They’d been let in on the contents of Nina’s statement, the local police department having passed it on to Duncan for the formal internal inquiry, which Blake would spearhead in his final capacity as audit director.
Sadie sipped her iced tea. Beer seemed like a bad idea at the moment. It’d be easy to overdo it just to kill the awkward buzzing in her head and the anguish in her heart. “How could she?”
It came out as little more than a desperate whisper. It wasn’t a random statement, a berating, but an honest question that burned her up inside.
Kennedy stirred the olive in her martini. “Money’s like a drug for some people. In her statement, Nina claimed she ‘borrowed’ to pay off the debt she inherited from her mom, but she could’ve paid it back if she’d wanted. Instead, she discovered how easy it was to manipulate the paper trail from her position. Why stop? It’s not like she had the prospect of a promotion to work toward. She was the top-dog secretary. Nowhere left to go.”
“The stealing isn’t what I’m talking about,” Sadie clarified. “I want to know how you sit at someone’s table, drink someone’s wine, smile at their jokes, love them, and be there for them, all while carrying around this huge, hurtful secret. Ken, she was our friend.”
She didn’t like it, but Sadie couldn’t help Blake’s affair from popping into her mind. Had he spent his day with Kira, only to go home to his wife, hold her, and whisper his love in her ear? How many lies must he have told? Emotions faked, stories made up.
Kennedy shook her head in her doleful, judgmental way. “You’re taking it personally, Sade. Nina didn’t steal from you. Or me. She stole from Avery & Thorp.”
“I don’t care.” Sadie refused to make a single excuse for Nina. “She might as well have reached her hand straight into my purse and snatched my wallet. That’s what it feels like.”
Duncan broke in for the first time. He slumped over the bar and stared at nothing. Of all of them, he had it the worst. He’d trusted Nina implicitly, would’ve vouched for her to the ends of the earth. “Our commitment to the firm is what makes it so easy to take personally. I liked Nina. I respected her. I felt truly lucky to have her. I’m more disappointed than anyone with what she’s done. But her actions don’t define her. Sometimes, good people make crappy decisions. That’s all there is to it.”
Sadie shook her head. “I disagree.”
“Oh?” Duncan’s eyebrows rose. “I guess that means Blake is taking a pay cut for no reason.”
“Don’t make this about Blake.”
“If you’ll make excuses for a guy you’ve known less than a year, you ought to extend the same understanding to one of your best friends. Nina stole money from Avery & Thorp for half the amount of time Blake spent being unfaithful to his wife. At what point does one merit your forgiveness, Sadie?”
She drummed her fingers on the bar as Kennedy and Duncan watched and waited for her answer. “I guess,” she began slowly, trying to come to terms with the point Duncan made, “the difference would come down to remorse. And time. Blake has had years to change. Nina was a thief up until the moment she was caught this morning. Maybe in time, Duncan. But not yet. I can’t forgive her yet.”
Duncan left a short time later, his full beer untouched on the bar.
Kennedy sighed and tugged on one of her golden curls. “Seems like we’re coming up on one of those curves in life, you know? Everything’s about to change. Can you feel it, too?”
Sadie nodded. “Nina, Wes, and Amanda all gone from the office. We’ll have a new boss and new coworkers.” She glanced at Kennedy and winked. “A new audit director.”
Kennedy’s proud smile blossomed, and Sadie was happy to see it. “I owe Blake one. Speaking of your new flame, don’t listen to Duncan. Blake is a good guy, his personal résumé notwithstanding. I’m glad you’re going to give him a chance.”
“I think you were right, Ken. About the other guys. The losers and idiots I kept falling for. Maybe they did see a relationship with me as some kind of new start. At least, this time, I won’t be waylaid by Blake’s big, dirty secret. And I think I’ve got the stones to stick it out.” She rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “Wow, it sure feels weird to agree with you on something. No wonder I never do it.”
Kennedy pressed her lips together and studied the long fingernails of one hand. “I guess I should apologize for being a jealous snot all the time. If it weren’t for me, Blake might’ve been spared that awkward time he had with Amanda. Then again, he probably needed to figure her out for himself. Anyway”—she flapped her hand as if shooing away a fly—“I’ll work on my issues. I have severe middle-child syndrome. I always feel underappreciated, left out, or overlooked.”
