by Vi Keeland
“Sure. No problem. Is your account under the email address you used to sign in for your appointment?”
“It is.”
“Okay. Let me have someone take a look at your phone, and then I can let you know your options.”
I looked down at the time on Weston’s cell phone. I needed to dial in for my call. “Do you know how long that will take? I have to jump on a phone call for work.”
“About fifteen minutes.”
I nodded. “Okay, great. If I’m still on my call when you’re ready for me, could you possibly take the next customer and come back to me?”
“Sure. No problem.”
What I thought would be a fifteen-minute phone call turned out to be nearly an hour. After I finally hung up, the sales rep was already on at least his third customer, so I had to wait for him to finish up. As I paced back and forth, Weston’s phone buzzed in my hand. Out of habit, I looked down to see who it was. The screen illuminated and showed a preview of an incoming text from someone named Eli that started: Yo, dude, did you fall off the face of the planet?
It made me smile because I was pretty sure most of my friends would feel the same way about me lately. I didn’t want to invade his privacy, so I didn’t swipe to open the rest of the message. But as I went to push the button on the side to turn off the screen, a second message popped up. This one was an email preview:
Did you get what we need from the Sterling girl?
I froze.
What was that about?
Certain I must’ve read it wrong the first time, I read the message preview again, more slowly. It had come from [email protected]
Did you get what we need from the Sterling girl?
My heart started to race, and I felt a little nauseous, though I tried to remain calm. There had to be a logical explanation for a message like that.
Maybe the email was from Sam Bolton… They’d gotten an estimate for the flood work and wanted both of our approvals to proceed.
Though that would be pretty fast.
And Oil40? Why would Sam’s email be something about oil?
I shook my head. I’m being ridiculous. This message could be any number of contractors Weston was working with. Why did my mind automatically go to the worst place and think something ominous was going on?
Maybe Weston had been getting bids for something and told the contractor he needed my sign-off? We’d been so busy lately that he probably hadn’t even mentioned it to me. That was it. That definitely had to be it.
Yet…
Did you get what we need from the Sterling girl?
The Sterling girl…
It was definitely not the right way for a contractor to refer to a person he wanted to do business with. But I suppose there are plenty of old-school idiots out there who still refer to a woman as a girl.
That was not Weston’s fault.
This contractor, whoever he was, was obviously a jerk.
In fact, I should probably open the email and take a look at the sender so I could be aware of exactly who referred to women in such a derogatory manner.
But… Weston had given me his phone because he trusted me, and opening his email would be a violation of that trust.
Though I’d already read the preview, so the damage had been done. Seeing the sender wouldn’t be anymore of an intrusion on his privacy than I’d already accidentally committed.
Not really, anyway.
Right?
I stared down at the cell phone with my finger ready to swipe open the preview. Yet I couldn’t bring myself to do it. It felt wrong, no matter how many different ways I tried to justify things in my mind.
So when the sales rep walked over to talk to me, I slipped Weston’s phone into my purse and tried to put thoughts of what I’d been about to do out of my mind. It turned out my phone wasn’t repairable, so the rep brought me a new one and offered to transfer all the information from my old phone. He said it would take another ten minutes, and he’d be back soon.
Unfortunately, that gave me more time to stand around and overanalyze.
Why did I feel so unsettled after one little preview of an email?
That wasn’t too hard to figure out.
Because I have trust issues. Just about every man I’d put my faith in had let me down. So, not surprisingly, my imagination wanted to think the worst.
Weston didn’t really have feelings for me.
He’d been using me to get something.
Did you get what we need from the Sterling girl?
God, the message sounded like something my father would say.
Get what we need from the Lockwood boy.
But there were so many ways to interpret that sentence. It could mean anything. But the bottom line was, if I opened his email, I’d be violating Weston’s trust. In some ways, I’d be no better than Liam. Because without trust, there was no relationship.
Miraculously, I managed to keep Weston’s cell phone in my purse while I finished up at the Verizon store. Outside on the street, the fresh air made me feel a tiny bit better. During the two-block walk back to The Countess, it dawned on me that Weston was going to see the email at some point after I handed him back his phone. If he was waiting to talk to me about something that had come up—whatever that email exchange referred to—he’d probably bring it up soon enough anyway. I likely wouldn’t have to wait long to feed my curiosity.
In an hour or two, I’d be laughing at how silly I’d been for stressing over some email from a sixty-year-old plumbing contractor or something like that. Weston would tell me he had an estimate to go over that needed my sign-off, and that would be that.
Yeah, that was what would happen.
I’d probably get a good laugh at myself, too.
Though as I walked back into The Countess, I definitely felt more anxious than amused.
***
“So… Do we have any open issues we need to discuss?” I asked.
I’d just finished up for the day and walked over to his office. It was almost ten o’clock at night, and Weston had had his cell phone back for hours now. Yet he still hadn’t mentioned anything he needed my sign-off on.
