Sticking to the Script: Cipher Office Book #2

by Romance, Smartypants

  Why won’t you say you love me?

  I wouldn’t let myself ask the question. I didn’t think I could handle the answer.

  Steven wasn’t looking at me anymore. His eyes were focused on some point in the distance off to the right of me, but his jaw was ticking with furious, rhythmic clenches.

  “You always do this,” he gritted out, bringing his eyes back to mine. “You take everything personally. It’s not always about you, you know.” He gestured angrily with his hands, shaking the mail close to my face.

  It pissed me off—everything he said pissed me off, so I grabbed the mail and pulled, intent on getting it out of my way. But he wouldn’t let go.

  “Stop!” he said and pulled against me. “Let go of the mail!”

  The tug of war was bizarre, and his voice rose—had a distinct thread of panic in it. Instinctively, I knew I needed to see the mail, so I pulled as hard as I could and managed to wrench the papers loose.

  I had two—what looked to be cards—and a sales circular from a furniture chain store.

  He looked at my hands, blood draining from his face.

  “No!”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  *Steven*

  Ken was holding two cards from King. And he was looking at me like I’d betrayed him.

  “More secrets?” he asked, shaking the mail.

  I didn’t know how it had happened, but I’d rapidly lost all control over this situation. He didn’t want to hear me out—to understand that marrying Kat was never something I thought would come to pass. No, he wanted to make this about another issue—use it as a catalyst to fight over some imagined slight.

  Three nights a week together wasn’t nothing. I wasn’t an unreasonable, mean person because his approach to relationships was all or nothing. Someone here needed to be sane and have regard for the inevitable future.

  I wanted to fight with him about it. The look in his eye—the hurt and disappointment—those bothered me. But the gleam of righteous indignation was infuriating. I wanted to tell him he needed another reality check. Tell him to pull out a calendar and take a good look at the weeks. Who did he think he was making demands on me? Pushing me?

  God, how I wanted to tear him up.

  But I stopped myself. I stopped myself because he was holding two cards from King.

  I needed to get those away from him.

  “Ken,” I modulated my voice to sound calm.

  His eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  “What’s really bothering you? Huh?” I was hoping to direct his attention away from the envelopes with my softly voiced question. “This isn’t anything to worry about. For a few minutes, Kat needed me to help solve her problem. I told her to find another solution because I was seeing you.”

  Ken blinked, “You did?” The hand holding the cards sagged a bit.

  I sighed. “Yes. Yes, of course, I did.”

  His hands dropped to his side, relief suffusing him. I stepped into him, put a hand to his hip and met his lips with mine for a quick kiss. “Now, McPretty, I smell dinner.” I brought my free hand to the mail. “Let’s go eat.” I gave a tug on the papers, but he tightened his hold.

  “What are you doing?” He jerked back. “I can’t believe this,” he said shaking his head. In four rapid strides, he crossed the room and tore into one envelope.

  “Don’t—” I protested, but it was too late, he was already flipping the card open. I noticed today’s offering had a bunch of brightly colored ice cream cones with sprinkles. I could only imagine what Ken was seeing inside of the card.

  “You think you’re better than me?” Ken read through clenched teeth. “I’ll show you. I love you.” He looked at me, accusation in his eyes. “How many of these have you gotten?”

  “A few.” In addition to the two I received Friday night, there’d been one in Saturday’s mail and two in Monday’s.

  He let out a huff of a laugh. “You don’t take anything seriously, do you? Nothing except your secrets.”

  “It’s not—”

  “It is!” he boomed. “Don’t you dare try to tell me this isn’t a big deal. Don’t say there’s nothing you can do about this!” He flung the mail onto the floor. “You work for a security company. Did it occur to you for one second that they might know exactly how to handle this?” He scraped his fingers through his curls, face taut with agitation. “You’re just too afraid to admit you need help. You’re not in this situation because you’re weak or stupid. This could happen to anyone. But I’ll tell you what does make you weak and stupid—not reaching out for the help that’s right in front of you. Fucking stupid.”

