After what feels like six years later, Smoke and I have suffered through interviewing the remaining candidates, including all three men. He looks as exhausted as I feel. “Think it over. We’ll figure it out in the morning.”
I nod, grab a quick snack from the kitchen, and make my way to my room. Ivy is not only immensely qualified, but her references are impeccable. Even from the d-bag who held the title as her last boss and wants to know if she looks happy.
Really, dude?
And finally, there’s the Trinity factor. Ivy isn’t just the only outsider to ever crack through Trinity’s titanium shield—she’s beaten out all of us insiders as well, including me. If she’s good enough for Trinity, shouldn’t that be all the validation I need?
Trinity is my boss. At least, as much as Smoke or any of the other D’Angelo siblings are. My oath to Antonio hardly came with a pecking order. Between what Smoke knows is best and what Trinity really wants, where do I stand?
Or, as if it matters at all, I have to ask myself . . . what do I want?
Ivy’s words haunt me. What if I don’t know what I want? The past couple of years have been a blur. Eat, sleep, work. Or don’t eat, don’t sleep, work. Work is the only thing keeping me from the spiral of gut-wrenching emptiness. A lifeline that tethers me to some reason—any reason—to keep going.
And if Ivy were here? All I know is I can’t keep her close and keep her safe.
Life isn’t fair. I can choose to protect someone, or I can choose to love someone. No one knows better than I do that I can’t have both.
If Ivy were here, how could I not love her? I’ve known her for such a short time, it’s easier to count the time in hours than days, and I’m already falling for her. Picturing her in a white gown with peonies. And as much as she might want a veil, I’d try to talk her out of it because her long, curly hair is too gorgeous to hide. Knowing she’d want nothing too flashy. Something intimate and special and . . .
What the fuck am I thinking?
Before I go into a tailspin of thoughts I shouldn’t be having, I do as Smoke recommended. I try to sleep on it. My mind spins as I come up with a million reasons—or just one really, really good one—for why Ivy can’t work here.
How about the girl deserves a life? That should work.
So, why can’t I sleep?
I toss. I turn. I flip through the stack of books on my nightstand to keep from thinking about what I want. Or from checking her location.
Taking three cold showers in some deranged attempt to kill off thoughts of the naked curves of her body is pointless. No matter how much I try to turn it off, my brain is intent on retracing every lickable inch.
Maybe I should man up. Admit up front that Ivy can’t work here because my self-control is shot. That should keep her from being hired, right?
The chill of my current shower is my sanctuary. There’s something about a torrent of ice-cold water against the skin of a former Navy SEAL that clears my head. Helps me think. It also helps stave off a raging boner. Win-win.
When I return to bed, I chart the thirty cutouts in the coffered ceiling of my bedroom over and over again because the bottom line is I can’t sleep on it. I can’t sleep at all. With the loss of her credit card and the condition of her car, who knows where she’s sleeping tonight. Is she safe? I don’t know why I care about this, but I obviously do.
Knock. Knock-knock.
With only a half dozen people living under this roof, I’ve made a game out of predicting who’s behind the door before I answer it. Even though I’m positive I know who the person is standing on the other side, it’s not because I’ve ever heard this knock. It’s because I haven’t.
I scramble to my feet and slip on a pair of sweatpants and yank a property of us navy T-shirt over my head. Then I flip on the soft amber light from the nightstand.
“Come in, Trinity.”
When Trinity opens the door, she doesn’t enter right away. Fidgeting with the hem of her sweatshirt that reads home is where the cannoli is, she stares at me curiously with big blue eyes. “How did you know it was me?”
“Lucky guess,” I say with a smile, welcoming her into an area of the mansion she hasn’t seen in years. I’m glad she’s seeing it. It is her house, after all.
She surveys the room, nodding in silent approval of what I’ve done since she last saw it. Probably grateful that I’ve avoided an oversaturation of flannel or marring the wall with a deer’s head.
My stance is as casual as it can be at military parade rest. It was how I always stood when her father visited . . . which he did whenever he needed to offload a secret or two. Like possible locations for the family’s holiday vacation. Or how to cut ties with Andre.
“I’m sorry I’m dropping by so late.”
Smiling at her, I say, “It’s all right. I wasn’t sleeping.”
I gesture to an oversized leather chair, one with a throw pillow featuring an adorable labradoodle mix that Trinity gave me several Christmases ago. An embroidered rendition of my childhood dog, Noble, that she designed from a photo I have at the corner of my desk, next to a few other priceless memories.
When Trinity sits, she pulls up her feet and hugs the pillow against her chest. It reminds me of the old Trinity, and my smile widens.
“It’s never too late. What’s on your mind?”
Her brow creases, making me more attentive. “Why did you pull a gun on Ivy?”
As I draw in a long, thoughtful breath, I figure out what to say. Nothing I say can explain why I might have pegged Ivy as a threat when Trinity had such an instant affinity for her.
Scratch that. We both had an instant affinity for her.
Shrugging, I level with her. “Sometimes my training overrides my good judgment.”
“So, you didn’t pull the weapon on her because of your good judgment?”
I want to say something profound, like only time will tell, but even in my head, I sound like an asshole. Instead, I double down on a girl I barely know. “No. Just a knee-jerk reaction. I’m hardwired to protect you. Old habits die hard.”
“Smoke offered her the job,” Trinity says, watching me carefully.
Stunned, I struggle to keep my emotions to myself.
That’s so very like him. Giving me some bullshit line about how we’ll think it over when he’s already made up his fucking mind. Probably hoped I would come around. Bring it up to him at breakfast like it was my idea. Fucker.
