Page 91 of Once Upon a Lie

Mike whistles. “Well, shit, Maddox. That might actually be something for once. See anything of interest we should pay particular attention to?”

I shake my head, extending an arm on the back of the bench between us. “I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary for a shop with an operation of her size. No weird transactions, no big numbers. Her receipts and books are legitimate. If I had to guess, her dad and his guys are doing the embellishing after she passes it off to them, and she’s not suspicious enough to look at the return paperwork.”

Mike hums thoughtfully. “So, you don’t think she’s involved?”

“Not at all. She seems clueless. If she’s not, she’s the best damn actress I’ve ever met. I’d check the returns and compare them to what I send you here shortly. I’ll condense the file and then send it to your encrypted email. It’s clear there’s a big gap between what she’s doing and what his accountants are filing, and she doesn’t think he’s doing anything but helping her.”

“Okay, then,” he says, tossing me the completed cube before standing up and readjusting his waistband. “I’ll be in touch.”

“That’s it?”

“I don’t know, Shane. Is that it? Or do you have something else to tell me? Or, I don’t know, perhaps we just sit here all day until someone sees us and get suspicious. Maybe you’d rather that.”

I sigh. “Point taken. I’ll send you the file shortly.”

“See that you do.” He pauses and turns back toward me. “By the way, you look like shit.”

I nod. “Yeah. I’m not surprised. Feeling a little sick this morning.”

“Aw, chin up, Princess. We’re close to closing this thing.”

“Yeah.”

Close to having no choice but to blow my life to shreds and break the heart of someone I care about.

That’s exactly why I’m not feeling so good.

32

Valentina

Tuesday, October 26

7:30 p.m.

Night is here, and my condo is quiet in that lived-in way I’ve missed since Ken Fortune shoved an HVAC through my balcony. The hum of the refrigerator and the faint city noise below ground me as I move barefoot across the kitchen tile, putting the finishing touches on dinner.

I stir the sauce on the stove, give it a little taste, and add a hint of salt before snagging my phone from the counter and sending a quick text message.

Me: ​​You coming soon? Dinner will be ready in about 30.​​

It’s been two days since our night at The Hole Story, and I still find myself having to pause and reboot every fifteen minutes or so because of the daydreams.

His hands, his mouth, the perfectly imperfect feel of him on top of me on my stupid office desk—it was the best sex I’ve ever experienced and more.

But more than that, it feels surreal. Maybe that’s why I’ve been replaying it so much—to convince myself I’m not imagining things.

Unfortunately, I haven’t seen him since. Not because we didn’t want to, but because that’s how life goes sometimes. I’ve been buried at the shop, and Shane has been busy with errands and odd handyman jobs.

My phone lights up on the counter.

Shane: ​​Yep. Just got out of the shower. I’ll head down shortly.​​

Shane in the shower? Oh boy.

Shane: ​​Don’t worry, the smells I’m getting up here are motivating me to hustle.​​

I’m smiling the entire time, warmth spreading through my chest, as I type out another message.