Page 28

F ive o’clock should have been quitting time, but Tyler’s last client meeting of the day ran thirty minutes longer than it should have. As he followed the couple out of his office, Blake caught his eye from the front desk. Saying his goodbyes, he veered to speak to him.

“I’ve been hanging around to give this to you.” Blake handed Tyler a white box bound with gold foil ribbon and a card in an envelope hanging from the ornate bow. “It arrived by messenger shortly after you showed the Vances to your office.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it. You heading home now?”

“I’ve got a date at six.” The man shut down his computer and stood. “It’s nearby, so figured I could just walk.”

“Living the dream, man.” Not that Tyler wasn’t anxious to get home to Carly and the kids, but occasionally he missed being out there. There was something to be said for having a new woman every few weeks and disposable income that wasn’t sucked away by a mortgage and childcare.

“We’ll see. It’s our first meeting face-to-face and I’m only committed to drinks. If I’m interested, maybe dinner.”

“Dating app?”

“Does anyone meet in real life anymore?” Blake came out from around the desk and extended a fist for Tyler to bump.

“Good luck.”

“No luck necessary, when I’m bringing the rizz.”

Laughing, Tyler took the box back to his office. He sat down and took the card out of the envelope. Flipped it over.

Just a thank-you for letting me crash your breakfast. I look forward to seeing you again soon.

Reese Decody

He swore, long and imaginatively. Was tempted to dump whatever it was into the trash.

But curiosity got the better of him, and he unwrapped the gift and removed the lid.

Nestled inside was a bottle of Bowman 25 Year Scotch.

Tyler removed it from the box with reverence.

There was a time, well before meeting Carly, that he’d thought nothing of buying a bottle of pricey Scotch with a meal, but those days were long behind him.

And it’s not like the Decody bitch didn’t owe him something after the day she’d put him through.

His stomach had been in knots since she sat down at his table this morning.

Making an instant decision, he pulled out his cell and texted a quick message to Carly to tell her he’d be home in an hour.

Then, shutting the door of the office, he went in search of something to drink from.

It seemed almost a desecration of the whiskey when all he could come up with was a clean Styrofoam cup, but it’d do.

He went back to his desk and sat, opening the bottle and pouring himself a healthy shot.

Then he lifted his feet to his desktop, leaned back, and took a gulp, relishing the smooth flavor.

Oh, yeah. This definitely took him back a few years.

The day’s stress-filled hours seemed to lighten, so he sipped again.

There’d be a time, soon, he promised himself, when decent liquor wouldn’t be a luxury.

New house. Newer cars. Substantial payments to the kids’ college funds.

It was all within reach. Brains and guts were all that were required, and he had both in spades.

He drained the cup, splashed in a bit more, and drank that, too. Then, reluctantly, he screwed the cap back on the bottle and opened his bottom desk drawer, setting it inside.

Tyler stood and went to put the box in the wastebasket.

He had to grip the corner of his desk to avoid falling over.

Dizzy. His hand went to his forehead, wiping away the perspiration beaded there.

What the hell? He’d had lunch, so it’s not like his stomach was…

His knees buckled, and he dropped to the floor.

Distantly, he could hear the sound of a vacuum running somewhere in the offices.

He tried to get his hands beneath him. Couldn’t move. There was a buzz working through his body, making his brain fuzzy. His heart pounded a rapid tattoo and his stomach heaved as he vomited on the carpet. Help. The thought formed in his mind, then drifted away as he threw up again.

I…need…help…