Running the Numbers (22 page)

She pressed the door closed. The click of the metal latch sliding home seemed to her like a ref’s whistle blaring into the quiet.

Round one.

Sadie crouched next to the filing cabinet and did her best to ignore the beads of sweat forming at her hairline and dripping down onto her temple, sluicing through layers of her makeup. By the time she crept out of here, she’d look like a melting candle.

Why did Wes keep his office at such a stifling temperature? She understood it was mid-March in Wyoming, but eighty-five degrees was a tad excessive.

Quietly, Sadie pulled open the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet. It glided toward her silently. She flicked through the folders, a veritable neon rainbow of colors. Old paper files wouldn’t likely lead anywhere, because mostly everything had been digitized years ago. But Wes’s portal password might be scribbled down anywhere. Sadie had hers tucked away in at least three different locations, given how often it changed and how difficult the random mix of letters and numbers could be to memorize.

Blake might’ve helped her, but Sadie wanted to take a gander herself. She knew Wes’s style and might catch on to something Blake wouldn’t. After all, there was a lot to be learned about a man when you’d shared his bed.

Blake certainly didn’t have
that
distinction.

And it had to be Wes. No doubt in Sadie’s mind, Wes was behind the missing money. His expensive car and severe case of self-deluded, egocentric entitlement all made sense now. He strutted around like the next big cheese because he believed he was getting away with stealing right under their noses.

She couldn’t wait to rub his face in the evidence, see the terror and surprise expand his beady eyeballs until they exploded from his sneering face, and watch as Duncan—

“What are you doing on the floor?”

Sadie jerked and whacked her shoulder against the cabinet with a thud. The resonant shock of Amanda’s voice made her skin feel like it was going to peel off. When her breath returned, she swallowed and addressed Amanda without looking up. She shuffled through the files as though she had the right. “Searching for an old file I misplaced. It might’ve been one I gave over to Wes.” She sniffed and straightened, kicking the drawer shut with her boot. She tugged her cardigan down. “It’s not here. Might be in archives.”

Amanda’s face hadn’t changed a bit, no matter what emotional hardships she’d suffered the last several weeks. No new lines around her eyes. Her placid features gave away nothing. She clutched a glaring orange folder to her chest like a shield. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

Unbidden, last night came to Sadie. Her face warmed. How could she have faced Amanda if she’d given in to Blake last night? It seemed like every point on the compass led to a brick wall. No matter where she turned, potential pain, either for herself or someone she cared about, whether it was Blake, Amanda, or her own heart, stared at her. And she did care about Amanda, despite everything.

Sadie tucked a sweat-soaked strand of hair that had stuck to her forehead behind her ear. “You’re right. I’ll go.”

She tried to step past Amanda.

Amanda stepped once to the left, barring the way. Her green eyes were pale and creepy in the dim room. “You think he’s guilty, don’t you? Blake told you about the missing money, and you’d like it to be Wes.”

Sadie swallowed past the lump in her throat, threatening to choke her. If Mrs. Avery’s daughter pointed the finger at Sadie, it’d be enough to make her a person of interest. Blake wouldn’t have a choice; he’d pull every file Sadie had touched in the last year. He wouldn’t find anything, but the investigation would go down in her personnel record for all time.

It was enough to paint a brilliant red slash over years of impeccable professionalism.

“I don’t want it to be anyone, actually,” she parried. A little early for a verbal spar, but she’d taken the risk breaking into Wes’s office. Now she had to outsmart the bridge troll to escape to safety.

Except, Amanda wasn’t really a bridge troll, only a deeply misunderstood woman.

Sadie gave up on making a run for it. “You know, I lied to you, Amanda. And I owe you an apology. Because I do like Blake.”

It floored her when Amanda’s brow gathered in pained puzzlement. She almost looked like a normal person when she moved the muscles in her face. “You’re involved with him?”