He shook his head. “Not that I can think of.”
Maybe he needed a little reminder, because he forgot… “What about any repair work or estimates we both need to sign-off on? I brought you one from the Wi-Fi company that wants to upgrade our service a few hours ago. Do you have anything for me?”
Weston seemed to give it some thought. “Nope. The only thing I have outstanding is the revised timeline the Boltons owe us. Other than that, I think we’re all good.”
My stomach felt hollow. Could he have forgotten the email?
“Well, I’m going to head upstairs. I have a lot of emails that came in today that I still need to respond to. How about you? You buried under, too?”
Weston shrugged. “Nope. Actually, I’m all caught up.” He smirked. “Guess I’m a lot more efficient than you.”
I forced a smile. I wasn’t ready to walk away from his office yet, because I was still clinging to hope he’d remember something. But I also couldn’t think of anything else to say. So I stood there awkwardly. At least I felt awkward.
Eventually, Weston said, “I’ll meet you upstairs in a little while. I need to finish a few things.”
I felt deflated. “Okay.”
Back in my room, I was disappointed in myself. Why hadn’t I just asked him about the email? Reading one line of a message preview on his phone had been entirely accidental. He couldn’t be mad about that. Yet instead of putting myself out of my misery, I’d allowed my dark thoughts to fester.
In my heart, I knew the real issue had nothing to do with me having done anything wrong. I wasn’t nervous about telling Weston I’d read a message on his phone. I was nervous about him saying it wasn’t what I thought, and me not believing him. My trust issues ran deep, and I hated that I assumed the worst. So instead, I hid my fears and attempted to cling to hope that the situat
ion would resolve itself.
He’s probably going to see that email and mention something to me when he gets up here. I’m making a mountain out of a molehill.
Rather than wear away the carpet with my pacing, I decided to take a bath. I filled the tub with warm water and tossed in some bath salts. Slipping in, I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and blew out a big exhale.
I’m on the beach in Hawaii. The sun is warm on my body, and the sound of the waves gently crashing against the shore is lulling me to sleep.
But… Where’s Weston? Why didn’t he come with me?
Because he’s a lying bastard who I don’t talk to anymore. That’s why.
I took another deep, cleansing breath and tried to change my focus.
This time, I went to a happy place I’d had in London, which had nothing to do with Weston—a small park that overlooked the river, a few blocks from where I’d lived. Unfortunately, when I imagined myself sitting on a swing, taking in the peaceful view, I noticed a couple lying on a blanket in my periphery.
Liam and my cousin.
I turned to run the other way, and my father loomed over me.
He tsked. “I told you so.”
I sighed and opened my eyes. Maybe I should try some music, something I could sing along to. Reaching over to where I’d left my phone, I called up my Spotify app and dug out a playlist of oldies I figured I’d know most of the words to. After about six or seven songs, I finally felt my shoulders relax a little. Until Billy Joel’s “Honesty” came on. He crooned about how lonely the word was and how hard it was to find truth, and whatever tension I’d managed to soak away seeped right back in. Frustrated, I got out of the tub and turned off the music before the song finished.
After I dried off, I wrapped myself in one of the hotel’s comfy robes and slathered on some face and body cream. I headed down the hall to the bedroom, and jumped when I found Weston inside, taking off his shoes.
“Holy shit.” My hand covered my heart. “You scared me to death. I didn’t hear you come in.”
Weston tossed his second shoe aside and stood. He smirked. “That’s because you were busy belting out some bad old songs. You’re lucky you’re gorgeous and smart, because you can’t sing for shit.”
I cinched my robe closed tighter. “Singing helps me relax.”
Weston walked over and placed his hands on my shoulders. “I know something that’ll help you relax that doesn’t entail neighboring guests thinking we’re murdering cats in here.”
He was teasing, but I found it hard to force a smile, and he noticed.
Weston slipped two fingers under my chin and tilted it up so our eyes met. “You okay?”
I looked away. “I just have a lot on my mind.”
“Yeah, I get it. We’re getting down to the wire now. I’ll tell you what, I’m going to take a quick shower, and then I’ll come back and rub your shoulders with that cream you like so much.” He leaned down to look at me.
I wanted to trust him in the worst way, so I searched for any sign of insincerity. But I found nothing.
“Why don’t you take off that robe and climb under the covers and get ready for me?” he said. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”
I forced a smile and nodded.
He gently kissed my lips before disappearing into the bathroom. A few minutes later, I was still standing in the same place when I heard the shower turn on. What was I going to do? He had no idea what was on my mind, so he was likely going to come out of the bathroom, rub my shoulders, and think that was foreplay. There was no way I could let that happen the way I felt. I had to have a conversation with him.
