Walk Through Fire (Page 61)

She was considering buying me out. It’d take her years. She’d have to do it in installments. And she didn’t much like the idea. She liked working with me and actually preferred being an assistant and not having the headaches of being the boss.

But she knew she was good at what she did, the clients knew her and trusted her, she could keep Cross Events functioning and successful, and she could make a whole lot more as the boss.

So she was considering it.

That was all I’d managed to do while I was away, partly because I was in a different time zone on a different continent, so there wasn’t much more I could do.

But mostly it was because I was taking my first vacation… ever… and I was in Paris.

And I was in Paris at the perfect time because it was November, the place wasn’t overrun with tourists, and there were actually Parisians in the city (Parisians, I was told while I was there, did their best to take off when the place was covered in tourists). Thus I decided my experience was more authentic.

It was chilly but it was amazing. So beautiful it almost seemed unreal.

So I ate. I drank. I roamed. I shopped. I got on tour buses, rode, took pictures, and listened to not very good tapes telling me what things were. I got out of the city and saw Versailles. I sat in spectacular gardens and people watched. I spoke broken French to French people who were a lot friendlier than I’d expected them to be.

I had intended to spend two full weeks there but it finally occurred to me I was hemorrhaging money having a Parisian getaway/breakdown when my future was uncertain. Therefore, I cut my visit two days short, thus necessitating a variety of flight changes that were not the greatest.

But they got me home.

And I got what I needed from Paris.

I’d come to terms with what was left of my life.

And what I came to terms with was that I was not beaten.

I was angry.

Twenty years ago, I’d broken up with Logan. Yes, we were in love, deeply in love. Yes, we were happy. Yes, we had it all.

Because I gave it all to him.

Sure, he gave it back but I was the best old lady ever. Keely absolutely adored Black, she had old lady down pat, but I was even better than her.

And I was totally better than Naomi, who, frankly, was mostly a bitch (so I was glad Tack had moved on, though I was not admitting it since I was also ticked at Tack and his new woman).

And most importantly, I’d ended it for him.

For Logan.

Logan didn’t know that but I did, damn it.

What I didn’t do was cheat on him. Steal from him. Stick him with a knife while he was sleeping because he didn’t buy me a diamond bracelet I wanted (since I didn’t want any diamond bracelet, just him). Burn down the house in a fit of pique to make a point about him not doing the dishes.

We were together.

We broke up.

Twenty years ago.

People broke up all the time!

He had to get over himself.

But he’d have to do it without me.

He thought I had to pay? Well, maybe he was right and I knew he didn’t know (and I wasn’t going to tell him, not ever), so being the man he was, he would think that.

And I’d paid.

Now I was done.

No more.

I hoped I communicated that to him and the rest of them that horrible night at The Roll. I’d also spoken to Kellie and she told me what she’d told them, so if I didn’t communicate it to them, I hoped what she said did.

But it didn’t matter. I had set my course and it was time for massive change. A new life away from any possibility of seeing Logan at my home, having his people mess with my life, or even seeing him at a Chipotle ordering a burrito.

I just hoped I could avoid any of that kind of thing before I was able to get myself gone. There was a lot to do. It would probably take weeks.

During that time, after I got preliminary stuff sorted, I’d stay at Dottie and Alan’s. I could work from there, too, unless I had to see a client, which meant going to my studio. And being at Dot and Alan’s, I would hope, would mean Logan wouldn’t mess with me.

But if anything happened, if any of them did one single thing, I was calling the cops.

Fuck them.

All of them.

Especially Logan.

He was dead to me.

All of Chaos were.

They had to be so I could get on with what was left of my life.

This was what I was intent on doing (after I slept for three days) when the taxi dropped me off behind my house. The driver took my luggage out of the trunk and put it inside the back door. I gave him a good tip. He smiled and I didn’t watch as he got in his cab and rolled away.

I knew Dot had been in to turn up the furnace, straighten up, return my car, and make sure I had some food.

So all I had to do was take off my clothes and drop in my bed.

Which was what I was going to do.

I locked the door behind me and wandered into the living room, sliding the purse from my shoulder to toss on my couch, my feet set on a course for my bed.

“Millicent Anna Cross.”

I stopped dead as my body coated in ice when I heard a voice that shouldn’t be coming at me from my living room. I looked and saw the man sitting in my cuddle chair, facing me, two men standing behind him.

I’d never seen him before.

He was dressed well. Hispanic. Good-looking. And he seemed laid back.

But he scared the holy shit out of me because I didn’t know him, he knew me, and he was in my living room!

I tensed to flee but stopped as my head shot to the side when I felt movement there.

Another man was coming close.

And he had a gun pointed at me.

I felt the blood drain from my face and my eyes drifted back to the man in my cuddle chair against their will because I thought it pertinent to keep an eye on the guy with the gun.