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, readying to tell him what an insufferable dick he was being when he launched into a full-blown tirade.

  “You know what?” He gave a derisive shrug. “Maybe you’re not afraid. And I know you’re not a complete moron. Maybe what’s happening here is that you don’t want your company to solve this for you. Maybe what you want is high drama all the time. We both know you love being front and center in wild scenarios.” Ken’s already loud voice was verging on shouting and with every word, my own rage built higher and higher.

  He emitted a disgusted scoff. “I mean, look, you came in here practically erect from whatever soap opera went on downstairs.”

  His accusation made my blood boil. It was so far off the mark, but such an easy insult to hurl. In the past, many of my decisions where men were concerned were made from boredom or fear of boredom. Ken knew this, I’d admitted it to him, confessed it. He was using it against me in anger and I felt like it was a low, low blow. Especially about Kat and Dan’s situation. I hadn’t been happy about it. Sure, Quinn, Dan, and Nico had been totally kick-ass, and I derived a lot of pleasure from seeing Caleb cut down, but it had been a touchy, scary situation with real, impactful possible outcomes. Add to the fact that Kat was probably now on her way to Boston to say her final goodbyes to her estranged father—and I was sickened by Ken’s implication that I was getting off from the tumult.

  “But you know what?” he continued, shaking his head. “This isn’t something I’m going to let you flirt with anymore. Lies and secrets have got to stop. I’m calling Quinn Sull—”

  “No, you’re not.” I said icily. Ken’s tongue was sharp, and he could wield it expertly, but he had no idea the level I could stoop to when pushed. He was about to find out, because I’d just been pushed into not caring what damage I did.

  Vision red, I plowed ahead. “Accusations of lies and drama from you? The man in his thirties who waits until his sister gets married to create his own coming-out fiasco? What in the hell is that about?” I took a step closer to him. “I don’t blame your sister for doubting you. Your timing was suspect and, what, your sexuality non-existent for a decade?”

  Ken’s nostrils flared. This was his chink. This was the vulnerable part in his armor—and I was going to stick my sword in as deep as I could go.

  He thought he was going to come into my life and lay a bunch of landmines to destroy it? Hell no. His sense of entitlement was unreal. His bulldozing into my life had to be squelched. His lack of self-awareness needed to be brought to light.

  “What kind of guy—who looks like you—doesn’t go out and get laid at every opportunity? I get that you have some personality defects, but that never stopped anyone.”

  His body stilled—all except for the clenching of his jaw. “Do. Not,” he gritted out in warning.

  I ignored him. “My best guess is that you’re either a coward or you’re completely confused.”

  If there was anything Ken hated more, it was for his bisexuality to be called confusion. I knew exactly where to strike to cause the most damage. At that moment, I wanted to cause damage. He was going to jeopardize my career? Call me stupid? Call me a drama queen? Well, I wasn’t going to let him dole out this hurt to me today and sit back and take it. If he wanted to kick me, I was going to kick back harder.

  His face had gone pale. A little voice in
my head—my good sense, the one that usually ruled—whispered that I shouldn’t take this any further, that I was going to say something Ken could never forgive.

  I told that voice to piss off.

  “I see you, Ken. I know what’s really happening. You don’t expend energy into anything or anyone unless the payoff is big. Which is why you’re clinging to this ‘bi’ label so hard.” I used angry air quotes, intentionally, provokingly. “It’s selfish, is what it is. You want all your options open, but when it’s said and done…” Eventually. “You’ll end up with a wife and six kids because permanence and payoff are what you crave, right?”

  Tapping into my own insecurities didn’t just fuel my anger, it was taking over. Those words weren’t calculated, they’d been dragged out of me with little forethought. Thinking of my strained relationship with Ernesto over his concerns, thinking of Ken going to Quinn and upending my life when he, most likely, was going to be a transient presence in it—made me wild. I wanted this shaky, sick, violent feeling in my stomach out and the only way to do that was to spew it all at Ken. Spew it right in his face.

