that grating way that makes me want to cover my ears. This isn’t a welcome reprieve, not in the slightest. The only thing this soundless bubble will achieve is allowing my thoughts to run rampant. How in the actual fuck do I escape a prison of my own making?
I march to my phone and stab at the speaker button. “Get Hughes on the line.”
Jordan is usually good for a verbal sparring match if the conversation calls for it.
“Yes, sir.” Walt’s tone is flatter than his chest. Even my assistant lacks his usual fire against me.
Several choice words spill from my mouth. “Who pissed in your coffee this morning?”
“No one. I’ll get Mr. Hughes for you.” His monotone plucks at my last nerve.
The urge to punch something jolts through my hand. “Dammit, Walt. I don’t need your moody shit.”
His exhale crackles across the intercom. “I’m not the one who needs an attitude adjustment.”
That bite of snark has me sitting up straighter. “I’m not paying you for mental health advice.”
“Right.” Walt coughs, sucking in a deep breath. “My apologies, sir. Hold for me to connect Mr. Hughes.”
My momentary boost deflates with a snarl as I collapse in my chair. The pause is short-lived when shrill ringing blares into the space. He has the decency to answer after two rounds, putting me out of my misery.
“Jordan Hughes,” he greets.
“It’s Landon.” My grunt offsets the cheer in his voice.
He chuckles. “Well, shit. In all our years, you’ve never initiated contact.”
I don’t bother trying to dispute that absolute truth. “Any fresh leads for me?”
“Ah, there he is. Straight to business. I almost worried you were reaching out to be social.”
“That would require me to actually enjoy talking with you.” Metal creaks as I recline in my seat.
“Even you can’t steal my sunshine, Winters. Also, you’re the one who called me.” A smug grin practically radiates from his tone.
The likelihood of this interaction going my way is narrowing by the second. “Do you have anything for me or not?”
Jordan sighs. “Now isn’t a great time, unfortunately. I shouldn’t have answered to begin with.”
I balk. “Too busy for me?”
“Humble as ever.” He laughs again. “I’m ditching the grind to take my wife on a trip for our anniversary. Our flight is this afternoon. I only bounced by the firm to drop off a contract. You just happened to catch me.”
“Lucky me.” I grind my teeth against a burning sensation flaming under my skin. His speech is salt in my festering wounds, and defeats the entire purpose of calling him.
Some rustling echoes from his end. “Anything important to discuss?”
“It can wait. I won’t delay you.” I turn my glare to the window, which isn’t helpful. The knot in my stomach doubles while I stare at the corner between those glass panels. Even my own fucking office is turning against me.
“Thanks, man. Sadie will appreciate me following her directions. Her rewards—”
I punch a button and his voice cuts off. There’s no chance that I want to know what his wife plans to do. The silence envelops me as I squeeze my eyes shut. Without staring at the crime scene, my imagination runs wild. All I hear is Vannah begging for more. Less than a week ago, she sat in this very chair and rode my face. That’s not a visual I can easily erase.
The startling truth I’ve been trying to expel latches on with renewed strength. I miss her, dammit. What this revelation means for us in the long-term is still unclear. Vannah might not be interested in dating. That thought halts my staggering progress. Did I just contemplate dating?
I dip my head with a groan. This woman is determined to take me down by any means necessary. One thing is certain—that feeling isn’t going away. If anything, the soul-sucking twinge is getting worse. This yearnful suffering is precisely why getting attached is for fools and chumps. I don’t have time to chase her fucking tail. Not that she even wants me to.
Vannah’s reception to my attempts so far is below freezing. The chill is bone-deep and chattering my molars. Since I’m finally owning these emotions, the dam breaks and harsh reality pours in. It took a day for the weight of my betrayal to manifest, sinking onto my shoulders until I had to hunch over. The fact that I concocted such a sinister ploy to begin with is nauseating. Blaming my father is easy, but it’s a copout. He makes an excellent scapegoat, though. If only I hadn’t