Waiting stoically, the sandwich hastily consumed on the walk over sitting in her belly like a rock, Heather glanced idly around the lobby, trying not to wrinkle her nose at the myriad of smells combining in the room from the increasing number of fellow complainants. Moesha’s chatter faded to an irritating background buzz and Heather automatically set her sensory adaptors to pick up on cue words. If one didn’t respond appropriately and immediately to Moesha, she took umbrage and repeated herself, in detail. It wasn’t worth the pain. And her friend’s car had been keyed.
Movement at the door snagged her attention. She squinted in surprised recognition. Yes, it was indeed Matthew entering the station with another big man, both of them wearing dark pants and light, button-down shirts, the sleeves rolled back to display what Heather knew were muscled, tan forearms, at least in Matthew’s case. She loved to place a hand on those arms, delighting in their implicit strength, tracing the whirls of dark, silky hair patterning them. He liked her hands on his arms, on other parts, too, his eyes darkening to bittersweet chocolate in his tanned face.
The corners of her mouth lifted in a welcoming smile and she decided to wait for him to get closer before calling out. This was a wonderful surprise, him returning early. Heather felt the smile fade when she considered Matthew, too, might be here to make a complaint. She hoped nothing terrible had happened, then calmed herself with the reminder the police actually attended those kinds of things. Matthew was just back early from his trip and maybe had a fender bender with his rental. Maybe he’d gone to her office and someone told him she and Moesha were here.
Intent on his conversation with the other man, Matthew hadn’t yet noticed her, and she perused his well-built form with the lazy complacency of someone who’d fully made its acquaintance. Just as Matthew had made hers. She tingled with arousal at the memory, her breasts actually becoming heavy, her sex softening and plumping. Heather hurriedly tucked those thoughts away. They were private and special, and people might notice. She knew her face had flushed, her cheeks positively hot.
Instead of approaching the line at the optimistically labelled Customer Service desk, Matthew and the other man walked to the door set in the far wall, opposite the entrance. Strange. She had vaguely noticed policemen enter and leave through that portal. They either used a key card or punched in a code. Why would Matthew go with a policeman, if that’s what the other guy was, into the back of the station? Heather’s heart sped up and her breath shortened. Was he under arrest?
Blinking to clear her vision, she focused on Matthew’s wrist nearest the other man. No cuffs. But there was a glint of metal at his waist. Heather involuntarily stepped closer, and the slight improvement in distance confirmed it. There was a badge on his belt. A large gold badge. It stood out in stark relief against the dark fabric of his pants. She blinked again but it didn’t magically vanish. He lifted a swipe card to the lock and reached for the handle. Matthew was a cop.
Breath whooshing of her lungs, unable to suck any back in, her head whirled with the realization. Matthew was a cop. Not a tech rep for the head company back east, sent as a liaison to the company she worked for, but a cop. Maybe not a local cop, because she’d driven him to the airport herself, watched his plane take off, but a cop. Okay, she’d said it often enough to make it true. Matthew lied to her. What was this?
As if he felt the weight of her eyes on him, Matthew looked up and scanned the room. Fortuitously, a large man hauled his bulk into view and blocked the sight line, giving her time to do something. Anything. When the Hulk ponderously moved aside, there was no sign of Matthew. That woman in the bible. The one who looked back. What was her name? She’d turned into a statue of salt. Heather couldn’t move, either.
“Heather! For Christ’s sake. Pay attention. We’re gonna lose our place!”
She turned back to Moesha with a Herculean effort and her friend abruptly stopped yammering. “What’s wrong? Heather? Jesus, girl.”
Moesha grabbed Heather’s arm and shoved her against one of the pillars in the lobby. The cool plaster against her spine and the solid strength of it stiffened Heather’s knees. She mutely shook her head against her friend’s concern and Moesha fumbled in her enormous purse, yanking out a bottle of water. Heather took it and managed to crack the cap. She raised it to her lips and let the liquid flow over her tongue and down her throat. Her swallowing sounded loud in her ears and the sandwich threatened to reappear.
