Page 61 of Undeniably Corrupt

The fridge is loaded with things. All kinds of food, including baby things I always wanted to get for Hazel but was too broke to afford. Things like organic yogurt packs and oatmeal smoothies and crap like that. I even noticed the wine refrigerator, which is huge, is now fully loaded with red and white wine.

He’s doing all these things for us, and it’s not even like I can have a conversation with him because he’s in there and only replies with short answers to my texts.

Like these…

Me: I quit the club.

Vander: Good.

Me: How do I turn on your crazy TV system?

Vander: Try the ON button on the remote.

Me: Is all this food for us?

Vander: Yes.

Me: Are you home for dinner tonight?

Vander: No.

Me: Can I bring you some breakfast?

Vander: No.

For seventy-two freaking hours it’s been like this. On the bright side, Hazel loves the house. It’s big, and she can run around in it, and she doesn’t have to share a bed with me. Plus, our bathroom has a big bathtub that she’s loving.

I went to clinical yesterday armed with makeup on my cut that’s now a lovely and delightful bruise on my face, and with an explanation of how I was so sick I tripped over the curb and face-planted into a building. Ha-ha. Isn’t that so funny? Everyone bought it because why wouldn’t they?

But all that aside, I need to talk to Vander, and he’s locked in his damn closet. Is he sleeping in there? How big is that room anyway? Is there a bed in there? A kitchen? Drums? A bathroom? Hell, he could have a woman in there that he’s been pleasuring nonstop.

Ugh. Why did my stupid brain have to go there?

My phone pings with an email. Then another. The redexclamation points are multiplying like digital rabbits. Each one more urgent than the last, each one requiring his attention and decision. Each one adding to my growing collection of problems I can’t solve without him.

I go to open the first one when Champagne pops her head around his office door, her tortoiseshell reading glasses slipping down her nose. “Has he emerged yet?”

“What do you think?” I gesture to the closed door, trying not to let my frustration bleed into my voice. It bleeds anyway. “What’s in there anyway?”

She shrugs as if she doesn’t know, but I bet she does.

“The Thompson people will be here in two hours.” She taps her watch. “He promised to meet with them. Their CEO is jumpy. Did you hit the button?”

I grimace but nod. “Like three times, and he’s not replying to my texts. I think there’s also an incident going on that I don’t understand.” I hold up my phone. “It’s blowing up with emails all from the same company.”

The office hums beyond his door with the quiet efficiency of people who know what they’re doing. Unlike me. I’m only a couple of weeks in, and I still don’t understand half of what people say or any of the acronyms they regularly use.

“This email says something about a… phishing email and someone clicking a link they shouldn’t have.”

“Damn. Who’s the client?”

I glance down at my phone. “Um, Pinnacle Financial. So far there are like five emails from them.”

She purses her lips. “You need to knock on the door and get his ass out of there.”

I never should have accepted this job. “Can’t you? He likes you better than he likes me.”

She gives me a grin that I don’t particularly like the meaning behind. “I think we both know that’s not true. Knockif he’s not responding to the button or texts. He has CEO work he has to do.”