Hard Rules

Turning off the light and shutting Mr. Brandon’s doors, and, fighting a nagging sense of uneasiness, I sit down at my desk and retrieve a large interoffice envelope from a drawer. I’m about to insert all the documents I’ve copied inside it, when my gaze catches on a list of proposed investments for the hedge fund. “Brandon Transportation,” I murmur, and then, “Rogers Athletics,” a company famously owned by Mike Rogers. Those companies seem like curious choices, considering this particular hedge fund is brokered by Brandon Senior, but I don’t pretend to know if that is a problem or not. This is Shane’s expertise, not mine.

Stuffing all the documents in the folder and stand, one more task to complete before I say adios to this place. Trying not to think about Randy’s potential return, I will away my nerves, and start walking, my path leading me down the dark hallway to Derek’s door. Inhaling for courage, I reach for the knob, turn it, and find it locked. A sudden roaring sound from near the front of the offices has me whirling around toward the lobby, my heart thundering in my ears right along with the air conditioner that just kicked in. Okay. That’s it. I’m done and I all but run to the front door, turn out the lights, and hesitate in the doorway. Wait. I never turned on the lights in this part of the offices. Did I? No. I did not and they weren’t on when Randy left either.

Officially freaked out, adrenaline surges through me, and I flip the light switch off, lock the door, and cross to the elevator panel, where I punch the button over and over, until finally a car arrives. Stepping inside, I dig out my phone, holding it like the weapon I wish it was, and watch the hallway every second until the doors shut. Another thirty seconds that feel like thirty years later I exit into the downstairs corridor. I start walking for the front exit, glancing toward the security desk to discover the first Randy at the desk. More unease rolls through me, and as much as I want to confirm the other man really works here, I want out of this building more.

A few dozen fast steps, and I am outside, a chilly breeze lifting my hair, and without hesitation, I start walking toward the Four Seasons, punching in Shane’s number as I do. It rings once and goes to voice mail, and in the short two-block walk, I try twice more, with no success. Arriving at the entrance of the hotel, I wave at Tai as he helps another visitor, and enter the lobby to make a beeline for the elevators.

Once inside, I key in the security code, and watch the floors tick by, certain this knot in my belly will disappear when I see Shane. So much so that I am out of the car the minute the doors open, and double-stepping for his door. Once I’m there, I resist the urge to just go in, forcing myself to punch the doorbell. Seconds tick by and he doesn’t answer, and I finally dig out the key he’d given me. I’m reaching for the lock when the door opens and I come face-to-face with a stunning brunette.

“Oh,” she says. “Hello.” Her lips curving in a cat-that-ate-the-canary smile. “He’s all yours.” She steps around me and starts walking.

My stomach rolls, at the same moment Shane appears in the doorway, his Burberry tie I’d put so much meaning behind gone, along with his jacket. “Emily,” he says, and before he can utter a lie I don’t want to remember him by, I try to turn away.

He catches my arm, dragging me to him, and my hand flattens on his chest, but he doesn’t say anything and he smells like perfume. No. He smells like her. “Let go of me,” I say, my voice trembling with the pain I swore no man would cause me again.

Several beats pass and if I wanted some sort of denial from him, I don’t get it. He releases me, and every warm spot this man ever created in me turns icy. I take a step backward, swallowing hard, and turning away. Somehow, my feet are moving, while the cold, hard truth is slowly, but precisely, seeping in and carving out a piece of my heart. This isn’t even a betrayal. He’d cut ties with me last night and I’d simply chosen not to believe it to be true.

Reaching the end of the hall that leads to the elevator, I already know he’s not following me, but some part of me needs that confirmation. Inhaling, I rotate to glance down the path I’ve just traveled to find Shane lingering in his doorway, now in profile, his hand on the jamb, his head tilted forward and low. Tormented, it seems, but I don’t pretend to know what he’s feeling. I don’t pretend to know him at all. I leave then, turning the corner and moments later, stepping into the elevator, I have two thoughts. I’m still clutching the folder I never gave him against my chest and I must have been falling in love with him to hurt this badly.

I step out of the Four Seasons and onto the street to start the six-block walk to my apartment, shoving aside the tears threatening to erupt. I will not cry. I will not be defined by the actions of one man. And the very idea that if Shane had declared that woman’s presence in his home an innocent encounter, I’d have believed him—despite her scent clinging to his clothes—infuriates me. I will not become the fool my mother was with my stepfather, with Shane or any other man.

A half block later, I have found a cold, gray spot in my mind and taken residence there, not overthinking my relationship with Shane, when I so easily could. Instead, I occupy my mind by reading store names, never letting myself go to places that might test my emotions. By block four there is a prickling sensation on my neck, a sense of being watched I do not like. It quickens my pace, reminding me of more than Randy. It reminds me of why I’m in Denver, and it is with relief that I reach my apartment and lock myself inside.