Page 47 of The Exit Strategy

But I take it and tuck it in my pocket.

“Why does Nana Mae hate them so much?”

Cole’s shoulders droop even more. “Lola’s mom and my mom were sort of friends when they were young. They went their separate ways for college but became competitors in adulthood when they both went to work for the same company, just in different cities.

“But I think Nana Mae has had it out for Paula since she hit on my grandfather when they were teens.” He bends down to pick up a rock and throws it far out into the ocean. “The real issue is that Lola’s mom was supposed to be on assignment in New York, not my mom. Apparently, Paula had a meltdown that kept her daughter here, and because my mom was so competitive, she went to New York in her place. Dad went with her—they were making a weekend ofit. But they never made it home. Nana Mae blames Paula for our loss.”

I dart my hand out to rest on his forearm. It’s the most I’ve heard him talk about his parents. Ever. Before I can offer anything in sympathy, he changes the subject.

“I also read your report last night.”

That has me standing up straighter and removing my hand like I need armor for this conversation.

“And?”

“The LLC. The vendors.” He lowers his voice, though the nearest person is two football fields away. “I want you to stop digging into the account holder.”

I take a step away. “Excuse me?”

“For now,” he amends when he clocks my expression. “I want you to focus on the tax assessment first. Get the books clean for the county deadline. Find proof for what you believe is going on. The proof is the priority.”

“The priority is figuring out where $48,000 went, Cole. The tax assessment is damage control. The LLC is an actual crime.”

“Junie—”

“You hired me for this.” My voice drops to a register I don’t entirely control. “You said you needed me because you couldn’t find the connecting thread. I found the thread, and now you’re asking me to stop pulling?”

He exhales through his nose, and the tendon in his neck jumps. “I’m asking you to prioritize.”

I tug harder on the ring. I need it off. I need it to come off now.

“You’re asking me to look the other way.”

We stare at each other as another battle wages. His walls are up, but so are mine. We’re two people standing onopposite sides of the same silence, both armed, neither willing to fire first.

Then something shifts—his armor showing the first signs of a crack. A sadness buried by fear that’s gone before I can call him on it.

“There are things about this situation,” he says carefully, “that are more complicated than numbers.”

“Numbers aren’t complicated, Cole. People make them complicated.”

“Exactly.” That one word sounds heavy and laced with regret as it leaves his mouth.

What the hell is he afraid of?

Once upon a time, he would’ve trusted me. He would’ve believed in me. But apparently that time has passed, and now I’mjustan employee.

As an employee, I can be ice-cold. No heat, no burn of righteous indignation. Just a clean, sharp frost that coats my insides and turns my voice into something polished, professional, and utterly, completely empty.

“Understood. I’ll focus on the tax assessment.”

He blinks. Whatever he expected, it wasn’t compliance. “Junie?—”

“I said ‘understood.’ You’re my boss, Mr. Whittaker. You gave me an order, and I’ll follow it.”

His hand reaches out lightning fast. The warmth of his palm cradling mine causes another fissure in my wall. He feels like home and love and happily ever afters I’ve obviously made up in my head.

Because that’s not what this is.