“You’re next, Moesha. Get it done.” Heather’s voice didn’t sound like her. She didn’t feel like her. She had to get out of here.
Moesha gave her a harried glance, eyes shifting back and forth over Heather’s face, but she stepped up to the window, shoving the form through the opening at the bottom. The woman behind the safety glass ran the edge of her pen down the page and asked a few questions, noted something on the paper, and pushed it back for Moesha to sign. Heather catalogued all of this with remarkable clarity, despite the flickers of gray around the edges of her sanity. Things had taken on a weird overlay, soft and muzzy.
“C’mon.” Moesha slipped an arm around her waist and Heather welcomed the support and warmth. “You need a doctor? You look like you’re gonna pass out.”
“No,” she managed. “A place to sit.”
They made their way out of the station, down the broad steps, and Heather wondered that her knees could hold her. Moesha steered her to a bench on the boulevard and she sank down onto it, still clutching the bottle of water, the cap imprinted in the palm of her other hand, her purse hanging like a handicap from her right arm. It was hot in the sun, the young shade tree planted beside their bench years away from doing its job. Heather welcomed the heat, her insides quaking with cold.
“Tell me what’s wrong. Are you sick? Did you have an episode or something?”
Heather snorted in surprise. Hardly feminine, but fitting in this drama.
“Matthew’s a cop. I just saw him.”
Moesha’s eyes popped like a cartoon character’s. Her mouth dropped open, then closed. A few seconds later, an eternity in Moesha time, she said, “Your Matthew?”
“Probably not my Matthew. My Matthew’s a tech guy, remember? He’s been coming to Jameson and Company for nearly a month now, on and off. Meeting with my boss, romancing me. Going back east, coming back here. Probably someone else’s Matthew in the real world. Mine when he’s undercover.”
Moesha’s nimble brain processed the information quicker than Heather’s shell-shocked one had. “You weren’t mistaken? You really saw him? Here? And he’s a cop?”
“He had a badge on his belt, he was with another guy who had cop written all over him and they went through the security door at the back. With a key card. It was Matthew, Moesha. No doubt.” Come to think of it, Matthew had cop written all over him, too. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Stupid.
They sat in silence. Traffic noises swirled around them, other pedestrians hurried or strolled as they passed by, various forms of footwear tapping out a chaotic beat on the pavement. The bass and treble sounds echoed in Heather’s head.
“I guess when you think about it, he kinda does look like a cop. You know, built, short hair, that ‘in charge personality,’ confident.” Moesha sneaked a sideways glance.
Right, nothing like the stereotypical techie, although Mr. Grayson seemed thoroughly convinced, too. Except he hadn’t slept with the man. Yay. It hardly excused her stupidity.
“I feel as though I’m in somebody else’s life, or a movie. If he’s a cop, then he’s investigating, undercover.” Matthew investigated her pretty thoroughly, undercover. Heather’s stomach and sex clenched simultaneously. Can you say used?
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I guess go back to work and pretend.”
“Pretend what? That the man you’ve fallen ass over heels for is a fake? You’re not gonna tell your boss?” Moesha’s voice once again climbed the octaves.
Heather pushed to her feet, capping the water bottle and stickin
g it in her purse. “Nope. If the police are involved I’m not getting involved.”
“You are involved!”
“Not anymore. He used me to get information, I guess, but I don’t have anything to tell him, at least none I’m aware of. I’m Mr. Grayson’s secretary, not his personal assistant. Probably he just wanted an extra pair of eyes on Grayson.” All those TV series on cops gave her insight. It had to be her boss being investigated because Matthew had focused in on her, the one person in the office most likely to have the most information about Grayson. And while she wouldn’t tell Moesha, Heather cared enough about Matthew not to blow his cover, spoil his investigation. Revenge wasn’t a dish she was interested in supping from.
Moesha stood and got in her face, though had to lean down to do it. “But he’ll be back!”
