The Dirty Series 2(53)
My heart sinks into my toes when I see the missed calls from Adam.
“Angelica?” Jett’s voice floats over from the opposite end of the living room. “Where are you, sweet thing?”
“I just have to make a call.” Does my voice sound shaky? Is it a giveaway?
Work. I can always blame it on work.
Stepping closer to the door, I dial Adam’s number. The fact that he called instead of texting makes me think this is urgent, and my heart pounds in my ears. Did Charlie come back? Did plans change again? He stayed at my place for about a week before he got sick of the commute and seemed fine when he left....
He answers on the second ring. “Angie?”
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t...nothing.”
My stomach contracts. “Nothing? You scared the shit out of me, Adam.”
“I just needed—I just wanted—”
“Spit it out.”
“I just want to know if everything was going all right. Are you okay? He’s not...he’s not following you or anything, is he?”
I take a deep breath. If Adam is in the dark about all this, then Charlie hasn’t been lurking around making any threats. That’s good for Adam.
Not quite so great for me, because now I’m more certain than ever that somehow this is all on my shoulders.
It’s not an unfamiliar feeling, not after the way we grew up.
“How have you been sleeping?”
Adam lets out a bitter laugh. “Like shit. I had three extra locks installed on my door, and I’m constantly looking over my shoulder everywhere I go. Not that it would make any difference if Charlie decided to....”
“He’s got people everywhere,” I agree.
“Angie, it’s driving me crazy.” Adam’s voice pitches lower, tighter, and I know this is the absolute truth. He’s never handled stress very well. I’ve always been the one to sort things out for us.
It’s clear I’ve never stopped.
“Do you have any vacation time?”
“Vacation time?”
“Yeah. You’ve been at the bar long enough, haven’t you?”
“I guess....”
“You should go home. See mom.”
“I can’t leave you here by yourself.”
“Has Charlie been back to see you?”
“No.”
“I’m handling it, Adam. Go home for a little while.”
“But what if—?”
“I’m handling it.” I lower my voice. “It’s not dangerous, okay? I’m fine. Just go away. Clear your head.”
“Okay.”
“I have to go. Love you, brother.”
“Love you.”
Chapter Eighteen
Jett
At the office, I try to deny that having Angelica in the penthouse every night is having any effect on me. The illusion is ruined when, on Wednesday morning, I mistakenly call Emily ‘Angelica’ as she’s on the way back to her desk.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Brandon?”
I wave her away, keeping my face expressionless. “I’ll have a new set of appointments to arrange after lunch, Emily.”
Connor breezes in, saving me from another embarrassing round with Emily. “I think we’ve got everything straightened out.”
He launches straight into a detailed description of the outcome of the negotiations, and then outlines several solutions for bringing this godforsaken media company under our umbrella. I wanted to acquire it in the first place because they have a distribution platform that I think could reach Facebook proportions with the right amount of investment and development, but it’s been such a pain in my ass that I can’t wait to be done with this phase and move on to integration.
Who am I fooling? What I can’t wait to be done with is this work day so I can go home to Angelica.
She surprised me on Monday. Emerald would always dwell on a stressful situation or any perceived slight. The woman could devote an entire afternoon to being pissed off about a wait staff member who hadn’t thought she was as radiant as the sun or some other shit.
Not Angelica.
She wouldn’t allow her bad day to stick with her, and her tense mood seemed to be as easy to cast off as the blouse I’d ripped off her in my hurry to see more of her flawless skin.
Jesus, and the taste of her....
Connor finally finishes talking. “…put together a group that can weigh in on the transition period. Do you have the final documents for me to sign?”
“Yes, right here.” He flips through a leather portfolio that he’s brought with him and rifles through the papers. “Damn. They must be sitting on my desk. I’ll be back in five.”
Three minutes later, I give in to the compulsion to text Angelica.