My head spun as I went round and round, weighing my options on how to approach the subject without sounding accusatory. I was so lost in thought that the sound I heard coming from the bathroom didn’t register right away. Weston was playing Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’,” one of the songs I’d sung along with toward the end of my bath. I patted my robe pocket and realized I must’ve left my phone next to the tub, and he’d decided to flip on my playlist. A few seconds later, a deep voice joined Steve Perry for the chorus. Weston could not only carry a tune, but his voice was kind of sexy. Even with all the horrible things I was thinking, I had to smile at his sense of humor. He was mimicking me to tease.
God, I really, really liked him and wanted everything to be one big misunderstanding on my part. I felt desperate to be put out of the misery of not knowing.
I walked over to what had become my side of the bed. But my eyes caught on something silver toward the foot of it—right next to where Weston had just sat.
My heart started to palpitate.
Weston’s phone.
I had another chance.
I could take a quick look, and this could all be over.
I wouldn’t even have to bring it up.
Weston would never know I’d doubted him.
In less than thirty seconds, I could be out of my misery and know he’d done nothing wrong.
Or…
Or…
I couldn’t bring myself to think about the alternative.
But I had to know for sure.
There was no letting the opportunity pass this time.
My heart raced as I grabbed the cell from the foot of the bed. I’d started to type in Weston’s code when the music in the bathroom stopped.
Shit.
He was done in the shower.
It would only take a minute or two to dry off.
I had to hurry.
My hands shook as I typed in the last two digits and the phone unlocked. I opened his email app and scanned through messages. Two pages down, I opened a random email to see what time it had come in and realized it had arrived before the one I was looking for. I must’ve missed it in my haste. So I scrolled back up and read the first line of every single message, until I’d returned to the one sent before the email in question.
Nothing.
No sign of that email that had come in earlier.
Glancing up at the still-closed bathroom door, I felt like a ticking bomb was about to go off in my chest. Weston would be out any second.
Where the hell was that damn email?
Oh! Shit.
Deleted!
I needed to check his deleted email.
Quickly finding the folder, I tapped to open, and my heart stopped. The message was right at the top. It was the only one he’d taken the time to delete this afternoon.
Glancing at the bathroom door one more time, I took a deep breath and opened the email.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Did you get the information from the Sterling girl yet?
You need to step up here, Weston. Show me the value you can still bring to this family. We need their bid amount.
The bottom of the email had a signature block:
Oliver I. Lockwood
CEO, Lockwood Hospitality Group
Underneath, was a response:
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
I have it. Just waiting until she’s done to see if anything changes.
I felt like I might throw up. Though that was not exactly what I did when the bathroom door opened.
Chapter 25
* * *
Weston
“This robe is damn comfy,” I walked out of the bathroom rubbing one of the arms. “No wonder you put it on all the time. I thought you were just being modest. Do you think—”
Whack. Something hit my head. Hard.
I reached up and felt wetness, right above my left eyebrow.
Confused, I expected an intruder or something. But instead, what I found when I looked up was one very pissed-off woman.
“What the fuck, Sophia? Did you just throw something at me?”
Her face was bright red. “You piece of shit!”
My cell sat a few feet away on the floor. There was a crack down the mi
ddle of the screen. “Was that my phone?” I looked at my fingers. The wetness was blood. “I’m freaking bleeding!”
“Good!”
“Have you lost your mind? You just cracked my head open with my phone!”
“Apparently, I have—for ever having gotten involved with you in any way. Get out, Weston. Get out now!”
“What’s going on? What the hell did I do?”
“What did you do? I’ll tell you what the hell you did. You were born!”
“Soph, I don’t know what crawled up your ass. But whatever you think I did, you don’t throw a damn phone at my head.”
She marched over to the end table and picked up a bedside lamp. “You’re right. This will hurt more. Now get out or it’ll be the next thing to hit your head.”
I held up my hands. “Just tell me what I did—or what the hell you think I did, and I’ll go.”
She stared at me and spoke through gritted teeth. “Did you get what we need from the Sterling girl?”
My face wrinkled up. “What? What are you talking about?”
“Does that not ring a bell? How about I have it. Just waiting until she’s done to see if anything changes.”
Maybe it was the head injury, but even that took a few seconds to sink in. But when it did, it hit me harder than the phone had. I closed my eyes.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
She’d read my emails.
I shook my head. “I can explain.”
“Get. The. Fuck. Out.”
I took a step toward her. “Soph, listen—”
“Don’t take another step!” She went quiet for a long moment. I watched as tears filled her eyes, though she did her best to fight them back. Her voice shook when she finally spoke again. “Just leave. I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.”
When her bottom lip trembled, I felt it in my heart. “I’ll go. But we need to talk, Soph. It’s not what you think.”
A fat tear rolled down her cheek, but she held my gaze steady. “Can you look me in the eyes and tell me that email is about something besides you using me to steal information on our bid?”