But now, I wonder. Why is Trinity here? “Doesn’t that make you happy? You seem to have taken to her.”
“She turned it down.”
There’s no hiding my surprise when I hear that. Elbows on my knees, I steeple my fingers and lean in. “Did she give a reason?”
“No. I was wondering if you might know.”
Trinity’s statement could be accusatory. I mean, I did pull a gun on the woman. But it’s not. In fact, there’s hope in Trinity’s inquisitive gaze. She wants me to have an answer that I don’t have. Or maybe I do.
I could fess up, admit that I talked Ivy out of it. But something tells me that wasn’t the reason she turned down the job. I don’t think my little pep talk would have kept her from this if she really wanted it. Ivy was genuinely concerned for Trinity.
It could be all that bullshit with Uncle Andre. Hell, the thought of confronting a bastard like him has made half the high-powered men in Chicago squirm. No one could expect Ivy to take it on the chin and power through.
Or it could be me?
The thought of working day in and day out with the man she had a one-night stand with. We were both exceptionally clear. No commitments. Or at least, she didn’t want one.
An uncomfortable knot forms in the pit of my stomach.
What if it was me? The real me. The one who stuck the business end of a pistol at another man’s head and didn’t think twice. The man who’s above redemption but not revenge. For many men, I’m the monster in their nightmares. Maybe I’m Ivy’s as well.
With Trinity’s gentle gaze trained on me, I try to shrug it off.
Which leads her to ask, “Can I hire you?”
I let out a modest chuckle before I speak. “I already work for you.”
“You work for Smoke.”
“I work for all of Antonio’s children. And the last time I checked, you were one of them. So, to answer your question, no. You can’t hire me. But I am at your disposal for anything you need.”
“I want you to find her. Find out why she’s not taking the job.”
If it were anyone else asking, this would be the end of the conversation. Hard pass. Hell no.
But this is Trinity. The woman who’s said more words to me today than in the past four years.
“Of course. But I do need payment from you. In the form of information.”
Her bright eyes widen. “Anything. What do you want to know?”
“Why is Ivy so important to you?” I ask.
She shrugs, thinking on the question. “You and Smoke look at me like I’m made of glass. And I know it’s because I’m fragile. There are times I’m so close to shattering—”
“Trinity . . . ” I was trained well enough that I don’t try to hug her. But still, I reach out.
“She saw me staring at the little swan, trapped in the reeds. She asked if we should save it. We. And it was like a light turned on. I can’t change what happened. But maybe I can reclaim tiny pieces of life.” She smiles thoughtfully. “One baby swan rescue at a time.”
I choke back a tear. “I saw how you set up a little area for it out back. Did you name it?”
“Ivy calls her Fluff.”
I can’t help nodding. “Sounds perfect.” Trinity shifts, and I notice her pocket. “Food?” I ask, pointing to it and imaging her smuggling some bread to the baby swan.
Shyly, she pulls a little furry bundle from the pocket of her pink plaid pajama pants. It’s Ivy’s stuffed animal. Reluctantly, Trinity hands him over.
“I had a bunch of these when I was younger. Nonna gave them to me. They came in a set of a dozen. I’m sure they were in every big-box store at the time. The set had lots of cats and dogs, an elephant, a pony, and a baby chick. My brothers were always hiding them from me, but that one was my favorite. I don’t think she meant for me to keep it.”
Ivy was right. Mr. Whiskers does make me feel better. Holding the plush little toy and gazing into its permanently happy face, I can’t stop a smile from forming.
“She calls him Mr. Whiskers,” I tell Trinity as I tap his little nose. Next thing you know, I’ll be introducing him to Noble. But pretend-animal tea parties is where I draw the line.
Trinity pins me with those earnest blue eyes. “Can you find her? I just want to talk with her. If she doesn’t want the job, I understand. But I’d like to know why she turned it down. Or at the very least, get Mr. Whiskers back to her.”
That could be a really bad idea, but I’m not about to tell Trinity that. Without a word, I nod my answer.
“Good,” she says, popping to her feet with way too much energy for the wee hours of the morning.
I head to the door and open it for her but take a deliberate step back, not wanting to intrude on her space. “It’s really good talking with you, Trinity.”
“Good night, Z.”
Taking a seat in the chair she just sat in, I pull that same dog pillow to my lap and stare in disbelief at the other personality in the room.
“Did that really happen?” I ask Mr. Whiskers expectantly. He says nothing and simply stares. “And now I’m supposed to go after her?” Again, nothing. I give the little toy a goofy-ass grin. “Fine. Let’s go find her.”
I scoop the little toy into my hand, but the second I squeeze, crunch.
Flipping the little guy to fully expose his furry backside, I find a zipper that loops around the base of him. The zipper is small, revealing a hidden compartment stuffed with cash. Fanned out, the money equates to roughly everything she had in her purse when we met.
Worried as hell, I grab my cell and activate the phone-finder app.
Ivy’s in a strange city with no credit card, no cash, and possibly nowhere to sleep tonight except her car. Fuck, without money, her options are to sleep parked on the side of the road or in a chain-store parking lot.
Or what if she tried going home, thinking she had cash? Tried, and then ran out of gas, stranded halfway between here and North Carolina? The tank of gas she’s left with won’t even get her halfway home.
Shit.
The little dot finally gets a lock on her. The car isn’t moving. Based on the tracker’s history, the car hasn’t budged in the past three hours.
And it’s in the last damn place Ivy should be.