  “I thought I could have it with you!” He shook his head, his shoulders slumping. “Do you think I’m going to leave you and pretend like I never felt this way about you?” He shook his head again, like he was trying to dislodge the offending thoughts from his brain. “No. No, you don’t. You know me better than that. This is bullshit.”

  “Please!” I rolled my eyes. “As soon as you get bored of this, you’ll be gone. Not just gone but pretending like dick doesn’t get you off.”

  Ken’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “I’m not the one who gets bored. That’s your MO and I should have seen the signs.”

  I was silent for a moment, then asked a question that had floated through my mind from time to time.

  “Answer me this, Ken. When you were with Angie, did you tell her you were bi? Did you tell her why you and your father weren’t close? Hmm?”

  Ken closed his eyes and I knew. He hadn’t. He’d had a long-term relationship with a woman and hadn’t discussed his sexuality with her.

  “I—” he began, then closed his mouth.

  “Oops!” I put my hand over my mouth in mock chagrin. “You didn’t want me to know that, did you? Why? Because it means you’re a liar.” I walked close and put my hand on his shoulder, as if to comfort him. “I don’t think you’re confused, babe. I just can’t trust you, that’s all.”

  “Fuck this!” he said, pushing my arm roughly from his shoulder. He turned and scooped up his gym bag from the hall. Slinging it to his shoulder, he faced me and said, “Fuck you, too.”

  His lack of an intelligent response was in its own way gratifying. He was on the ropes and lashing out because what I said resonated with him in some way. “Who was it with all the secrets and lies, now?” I smirked.

  He walked toward the door and grabbed his wallet from the table. “Oh! You’re leaving? Cutting me out?” I accused with feigned surprise, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m not sticking to your script, so you’re gone!”

  With his back to me, he stood at the door, his hand on the knob. His slight pause, the bunching of his shoulders was almost enough for my good sense to try and assert itself again. My heart started to pound, and my gut twisted into a sickening knot.

  As he opened the door and passed through, I yelled, “You’re not the only one with a script, asshole!”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  *DKM*

  As soon as I slammed the door behind me, I knew it was over, but I didn’t let the hurt set in.

  I stalked to the elevator, fueled by my anger.

  I was done. I wasn’t going to beg and plead with someone who didn’t give a shit about me or went out of his way to invent reasons to push me away.

  He didn’t even care about himself enough to reach out for help.

  Well, screw that.

  I cared about him. I worried about him.

  And I warned him.

  I roughly pushed the down button on the elevator and cobbled an immediate plan on my way to the lobby.

  He’s left me no choice.

  I wasn’t going to be here to check up on him and I couldn’t bear the thought of him exposed, endangered and alone.

  I warned him.

  The concierge, Lawrence, was at the desk. I wiped my expression clear as best as I could and approached.

  “Good evening, Lawrence,” I greeted.

  “Good evening, Dr. Miles. What can I do for you?”

  “I was wondering if it would be possible for me to talk with Quinn Sullivan—either via phone or a meeting here. Would you be able to contact him for me?”

  “Yes, sir. May I know what this is regarding?”

  “Security concerns,” I said flatly.

  “Very well, I’ll ring the penthouse.” He lifted the phone handset, then pointed to a seating area. “Please, have a seat while you wait.”

  I situated myself on a sleek settee facing the desk and watched as Lawrence spoke into the phone. I wondered if the man would meet me. From what Steven had told me, his boss was big, mean-looking, and under a lot of stress from his wife’s complicated pregnancy. They’d welcomed their son two weeks ago, but that didn’t mean this guy’s mood was going to be any more receptive to me. Also, the confrontation he’d had earlier in the evening with the police and Kat’s cousin sounded like a difficult situation. I’m sure the last thing he wanted was for me to interrupt his evening to alert him to Steven’s problem.

