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I throw my hand to my mouth to cover my dismay and slowly shake my head.
My lungs tighten as my breathing takes on a life of its own.
“I don’t feel so good,” I say to no one in particular. “I have to go.”
Joseph jumps out of his seat and is by my side in a flash. “Do you want me to call Nathan?”
“No,” I snap, not meaning to cause Joseph to jerk back in surprise. “I’m sorry, just, will you tell him I felt unwell, and I’ll see him tomorrow or maybe the day after?” I need space and time to gather my thoughts. “I think I’m coming down with the flu and I should stay away from Nathan. He’s in court for the next week and in the middle of a huge case. The last thing he needs is coming down with whatever I have,” I lie.
“Do you want me to call you a cab then?” His voice is instantly full of worry at my sudden mysterious illness.
Which isn’t a mystery. I just need to get the hell out of here.
“No, thank you,” I say, lifting my purse off the floor in a daze. “I’ll see you in a couple of days. I need to go to bed.” I pull a tight smile and stuff the crash report into my purse.
I knew my life was going too well. I knew the ball would drop eventually.
I’ve spent a month of bliss in Nathan’s arms, and now, if I decide to act on this information, that’s all I might be getting.
The dates he organized, more days at the ranch, lazy evenings on the sofa; he even watchedHarry Potterwith me. I adore his family. I adore him.
More than that, I love him.
I know it now for sure, but what do I do with this information?
Who covered this up?
Was his father involved after all?
If so, where does this leave us?
The inevitable… I knew it… falling in love with a man linked to my family was stupid of me, and now I think I might finally have to face this head on.
My complicated life just got even more complex.
Rushing toward the elevator, I keep my head down to avoid seeing or speaking to anyone and say a swift goodbye to Joseph as I press the call button, then wait for it to arrive.
“C’mon, c’mon,” I mutter under my breath and press it again impatiently.
The office feels like the full weight of its structure is sitting on my chest and trying to suffocate me.
Eventually it arrives and when I step inside, I break down just as the doors slide shut, and I press the ground-floor button to get the hell out of here.
My stomach in knots, I swipe away at a never-ending stream of tears running down my cheeks.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen. It just can’t be real.” I yank the report out of my purse and stare at the blurry words.
Weather conditions were clear.
Road conditions were dry.
No visible oil spills.
No debris.
No hazards present on the roadway.
Alcohol.