the story, and probably, the odds that Zoey would keep digging, even if she was on her own. “Fine,” Helen said, eventually. “Then the next step is that you go to the cops. You answer their questions. And you try to find out about the drive.”
“Okay,” Zoey said. “It’s a plan.”
Helen squeezed her hand. “Be careful, luv. I don’t want to see you hurt.”
It would be too cruel to point out that the ship had already sailed. Instead, she just smiled and squeezed back. “Thanks, sha. I’ll be careful.”
Under Helen’s watchful eyes, she pulled out her phone and dialed Alex’s lawyers.
CHAPTER TEN
It was well into the evening by the time Zoey got home. Sarah O’Grady, from Rodriguez, Rodriguez, and Martin, had met her at the police station, and Zoey had taken an instant liking to the woman. She was small and stocky and incredibly Irish, with the kind of frizzy hair that people called red when it was really orange, and a kiddish spray of freckles over her incredibly pale cheeks. She had her hair contained—one couldn’t really say tamed—in a French braid, and even though her eyes sparkled with humor, her face was quiet and serious, and the cops at 1PP seemed to know her, and automatically defer to her. She kept Zoey from needing to answer any questions at this point, which also meant that Zoey got no chance to try and find out about the drive, m uch to her irritation.
As they waited, and she and Sarah chatted about her partnership at the firm, she couldn’t help but love the woman’s irreverence. “After Alonso—he’s the grandson of the original Martin—and I got married, he and Juliet—she’s the Rodriguez—wanted to change the name to Rodriguez, Martin, and O’Grady, but how could I let them do that? It’d sound like we worked at the frickin’ UN.” It was the one time Sarah cracked a big broad smile, and Zoey found herself regretting that she was this woman’s client, because she thought going out for a drink with her and Helen would be amazing.
Maybe later , she thought. When this is done.
After the trip to 1PP, where the Commissioner seemed to deliberately avoid her, Zoey went into the office at the Voice. Her editor was conveniently out of the office, but she was able to check her email, check the work message boards, and log her on-site hours. She went home with a list of briefs to work on over night for the morning update. But when she walked back into her apartment, the sense of loss pinged at her attention and wouldn’t be ignored.
It wasn’t just him, and that grossed her out quite a lot. She missed the luxury. She missed someone making her a cup of coffee before she’d even thought to ask for one. She missed everything being sparkling and fresh and new. Two days in financial paradise, and the walls of her apartment felt smothering and uncomfortable. And it was vastly too quiet.
But it wasn’t quiet. The pipes were banging, and her upstairs neighbor’s three kids were running around, doing laps before bedtime, and the couple on the other side of her wall were slamming the headboard into the wall. These were the noises that had soothed her to sleep since she’d left Louisiana, that had told her she was home, and safe, and comfortable.
And now all she wanted was Alex, whispering behind her, pressing his lips against her neck as he stroked his fingertips down her bare arms.
She closed her eyes and tried to push the ghost of him away from her. Helen was right. He’d behaved horribly, and it was okay if she decided that an apology wasn’t enough. Especially since he hadn’t even apologized yet. But still, as she settled in on the couch and pulled out her laptop, she struggled to get comfortable. She struggled to shake the image of him, draped over her, out of her mind. She needed to get work done if she wanted to pay her own damn rent.
Her phone rang from a number she didn’t recognize, and her pulse
“Okay,” Zoey said. “It’s a plan.”
Helen squeezed her hand. “Be careful, luv. I don’t want to see you hurt.”
It would be too cruel to point out that the ship had already sailed. Instead, she just smiled and squeezed back. “Thanks, sha. I’ll be careful.”
Under Helen’s watchful eyes, she pulled out her phone and dialed Alex’s lawyers.
CHAPTER TEN
It was well into the evening by the time Zoey got home. Sarah O’Grady, from Rodriguez, Rodriguez, and Martin, had met her at the police station, and Zoey had taken an instant liking to the woman. She was small and stocky and incredibly Irish, with the kind of frizzy hair that people called red when it was really orange, and a kiddish spray of freckles over her incredibly pale cheeks. She had her hair contained—one couldn’t really say tamed—in a French braid, and even though her eyes sparkled with humor, her face was quiet and serious, and the cops at 1PP seemed to know her, and automatically defer to her. She kept Zoey from needing to answer any questions at this point, which also meant that Zoey got no chance to try and find out about the drive, m uch to her irritation.
As they waited, and she and Sarah chatted about her partnership at the firm, she couldn’t help but love the woman’s irreverence. “After Alonso—he’s the grandson of the original Martin—and I got married, he and Juliet—she’s the Rodriguez—wanted to change the name to Rodriguez, Martin, and O’Grady, but how could I let them do that? It’d sound like we worked at the frickin’ UN.” It was the one time Sarah cracked a big broad smile, and Zoey found herself regretting that she was this woman’s client, because she thought going out for a drink with her and Helen would be amazing.
Maybe later , she thought. When this is done.
After the trip to 1PP, where the Commissioner seemed to deliberately avoid her, Zoey went into the office at the Voice. Her editor was conveniently out of the office, but she was able to check her email, check the work message boards, and log her on-site hours. She went home with a list of briefs to work on over night for the morning update. But when she walked back into her apartment, the sense of loss pinged at her attention and wouldn’t be ignored.
It wasn’t just him, and that grossed her out quite a lot. She missed the luxury. She missed someone making her a cup of coffee before she’d even thought to ask for one. She missed everything being sparkling and fresh and new. Two days in financial paradise, and the walls of her apartment felt smothering and uncomfortable. And it was vastly too quiet.
But it wasn’t quiet. The pipes were banging, and her upstairs neighbor’s three kids were running around, doing laps before bedtime, and the couple on the other side of her wall were slamming the headboard into the wall. These were the noises that had soothed her to sleep since she’d left Louisiana, that had told her she was home, and safe, and comfortable.
And now all she wanted was Alex, whispering behind her, pressing his lips against her neck as he stroked his fingertips down her bare arms.
She closed her eyes and tried to push the ghost of him away from her. Helen was right. He’d behaved horribly, and it was okay if she decided that an apology wasn’t enough. Especially since he hadn’t even apologized yet. But still, as she settled in on the couch and pulled out her laptop, she struggled to get comfortable. She struggled to shake the image of him, draped over her, out of her mind. She needed to get work done if she wanted to pay her own damn rent.
Her phone rang from a number she didn’t recognize, and her pulse
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