I shake my head and realize my life just took a monumental shift. “I’m going to have to move home to Houston,” I murmur. It feels difficult to breathe.
“No. You can’t do that to me,” he counters.
I look at him, confused. Do what to him? What does he mean?
I stand. “I need to call my father. I’ll get a hotel room for two weeks so I can train my replacement.”
“No, you won’t.” Jackson runs his hands through his hair. “I can’t… I won’t let you. I have plenty of room here.” He’s almost pleading with me.
But I have to keep work and the rest of my life separate. There’s no fucking way I can see him with disheveled hair or without his shirt. Nor could I stand to see him and any Barbies kanoodling. It would be beyond torture.
There’s a knock at the door, and Jim walks in. He gives me a sad smile. “How are you doing?”
I’m lost, and I don’t know what to do. “It was nice to meet Kate today.”
“She really liked you, too.” He opens a folder and hands me some photos.
I sit down hard. They’re pictures of my apartment. The first is a picture of the living room. The couch is a wreck. It’s as if someone took a knife and cut every pillow and cushion, then pulled out all the stuffing, which now covers every inch of the floor. The books from the bookshelf are dumped in a disheveled pile. Every picture and frame had been shattered. The walls have blue spray paint that says, “You were warned!”
I look up at Jim. I’m confused. I’m totally finished with Bobby. “I haven’t talked to Bobby Sanders.”
The next picture shows our tiny kitchen. The normally overstuffed cabinets are all open and empty. It looks like broken glass everywhere, along with a fine covering of white powder, which I assume is the flour from the canister on the countertop.
“Why is she doing this to me? I don’t want him.”
“Could it be someone else who perceives you were in her way to Bobby Sanders?”
“He has thousands, literally thousands, of women who chase him. He has a stack of nude and partially nude selfies women have emailed him. He’s printed them out.”
Jim looks surprised. “We’ll check it out.” Then he turns to Jackson. “Where is she staying?”
“She wants to go home to Houston,” he replies, sounding disgusted. “I’ve offered her my guest room. It even has a private bathroom.”
Jim turns to me. “There’s an investigation. You can’t leave, Corrine.”
“I need to call my dad. I’ll see if he can lend me some money, and I’ll find a hotel room.” I despise the idea of giving my dad any way to control me, but I don’t see any option.
“You don’t need to do that,” Jackson insists.
“Corrine, why can’t you stay here?” Jim says. “He has a guestroom, and my team can provide plenty of coverage—much easier than you being in a seedy hotel.”
I look at Jim. I’ll be fired once I say this, so maybe this is my chance. “I wait on Mr. Graham all day. It’s my job, and I love it. I’m good at it, but I can’t come home and do that all night, too. We work long hours, and I can’t come back after a long day in the office and fetch things for him and whatever girlfriend shows up at his apartment.”
She pauses to look at me. “And I hate that he dates airheads and not women with a brain,” I conclude, crossing my arms.
Chapter 9
Jackson
Corrine is analyzing the women I date again. She seems to have given this some thought. Interesting.
Jim smirks like he totally understands. He must think the same thing. Also, interesting. I never thought of a relationship as something I had time for, so I guess I haven’t been too strict with my female quality standards. But whatever. Now is not the time to ponder that.
I turn to my assistant, who still stands defiantly with her arms crossed. “Look, Corrine, none of the women I date has ever been to my house,” I assure her. “And here, I do the taking care of. It would make me very happy to take care of you. I promise you don’t need to cater to me here. And no Barbies. Promise.”
I can see she wants to refuse.
“Just try it for a few days,” Jim suggests. “Let the police work through the case before you move home.”
She starts to weep. “What am I going to tell my roommates?”
“I’ll call them,” I assure her as I gather her in my arms. “Once the police release the scene, I’ll have a crew come in and clean it up, and I’ll replace any of the furniture, clothes, and items that were damaged.”
She pulls away from me. “No. You can’t do that. I’ll get it picked up and see what I can get repaired.”
“Really, let me take care of this. You work hard for me, and it isn’t a hardship.” I take out the photos and show them to her again. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think this is salvageable. Please let me do this for you.”
With a big sigh and a cringe, she nods as she pores over the images. “Why didn’t one of my neighbors call the police? Someone had to have heard something.”
Jim shakes his head. “It seems Mrs. Collins from downstairs was at a doctor’s appointment, and the rest of your neighbors were at work.”
Corrine sighs. “Figures. She owns the building and is always home. I still should call my dad.”
She needs to be doing something—she’s struggling right now. “Let’s do that together, so
