"Yes. You should rest." She hesitated. "Are you sure you'll be ready?" She sounded concerned, and I didn't blame her.
"I need to be. I've lost too much time already."
We hung up.
Bridgette verbally pounced. "Catelyn, you cannot go back to that job!"
"Brig, nothing has changed. I still need the money and nothing else is available."
She tossed a blond lock of hair over her shoulder, her ice blue eyes narrowed in critical judgment. "You're dating a billionaire."
Seriously? "It's his money, not mine."
"You think he's going to be okay with you getting other guys off every night?"
I worried about this too. Maybe we could talk about it… but Bridgette was being such a bitch. "He'll have to be okay until I can find something else."
"You're going to blow it with the best thing that's ever happened to you." Her voice escalated with each word.
I wanted to pace the room, but my legs still wobbled, so I sat up and glared at her. "You seem awfully emotionally invested in my love life, Brig."
She stood, clutching her purse. "At least one of us is. Don't blow it, Catelyn. A guy like him isn't going to come around again."
She slammed the door behind her as she left and I sank into my bed, holding back tears of exhaustion and frustration. I hated fighting with Brig and hated knowing a similar fight was in store with Ash. I didn't blame either of them. If roles were reversed, I wouldn't want Ash doing this job while dating me—but he'd have to understand, because I didn't know another way.
My head hurt, and I eyed the prescription pain medication on my nightstand, trying to decide if I should take one or tough it out. After an hour of tossing and turning, fighting the pounding in my head and buzzing in my ears, I caved and took a pill, then propped myself up with pillows and powered up my laptop.
Google had to know something about Ash's early criminal history. Such a high profile family couldn't have kept it out of the news.
I searched every variation of Ash's name, dates, family, everything I could think of, but learned nothing new. That first arrest happened when he was younger, so it was possible that without the prevalence of social media it had been keep quiet.
Disappointed, resigned to talk to Ash about it tomorrow, I closed my computer and used the private bathroom—one perk of being roomies with Brig. The pain meds kicked in, filling my body with a heavy warm buzz. After washing up and changing into sweats and a t-shirt, I was ready to crash.
Until I saw a manila envelope near the door. Had someone pushed it under?
I picked it up and ripped it open, trepidation giving me goose bumps.
The envelope held several eight by ten glossy pictures.
The pictures were of Ash and Bridgette.
Leaving a mansion together.
Chapter Five
Guns and Diamonds
I DON'T REMEMBER dreaming during my week-long sleep at the hospital. Now, I couldn't close my eyes without being plagued by nightmarish visions of Lucky holding a knife to my face. That or the way his eyes looked, still open but dead, empty, the soul clearly gone, his face slack and bruised. What did it mean that I missed him? That it made me sad I wouldn't be able to visit his coffee kiosk for a caffeine refill?
In my mind there are two Luckys. There's the Lucky who greeted me with coffee every day, who always had a smile and a hot cup of java waiting. And the Lucky who tried to kill me. Who took pleasure in sadistic torture. They weren't the same person. They couldn't be, because then I would have to revisit every memory I had of him and see it through the lens of a sociopathic killer, and I didn't want to take that trip down a blood-splattered memory lane.
So instead I showered, blew out my hair until it gleamed, straight and shiny, and with a light hand applied just enough make up to bring some life back to my pale face. Today was my first date with Ash, and I wanted it to be perfect.
I shoved the pictures of him and Bridgette under my mattress, like stashing away porn, and tried to put it out of my mind. I'd studied every detail of those photographs last night, and they told me nothing except that my best friend and boyfriend had been spied on by someone who wanted to hurt me. I didn't believe they'd cheated on me. I was sure there was a reasonable explanation, but Bridgette hadn't returned home from wherever she'd gone last night, so I'd have to wait to ask her.
While debating between pants and a dress, I borrowed a few thick silver bracelets from Bridgette to cover the scars on my wrists left by the wire Lucky had used to bind me. I finally settled on black slacks that hugged my figure nicely, and a red cashmere sweater, items from the Beaumont shopping trip extravaganza. I was just zipping up my black boots when someone knocked on my door.