action,” I growl.
If there’s one thing I despise, it’s feeling rudderless.
“I understand your frustration, sir. The good news is, the Virgin Islands are likely to extradite him easily under territorial law. If he were on the British side, we’d be looking at a harder situation. Our best case is for the kid’s mom to get involved ASAP. If she’s the complainant, she can bring them back rather quickly,” he says.
“I told you, she’s barely out of a coma. She drifts in and out of consciousness. As soon as she’s in a position to help, she will. God only knows when that will be. The next time I talk to you, you’d better have a solution for me, Stuart, or I’ll be finding a new law firm.”
I leave it there because this bullshit isn’t his fault.
I’m the dumbass who let Jordan leave with Baxter Heron. I should’ve kept them at the hospital, even if it meant beating that jackass to a pulp and letting Sabrina take the kid home.
Fuck.
Brina. I’m not even ready to think of her name.
“With all due respect, Mr. Heron, most attorneys wouldn’t put up with you as a client,” he fires back. “I’ll call when there’s more information.”
Then the prick hangs up on me before I can do what I was planning—slamming the receiver down in dramatic fashion.
No fun today, apparently.
I scroll through my emails, looking for the coordinates the investigator sent, so I can plug them into maps and see where my little brother is. Sabrina quit sorting my email the night I sent her home from the hospital.
My inbox is swamped, and I can’t find a goddamned thing, even with search.
My door swings open a second later and Ruby bursts in. Her expression tells me she’s bringing more bad news. She doesn’t linger inside my door like she usually does, though, but walks around behind my desk and stops a foot from my chair.
A furious sting like a pissed-off murder hornet bathes my jaw in fire before I can even figure out what the hell is going on.
I just got fucking slapped by my own HR Director.
It’s official. I’ve lost control of this ship and my life.
“Have you lost your damned mind?” I snarl.
“Nope. That was me hitting you with a smart stick. We’ll see if I can undo the hundred stupid sticks you’ve already been whacked with. Someone has to knock some sense into you, and since Brina’s gone, guess who gets the job. What the hell did you do to her, Mag?”
She folds her arms in front of her chest with a pout.
“Nothing!” I spit, her slap resonating through me.
Ruby shakes her head. “Bull. She always got here between five and six most days and usually left around midnight. She hung on your every word. Now she’s asking for time off. So spill it.”
“Give her the vacation time.”
I at least owe her that.
“Oh, I will, but that’s not the real issue.” Ruby puts a hand on her hip. “Is she coming back?”
I hesitate because I don’t fucking know.
And the thought that I’m the colossal asshole who drove her away, who made her quit, who chased her away hits worse than a thousand face-shearing slaps from Miss Hunting.
“What am I, her keeper? You’ll have to ask her.”
I know I certainly can’t. Not after that last blistering text.
Lose my fucking number.
I’ll be damned if I send her a message and make this worse than the nuclear dumpster fire it already is.