The Dirty Series 2(126)

She growls a little. “If I end up staying here, I’ll never get to work in the morning.”

I hold my free hand up. “Fine, fine. So…what do you really do, then?”

I expect Carolyn to laugh and say something like “seduce men at the Swan, obviously,” but instead she blinks a few times, shrugging her shoulders. It takes longer than it should for her to answer.

“Oh,” she says with a little smile. “I really do run the boutique, most days. There’s a lot more to it than selling clothes. Travel, inventory selection…all of that.”

“You can’t tell me there’s nothing that captures your interest. There must be some sort of heart-and-soul type of thing.”

She looks away, toward the kitchen, then she turns her head so she’s looking back at me. “Not that I can think of.” Then she grins, eyes shining again, her expression full of playful wickedness. “Last weekend came pretty close.”

Goosebumps play along the line of my spine. Something isn’t quite right. Or am I just looking for something to be…not right?

It hits me hard, straight in the gut. We have to get there first. Carolyn isn’t going to open up with me—not totally, anyway—unless we turn down the heat a little, give things a chance to develop naturally. Maybe that’s why she doesn’t really want to talk to me about the hobbies that take up her non-working hours.

Lately that hobby has been me, but there has to be something else. Perhaps something she’s embarrassed about. I don’t know.

Our conversation is interrupted by the food’s arrival, and the heaviness lurking in the room clears. It’s damn delicious, and finally Carolyn leans back from the table in the breakfast nook. “I want to keep eating, but I can’t.”

“Next time I’ll order less,” I say with a laugh.

“Oh, don’t,” she says, genuinely on the verge of distress. “The leftovers…don’t deprive yourself of that. That’s the best part.”

“You’ve convinced me,” I say seriously, and she laughs again. I stand up and take her plate, but my hand is aching to take hers in mine and lead her to the bedroom. Still, I can see the dark circles under her eyes, the yawns she keeps stifling.

“Oh—Carolyn, there’s something I wanted to tell you.”

She gets up and follows me toward the kitchen.

“What? That I can’t leave with all of my clothes intact?”

This woman. “No, I—” The words stick in my throat, but this lie will be better for us in the long run. “I won’t be able to see you this weekend. I’ve got some things to attend to.”

The corners of her mouth turn down, but only for a moment, and then she smiles. “Thank God. I’ll be able to sleep in!”

Then she reaches up and pulls my face toward hers, kisses me savagely, and heads for the door.





Chapter Twenty-Seven





Carolyn



When Saturday morning comes, I wake up bright and early, put on my cutest exercise outfit, and head to the gym before I can convince myself otherwise. I’m in the lull between the early morning gym rats and the later-morning class attendees, so my favorite treadmill is free and the weight room is sparsely populated. It’s ideal.

I get in a full hour of burn, and then I head back to my apartment, purpose accenting every step. Shower. Breakfast. Then search.

I shower with military precision, faster than usual, and then move around the kitchen in a pair of clean yoga pants and my favorite tank, only to discover that I’m in desperate need of a trip to the grocery store. I share an assistant with a few other people for times like this, but I don’t want to take the time to put together a list. Deli it is.

The breakfast sandwiches I order at the counter are gone by the time I get into the elevator at my building.

I’m only slightly disappointed that Ace is nowhere to be seen in the lobby. It’s a waste, though—he said he’d be busy this weekend, and I have no idea if that means he’ll be in the penthouse at all. For all I know, he’s been gone for hours.

But where would he go?

The next thought: Is there someone else?

I scoff out loud as I unlock the front door to my apartment. I might be ridiculously and prematurely in love with Ace Kingsley, but we’re not together. The moment he admits having similar feelings, everything might be different…but in the meantime, there are more pressing things to worry about, like the rumors that he might be a murderer. And here I am fretting over the possibility that he might be cheating on me with another woman.

I lock the door behind me with a firm twist and march over to my desk.