Sadie snorted. “It’s impossible to overlook you. You’re wearing lime green eyeliner.”
Kennedy batted her lashes. “It makes my eyes pop.”
“Because they’re trying to escape your face.”
That earned Sadie a punch to the arm. “This is why we can’t be friends.”
“Wrong.” Sadie punched her back. “This is why we’re best friends.”
* * * *
Blake considered insecurity a predominately female trait.
Women spent hours to make their hair just right, caked makeup onto their faces to hide the tiniest of imperfections, tortured themselves in heels to seem taller, and wore push-up bras to make their breasts seem bigger. They never accepted that what they had was adequate. It puzzled him whenever he stopped to wonder about it. He did so more often in his time with Kira, for she had cared far more about that kind of stuff than Quinn ever had.
In contrast, Blake—and most men he knew, with few exceptions—wore what shoes were the most comfortable, chose suits according to their fit, and underwear hardly registered as a concern so long as he remembered to wear them. The only thing he smeared on his face had an SPF label, and he’d never wasted a minute of his time stressing over the particularly deep wrinkle that had formed between his eyebrows as soon as he turned thirty-five.
He sat on the front stoop at Fox Watch, vainly attempting to count stars between the thick boughs of evergreens overhead, pretending not to notice Eric sniffing beyond the tree line, and marveled at his shot confidence.
This is how women must feel all the time. Like nothing is good enough.
Blake wanted to change everything about himself. He wanted to be wiser, kinder, and worthy of respect and trust. He wanted to be loved. If it were as easy as throwing on a pair of stilettos and combing his hair just the right way, well, hand over the four-inch heels and Aqua Net, ladies.
He chuckled to himself but stopped abruptly as Eric’s nose crept from behind the closest tree trunk.
Small, black, and busy as it tested the air with quick, jerky sniffs. Finally, the little fox’s head emerged, and he raised his snout.
Blake held on to the small piece of smoked chicken from his solo dinner. Tonight, Eric would have to brave the porch if he wanted the goods. It was probably some dumb caveman mentality still lingering in the ancient lobes of Blake’s male brain, but a part of him felt like getting Eric to approach him—take food from the palm of his hand—would be the equivalent of strapping on a push-up bra. He’d strut around Fox Watch feeling like a million dollar bill.
That was the kind of confidence he needed to approach Sadie with tomorrow. In less than twenty-four hours, he’d have to explain himself, and she wouldn’t like most of what he had to say.
But Blake was going to be honest, even if it meant shooting himself in the foot. He refused to make the same mistakes he made with Quinn and Emily. Had he been honest with Quinn about his waning interest in their relationship, maybe they could’ve gone to counseling or something. Maybe Kira would’ve never happened. And had he told Emily he felt obligated to return her love, love he didn’t truly feel, they might’ve avoided their disaster of a marriage altogether.
Eric sniffed the air, the ground, and himself.
Blake smiled,
afraid to laugh and frighten him away. He held the chicken in his open hand, hovering next to his bent knees. Come on, little buddy. Uckle Bake wants to be your friend, not make slippers out of you. Come on.
To Blake’s astonishment and delight, Eric strolled out into the open, nose to the ground. He paused, glanced up, and stared at Blake with the curiosity of a cat. In reality, he was more like a small dog. Maybe foxes were nature’s melding of the two species. Cat and dog, as one.
Blake didn’t dare move. In the dark, with a pale moon beaming through a gape in the eaves overhead, he could make out Eric’s form and most of the details as he inched closer, one small wary step at a time. Blake had imagined his yellow eyes would glow in the dark, but they were difficult to see, fringed by thick, black lashes, covering them like an awning.
And then it happened. As though Eric had simply made the decision and acted without questioning it, he loped forward, sniffed Blake’s hand, and greedily snatched the chicken. He ran with it, stopping a foot away to check if Blake had pursued him.
Besides the grin stretching his face, Blake hadn’t budged an inch.
The fox studied him curiously for a second before turning his back and devouring the lump of chicken.
A gasp from his right drew Blake’s attention.