“I know. Tomorrow. That’s when he told me he’d be back. I guess he had stuff to do that didn’t include being at the office. It included his other life. I’ll be okay by then. I’ll tell him I’m not interested in him anymore and that’ll be that.”
“Oh, honey. I’m sorry.” The pity in Moesha’s voice was too much to bear.
Heather forced a smile. “Not to worry. We were just dating. Not like we were planning the future together or anything. It was a shock to learn his real identity today, that’s all. You know how we all feel guilty when we see a cop. But I haven’t done anything wrong so it’ll be fine.”
Thank goodness she hadn’t told her best friend about the incredible night with Matthew. Or the morning. Heather regretted both but perversely wanted to covet the memory. It had been too special, too precious to share right away. She wanted to revel in it and relive it, afraid she’d jinx things if she shared earlier. Now she had to live without Matthew somehow and cope with the aching emptiness in the middle of her chest. It was bad enough she’d blithered on and on about Matthew to her friend, confiding her girlish hopes and fantasies. And it hadn’t escaped Heather’s notice that he’d taken her to bed the night before he “returned” to head office, only to come back early. Maybe he was on a schedule or something. Maybe his work here was nearly done and he didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to have sex with her.
“He screwed up, girlfriend. He could have had something special.” Moesha paused and Heather waited for more platitudes. But her friend had nothing more to say on the subject. Instead, she urged Heather into motion.
“Well, we need to get back now or you won’t have to worry about seeing him on the job. You won’t have one!”
Jameson and Company ran a tight ship. They didn’t expect their employees to punch a clock, but break times were set in stone. Mr. Grayson was worse than anal, and Moesha’s boss followed the rules to a T. The rush back to the office made them breathless and served to curtail any more questions or comments from Moesha, who surely had formulated some new theories by now. Heather hoped her friend would keep her mouth shut about Matthew on all fronts. Moesha was smart and knew which side her bread was buttered on, so she likely wouldn’t let on about his undercover status, but Heather knew she was in for some best friend intervention. Shit. How was she supposed to get through the next few days with aplomb? It didn’t matter how. She’d get it done. And Matthew Bourke would be relegated to the lesson learned file. The file wasn’t too thick, and she was damned if it was going to get any thicker.
Heather refused an evening with her friend, telling her she appreciated the idea of support, but wanted to pull herself together and make a plan to deal with Matthew the next day. In truth she wanted to lick her wounds in private. And Moesha had her book club, something her friend never missed.
Chapter Five
Manny took a break over the noon hour to call in the order for more flowers, remembering again to send them to Heather’s home. He didn’t want to risk drawing Grayson’s attention to her, put her in the position of covering up their connection. He knew the ones he sent Monday would still be blooming, and he would see Heather tomorrow, but he had to send more. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. He and Bryce stretched their legs, walking around the block before reentering the busy station. Manny felt eyes on him in that moment and scanned the room, full of men, women, and children, milling around like cattle, but didn’t see anyone he knew. He had more pressing matters on his mind, separate from the investigation. The text he sent Heather after choosing more roses, this time in peach, telling her he was working and missed her, went unanswered for what felt like an interminable time, and he was forced to return to the war room.
His cell signalled a text nearly an hour later. A brief Me, too filled the tiny screen, and he was puzzled at the paucity of the response. Heather was nothing if not verbose in a cute, adorable way. Cute. Adorable. He was such a goner. But perhaps she was in with Grayson or otherwise occupied and unable to respond in her usual manner. He set it aside and concentrated.
By midevening there was nothing left to do, nothing left to consider. Empty coffee cups and take-out food containers littered the conference table. Something might have escaped their notice and they resolved to review it the next day, first thing in the morning, then run it past McAllister’s boss, as well as Manny and Bryce’s. Manny’s boss had given them pretty much carte blanche but it didn’t hurt to keep him in the know, although Manny’s relationship with a certain Heather Graham hadn’t made it into his last in-person report. Bryce would meet with the accountants tomorrow afternoon, and Manny would join them once he did his termination interview with Grayson, confirming with the man his work was done. Manny didn’t want to risk tipping anyone’s hand by veering from the expected routine. And he’d get to see Heather before the shit hit the fan. Bonus.