“No.” Sadie shook her head in adamant denial. “No, no, no. I would never, ever do that to someone I consider a friend. I probably wouldn’t do it to an enemy. That’s not the kind of woman I am. You spent enough time with me to know if I were. I wouldn’t eat at your table, then spend the night with your man.” It disgusted her to even think about it. “When I say I lied to you, I only mean that I sort of had a thing for Blake, back in the beginning. But you were so happy he’d asked you out, I dialed back instead of telling you the truth. He didn’t want me, anyway, and you both seemed happy. I’ve had a bit of a…”

Was there a grown-up way to say crush? Was there any way to explain it that didn’t make her look like a desperate, lovelorn spinster drooling after Blake all these months?

“…a crush, I guess.” She’d have to read a dictionary at some point. Expand the old vocab. “I’m only bringing it up because I feel I owe you more, I guess. I don’t want to flail my arms and beat feet every time you enter a room. I’ve liked Blake for a long time, ever since you began dating. But I’ve never pursued an intimate relationship with him. Likewise, Blake never attempted one with me,” she added, wanting to be clear. “Besides, he sort of told Kennedy point-blank he didn’t want to date me. But we did have fun together. And he does have this very sad underdog thing going on that I can’t help but want to support, despite his history, which just screams red flag—”

“What are you talking about?” Amanda’s face had dropped the pained expression, leaving only confusion in her wide green eyes. Her head tilted slightly, and her blond curtain of hair draped over one shoulder like a fine woven scarf. Sadie could kind of see her appeal. If a man were into that kind of thing.

She hesitated to dive into Blake’s past, but he owed Amanda full disclosure. Besides, she had to have heard at least some of the details in all the time they’d been dating. She did her best to inject the perfect note of nonchalance into her voice. “I only mean the thing with his third wife being his first wife’s sister, and his second wife being the mistress from his first wife. It took me a while to wrap my head around it. I actually drew a diagram.”

She broke off. Amanda’s eyes had grown in circumference.

Please, Blake, tell me you told her. Tell me you didn’t hide this from her…

Sadie didn’t know what to do but keep going and try to dig her way out. “Anyway, it’s like he was trying to fix the whole mess with that last marriage but didn’t have the first clue of how to go about it. I get the sense he’s going through something similar here. He’s trying to atone, but not in the right way. I can’t help but root for the guy, you know. Years later, he’s still got himself strapped to a gurney.”

Five years, precisely, which didn’t sound as impressive as say, ten, so Sadie didn’t enumerate.

“Anyway,” she plowed on in the wake of Amanda’s gaping silence, “no one else seems to be clinging to the past. His first wife is married with a toddler, the mistress disappeared with the guy who was the real dad of their baby together, and his third wife fell for a beach bum in Hawaii. So, really, who cares?”

It was like the plot for a long-running soap opera had spewed from her mouth. No one would ever believe she’d actually been trying to help Blake, not make him sound like a cautionary tale from the Deep South.

She ran a hand through her hair and let out a puff of air. “I’ve screwed this up. Amanda, I’m an idiot. I shouldn’t have said anything. All I meant to get across was Blake’s a reformed moron douchebag who’s trying way too hard to repair something no one can even remember was broken. More to the point, you’re my friend.
Were
my friend, but I’m down to still be friends if you can believe I never meant to cause any upset between you and Blake. His recent change of heart notwithstanding,” she added with an eye roll, because
silly, silly
Blake seemed to think he was in love with her. “I’d choose your friendship over Blake if it came to that. He’s confused right now, that’s all. Seems to think I’m his ex-wife incarnate.”

Amanda’s expression went stony, then considering. “He went to you?”

Sadie rubbed her eyes carefully, conscious of the mascara she didn’t want smeared all over her face. “Yes. It’s like I said, though. He’s hung up on this idea of redemption, but I’m not what he thinks I am. I’m not his salvation. Neither are you. We’re just women, you know? Neither one of us can cleanse him of his guilt or undo his mistakes.”

Amanda opened her mouth to reply when Wes strode through the door and froze.

“What are you two doing in my office?” His dark gaze swung from Sadie to Amanda and back.

Sadie’s nerves couldn’t take much more. Between dumping Blake’s past into Amanda’s unsuspecting lap like a bowl of wet noodles and Wes busting them in his office, she couldn’t do anything but wait for Amanda to drop her like a hot rock.

The moment suspended in time like stretched putty.

Amanda’s gaze drilled so hard into Sadie she could almost feel the scrutiny hit the back of her skull, and Wes’s eyebrows, thin and over-plucked as ever, formed a deep, suspicious V.

