“What are you doing here?” she seethed, stalking across the walkway, her hazel eyes wandering to my bed hair. She glanced behind her, and I followed her stare to Oliver. He stood in the doorway, somehow looking like sex incarnate even though he was scowling. “Why is she here?”
Giving up on my plan to sneak in through the back way, I walked barefoot toward the front door, offering her a tiny smile as I passed by. “I came to run an errand for Margaret,” I explained a little too sarcastically, and I knew I’d probably pay for that.
Tomorrow morning, Margaret would be all over me.
Finley’s lips parted, and she pinged her eyes from Oliver to me. “You’re with her now? Is this the reason you’ve been so ... strange?”
It was wrong of me to feel so much pleasure at hearing her say that, but that was the exact emotion that rushed through my body. Ignoring the voice in the back of my head that told me I was stupid for feeling anything for a man I’d have to say goodbye to sooner or later, I hugged myself close. The pages beneath my shirt crackled under my arms.
Neither confirming nor denying our involvement, Oliver gave his ex an icy smile that would have made even Margaret Manning-Emerson tremble. “Goodnight, Finley.”
When I passed the stone pillars on either side of his veranda, I heard Finley say evenly from behind me, “You probably think this is funny.”
“No.” Halting a few inches from Oliver, I twisted to see her beside her Jaguar with her hands balled into fists. “But I’m sorry if you think I do.”
She opened her door and threw her purse inside. “What was it you told me your father always said to you?” Don’t say apologize for things you’re not really sorry for?” Her nostrils flared. “Well, take your own advice.”
A few seconds after the front door closed behind Oliver and me, her tires squealed, signaling her departure from his home. His expression blank, he moved toward me, but I pressed my hand to his chest. I didn’t want him to feel what I’d stuffed down my shirt.
Didn’t want to come up with another lie this late.
He raced the back of his finger along the side of my face. “What were you doing outside?”
“I was checking my car for an extra phone charger,” I said breathlessly. “I promise I wasn’t leaving.” Before he had a chance to form a response, I stood on my toes and kissed him. “I’m going to shower and then I’m coming back to bed. And we will actually get some sleep.”
Exhaling, he nodded. From his tight expression, it was apparent he was still irritated from Finley’s visit. “Don’t take too long, Lizzie.”
The moment I locked myself in the bathroom with the massive body-jet shower, I plucked the papers from my shirt. As I sat on tile shower bench and leafed through receipts and other frivolous documents, I felt a sharp stab of remorse.
What if I was being suspicious of Finley for absolutely no reason?
“What if—” I started, but then I saw something on the page in my hand that made me blink. It was a bill of sale from Jaguar for Finley’s car, but she wasn’t the purchaser.
The stepmonster was.
Turning to the following page—the temporary vehicle registration—I found Margaret’s name once more.
“What the fuck is going on here?” I murmured, holding the papers side-by-side, studying them closely. Why on earth would Margaret buy Finley a car?
Oliver rapped on the door a few times, and my heart collided against my ribcage. “Is everything alright?”
Gathering the paperwork into a stack, I found myself bobbing my head even though nobody could see me. “Everything is ... fine.” I folded the pages inside my plaid shirt and tucked the sleeves to hold everything in.
Then, I stepped into the shower, my thoughts all over the place.
*
I made it through security and into my office the next morning with a couple minutes to spare. A few seconds after I’d powered on my iMac and lowered my butt to my rolling chair, the phone on my desk rang.
Before I could murmur a greeting, Margaret’s voice boomed in my ear, going a mile a minute. I sucked on the inside of my bottom lip and waited for the verbal lashing that was bound to happen due to Finley telling her about last night.
To my bewilderment, though, I quickly realized she was more interested in chatting about early Christmas shopping than my affiliation with her son.
“I like to mail out gifts to my favorite editors and colleagues a few weeks in advance, and I don’t have time to deal with any of that this year. I’ve sent you an email with what I need you to pick up and who you’ll be mailing what to.”
“Do you want me to work on it after Thanksgiving next week?”
She blew a breath into the receiver, and I could just imagine the look of sheer frustration pulling at her thin lips at this very moment. “If I wanted you to do it after I returned from France, I would have asked you then. Do you understand?”
Tapping my fingers on the checkerboard paperweight, I held the phone away from my mouth so she wouldn’t hear me grit my teeth. It was only a matter of time before I blew up.
Margaret had certainly given me plenty of fuel for a meltdown.
“I’ll get started on the shopping tomorrow,” I promised, my pulse speeding as I clicked on her email and glanced over the list that would probably print out to two pages. Certain brands jumped out to me like Hermès and Givenchy, and I wondered how many thousands of dollars Margaret’s Christmas shopping would add up to. “Where can I find all the addresses?”
“Most of them should be in your Rolodex, but my assistant from last year was so flighty, you might need to do your own research.” Not bothering to cover the receiver, she barked a command to whatever poor soul was assisting her in Paris before returning to me.
“What’s the status on that final transcription? I checked my box for it this morning, but it wasn’t there. You didn’t forget, did you?”
Rolling my eyes, I opened the transcription software. “Almost done. I’ll be sending it along by the end of the week.”
“Good enough. Did you schedule the car to meet me at LAX next Tuesday?”
“The car will be there at two thirty. I also emailed you the confirmation.”
She made a tsking sound, and I braced myself for the shitstorm that would likely ensue. “One more thing, Ms. Connelly. It’s about my son.”
Oh, hell.
I bit my tongue, realizing she was about to tear me to shreds because of Finley—the woman she’d bought a very expensive car for.
Which still boggled my mind, but Pen had already promised me she’d find out exactly what was going on.
“Yes?” I breathed, clicking on a message from Stella that popped up on my computer screen. “What about Oliver?”
“Although it’s an intimate affair being held at my home, Finley has asked that I request your assistance checking names at the door for Oliver’s party. Don’t make plans for the evening of December fifth.”
Wow.
That was it?
No threats or promises to end my career?
“I’ll make sure my schedule stays free.”
“Perfect. I’ll see you next week, Ms. Connelly.”
After she disconnected the call, I stared at my screen for what felt like eons. Finally, when another message from Stella came through, I confirmed our lunch date and got to work.
*
“She’s embezzling money,” Pen told me confidently a few seconds after I dragged ass through the door the next evening. I’d spent the day hunting down Margaret’s early Christmas list—even using the gift card Oliver had given me the other month when I went over the daily limit. The last thing I expected was to come home to a greeting like that.
“What did you just say?”
“She’s. Embezzling. Money.”
“Finley Scott?” When I’d given my best friend the contents of Finley’s dashboard yesterday morning, she seemed giddy at the prospect of new developments. She’d also promised to make sure everything made it back into the other woman’s car before she noticed it gone. I’d been skeptical, but somehow, Penelope and all her connections had come through.