“Dinner?” Bryce couldn’t look as tired as Manny felt. Two flights in three days were a killer on top of the intense planning his brain had been subjected to since Tuesday. He debated.
“Sure.” He could use his friend’s company, even if he didn’t talk about Heather, although he might. Thankfully, McAllister declined, citing the urge to see his kids for once before they were all in bed. Arranging to meet the following day at nine, they took their leave.
* * * *
“You’re looking at that phone like it’s your worst enemy.” Bryce’s dry tone drew Manny’s eyes away from the offending silent object.
“I texted Heather and she hasn’t responded. Not even about the flowers and she must have received them by now.”
“Some women see flowers as a kiss off.”
Shit. He hadn’t thought of that. Surely Heather didn’t think…he couldn’t think, at least not straight. He punched in a text asking if she was ok, if she liked the peach roses, saying that if he couldn’t be with her he wanted her to have the reminder. Manny’s romantic effort surprised even the charmer in him. Never before had he reached out to a woman in this way.
His cell chimed. Heather. Sorry! I’m good. Life interfered but on top of it. Roses beautiful and most appreciated. Manny typed rapidly, indicating his pleasure to send them and that he was glad she was okay. He debated calling her to ask about the life interfering comment, but didn’t trust himself not to share too much and dig himself in deeper.
“Okay?” His partner and friend looked at him quizzically.
“Yup. She had some stuff going on but says it’s fine. She appreciated the new roses.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“She didn’t say, but nothing to do with work, I’m sure.” He hoped.
“I trust your judgment, Manny, although dating this woman clouds things. I know your feelings for her are past cozying up to keep an eye on Grayson.”
“Back off, Bryce. Take your own advice to McAllister. Heather isn’t involved and I have no idea how I’m going to fix this, make her understand I didn’t get close to her just as part of the investigation.” Manny tried to bring his voice down, back under control, but it shook with his anger. It caught the attention of other diners.
Bryce raised both hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. And if Heather feels anything si
milar for you, compared to what you obviously feel for her, it’ll work out. Help her separate the emotion and view the situation intellectually. She’ll understand.”
Manny laughed, a dry, rasping sound emanating from his soul. “Heather told me she loved me Saturday night. She whispered it, but I heard her. And I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to compound my perfidy. I now know I should have, because I could remind her. Goddamn it, Bryce. This investigation…and since when do betrayed women view things intellectually?”
“Order a drink or six, Manny. And a good meal. Focus. You’ll see her tomorrow and you need to carry it off.”
Nodding, Manny picked up the menu and gave his order to the waitstaff, a little blonde woman whose smile didn’t begin to rival Heather’s. He and Bryce ate in relative silence, lost in their own thoughts, then went back to the hotel and sought their separate rooms. He sent another text, saying good night. Heather didn’t respond, but it was late. Showering again, wincing at the graininess in the back of his eyes, he fell into bed after barely taking a pass at the moisture on his body with the plush hotel towel. He would far rather be sleeping on satin sheets with a warm bundle of woman held close.
* * * *
Waking late, the events of the previous days clearly sapping his energy, Manny hustled through morning ablutions and pulled fresh clothing on. He decided to pick up coffee and a bagel on the run. He’d checked his phone the moment his eyes opened and the relief at seeing a response from Heather was indescribable. An organ in the middle of his chest literally flexed and lightened. It was yet another brief response but he’d figured that out, his mind attacking the puzzle overnight. Heather had gone to bed with him Saturday night and he’d left her to literally fly out of her life the next day. She was likely feeling a little awkward, maybe second-guessing herself, especially when he was due in the office today. He hadn’t missed how unaware Heather was of her own allure and appeal. He deplored how self-effacing she could be, and how self-deprecating.
Be Your Everything [All for Love] (BookStrand Publishing Romance) Page 5