Finally, Amanda looked at Wes. “I borrowed your office to have a private moment with Sadie.”

Sadie almost wilted with relief.
Oh, Amanda. Bless your strange, strange heart.

“Yeah?” Wes set his hands on his hips in a cocky fashion. “What’s wrong with having a private moment in Sadie’s office?”

“You were late turning in your budget report this morning.” Amanda didn’t skip a beat. “I asked her to accompany me to retrieve it from your desk.” At that, she delicately tapped a sheet sitting on Wes’s desk. Sure enough, his budget report, lacking only a signature. “If you wouldn’t mind?”

That did the trick. Wes came around his desk, took a fine pen from his breast pocket, and signed the report with a flourish, looking only a tad sheepish as he handed it to Amanda. “I apologize. I had some errands to run this morning. They took longer than I expected.”

Straight-faced, Amanda took the report like it was money he owed her, tucking it possessively into the folder in her hand. “No harm, no foul. Actually…” She turned to Sadie then. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to talk to Wes.” Her gaze darted to the door and back. “Alone.”

If Sadie could take anything, it was a hint. She saluted, a dumb little motion that probably gave her away a thousand times over. “Gotcha. See you later then.”

She didn’t need an excuse to walk away from Wes’s office as quickly as her heeled boots allowed. But she couldn’t help sneaking one final glance at Amanda and Wes as the door closed on their private conversation.

What could a megalomaniac and a bridge troll have to talk about?

* * * *

Blake stared at the text message on his phone.

Part of him was shocked he’d said anything at all, and the rest of him didn’t understand why he hadn’t done it sooner. Sooner as in five years ago.

I forgave you when I met Jack.

The sentiment was nice, but Quinn’s message still hit him like a punch to the gut. In the years since Jack had entered their family, Blake and Quinn had done their best to remain friendly and cordial for Seth’s sake. Blake had manned up and become the kind of father Seth needed, because if he hadn’t, Jack would have.

But no one ever discussed the affair. In small ways throughout the next several years, they’d become something of friends, but Blake never brought up Kira or Hunter and never asked Quinn if she forgave him for ruining their lives. Then again, he hadn’t so much ruined her life as set her free to find Jack.

Why couldn’t it work the same way for him? Last night, he finally broke down and asked Quinn in the most passive manner possible—with a cowardly text message—if she’d forgiven him and did she believe he was a different man than the one who’d snuck into supply closets with another woman at the office.

Her first message:
I’d be proud to call you my husband today, Blake. Jack read that over my shoulder and frowned deeply, but he gets it. You aren’t the same person you were. Please, for all our sakes, get over it and forgive yourself.

He’d smiled, reading that. He’d spent a lot of time daydreaming of his old life. Quinn at his side, entertaining clients from the office with talk of her writing process. He hadn’t been proud of her then, only glad she had some value in impressing his high-flying clients who were all Clementine Hazel fans. Quinn had been a decorative piece, pretty to look at and useful at times.

He’d been crazy about her for most of his life, but one day she faded into the background like gray wallpaper. He found himself not caring about the things she talked about or how she might feel. And that was before Kira came along.

Okay, so maybe his old life hadn’t been all that great. It included an affair, a nonexistent relationship with his son, and a wall between him and his wife that kept him from seeing her completely. Sometimes, he found it easy to blame Quinn. She was smart and self-reliant, elegant and the coolest customer around, as smooth and poised as the loveliest swan. Kira had been exciting. Fun and intriguing. He never knew what she’d say next or where she’d want to go. She was a lot like—

An image of Sadie popped into his mind.

Damn it.
Blake dropped his head on the desk, letting it fall heavily. He deserved the resounding smack of pain. He squeezed his eyes shut. How in the hell could Sadie still remind him of Kira? How could she have the best qualities of two polar-opposite women?

And how could he fall for someone so perplexing when he’d come all this way to get away from complication?

He lifted his head at the quiet knock on his door.

Kennedy poked her head inside. She didn’t react to his position, head hovering close to his desk, or what had to be a big round red mark on his forehead. It still tingled from whacking against the desk. “Nina’s ready for her meeting with you.”