  The thing was, I really didn’t give a shit.

  He could come down here and glare at me all he wanted to as long as he listened to me. As long as he gave me assurances that his company could and would do the work they specialized in. As long as he protected Steven, I didn’t care if he had his guys throw my ass out into the gutter of Randolph.

  I just hoped he’d listen.

  I was agitated, too amped up on adrenaline and anger to sit still. As soon as Lawrence hung up the phone, I stood and walked back to the desk.

  “What did he say?” I demanded.

  Lawrence furrowed his brow at my snappishness and replied, “He’ll be down in a few moments.”

  I watched the elevator intently. A few moments later, the doors opened to reveal a tall—and surprisingly young—man, exiting with purpose. I don’t know why I was surprised by his age. I knew he was a new father, but something about Steven’s references had my imagination painting him as a paunchy, curmudgeonly father-figure with a young, hot wife. Not this towering, icy-gazed, relatively youthful man. If he were as old as forty, I’d be shocked. It also didn’t escape my notice that he was strikingly handsome, which irked me for some reason. His handsomeness was combined with a hint of thuggishness—his body fit and large, his expression fixed to mask any look other than cool disdain.

  He wasn’t the only one with a mask, I thought, and fixed my own expression.

  As he approached, he gestured to the settee I’d vacated. “Have a seat, Dr. Miles.”

  As soon as I sat, I said, “Thank you for meeting with me. Steven needs your help, but he won’t ask for it.”

  He raised a brow at me but didn’t reply. He sat down on the chair opposite from the settee and leaned forward. His black T-shirt fit tight across his shoulders and his eyes were piercing. The severity of his appearance was tempered somewhat by the evidence of baby vomit on his shoulder. I doubted he even knew it was there.

  If I hadn’t been heartsick and angry, I might have smiled.

  “He’s being stalked by a man who tried to assault him on a date,” I continued. “He doesn’t think anything can be done about it, but the guy is making contact more frequently—sending cards in the mail. Maybe more, I don’t know.”

  His expression didn’t alter, but he sat up straighter in the chair.

  “He talked to your information guy and found out who the man was, but that’s all. Nothing further was done to stop him. I want you,” I continued, “to make sure noth
ing happens to Steven. Give him help, even if he’s kicking and screaming the whole time.”

  He was quiet a moment before he asked, “What about you?”

  “I won’t be around. I don’t matter.” I meant that to mean I was no longer involved in this situation, but another meaning, the one that meant I didn’t matter to Steven anymore, struck me suddenly and my breath hitched.

  I didn’t think I could continue this conversation running on adrenaline. The adrenaline was rapidly being replaced with sadness.

  I had to get out of there.

  I stood up and held out my hand for a shake. Sullivan stood and met my hand firmly.

  “Take care of him, Mr. Sullivan.” Without waiting for a reply, I turned on my heel and left.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  *DKM*

  Oscar Wilde said, “Hearts are made to be broken.”

  The quote had been repeating in my mind like a litany. It would crop up when I would start to feel ill and play on a loop until I felt a measure of calm.

  Perhaps I needed to help myself believe what was happening to my brain—the violent despair and agonizing pain—were simply a rite of passage. I had a heart, therefore, it must break.

  But mostly I knew the inaudible chanting was just another repetitive, self-soothing act which was showing signs of some effectiveness.

  All I really knew was that it was helping me to not throw up.

  I was glad for Mr. Wilde and his short, succinct words of wisdom, and I was also glad for my trip to Cleveland. It may have seemed strange that I’d be happy to be flying home to face my sister—with whom I’d been at odds—so soon after having my heart torn from my chest. But I was. Something I excelled at was focused avoidance. When I had a job to do, a task to complete, my brain allowed me to shut out my troubles and fears and buckle down into work.