Eric’s, too. The little fox froze, then darted into the trees as Sadie approached, her mouth covered with her hands.
“Oh, my God!” The excited whisper was akin to a shout trumpeting into the quiet woods, spearing through the bubble of calm. “I wouldn’t have believed you if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. You did it. You fed Eric!”
Blake stood to greet her. “Where’s your truck?”
She hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “Down the road a little bit. I parked at your neighbor’s. I didn’t want to chance it with the recent snow. My truck tires are looking a little shoddy.”
He made out the wool cap on her head, the ends of her hair curling out on the sides from being tucked behind her ears. In a thick pea coat and heavy wool scarf wrapped multiple times around her neck, she looked cozy. A pang of longing for simple affection made his heart contract. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and bury his face in the crook of her neck, take in her scent, and feel the scratch of wool against his cheek.
Instead, he tucked his hands into his pockets. Even after enticing a wild animal to eat from the palm of his hand, he still wasn’t ready for Sadie. He’d have to do more than sit still and appear nonthreatening for weeks on end to earn her trust.
He offered her a lame, limp smile. “I was just preparing myself for tomorrow.”
She came close enough for him to see her smile. “What’s to prepare for? It’s only dinner.”
If she wanted to come at this lightheartedly, she was going to be disappointed. Blake couldn’t fake levity when everything was on the line. His future, his happiness—his redemption. “I need time to get my thoughts in order,” he answered, solemn in response to her teasing.
Her smile faltered and she reached for his arm. “Blake, this isn’t a make-it or break-it situation. We have all the time in the world to figure each other out. All I need from you is a shot at being myself before you decide you only want Quinn. Maybe I can change your mind.” She shrugged and looked over his shoulder, not meeting his gaze. “Maybe not. We’ll try, and if it doesn’t work, no harm, no foul.”
He almost laughed as he gathered her to him. “You’re so wrong. It’s kind of cute.”
She struggled and stepped back from him, a hard set to her jaw. “Don’t call me cute. Short doesn’t mean cute, and there’s not a damn thing cute about what I said.”
“Sure there is. I think it’s cute you believe I’ll settle for trying when I’m determined to succeed. Sadie, I meant it when I said I’m in love with you. I have some things to say, and some of it is probably going to piss you off. Or make you doubt me. Or ruin everything before it even begins, but if that’s the cost of candor, so be it.”
“Oh, Blake.”
He had no trouble making out her sad gaze in the semidarkness. And if he had, her tone would’ve clued him in.
“You’re gonna screw up everything, aren’t you?” she asked. “At some point, I’m going to have to conclude it’s intentional. You purposely go through life destroying every chance at happiness you get. Maybe you do need a therapist.”
Little arrows shot into his chest; each one a tiny zinger. “Maybe,” he agreed, clearing his throat. “Let’s go inside.”
“Let’s not. You can turn on the porch light if you want, but I’m sitting down right here. That way, I can leave without the awkward exit. With my luck, the doorknob will jam, or the hinges will stick from the cold. I’ll be huffing and angry and yanking on a door that won’t open. You’ll laugh, and I’ll throw something at your head. It snowballs from there.”
“If that’s what you want, that’s what we’ll do.” He turned away so she wouldn’t catch the grin threatening to sprout and trekked to the front door to reach inside the cabin and flick on the pale yellow bulb mounted to the eave over the porch.
A flash of the reflective eyes of a fox surprised him. Eric was still prowling around, curious and hopeful.
Sadie sat on the porch near where Blake had been earlier.
His nerves hummed as he joined her.
“Well,” she said into the quiet, “get on with it, Blake. Jab away at this nice shiny new thing we have. Poke holes to your heart’s content.” Her head was turned away from him.
Steeling himself, he said the words he hated before they ever passed his lips. “You are like Quinn.”
Sadie’s shoulders went rigid, but he made no other response.
He was glad he couldn’t see her face. “You’re impeccably loyal. You’re not afraid to stand up to a bully like Wes. You work hard. You’re funny. All of these things you have in common with Quinn, and each one is a trait I admire. But…” He put a hand on her shoulder and gently encouraged her to look at him.
She did, with a guarded expression and pinched mouth.
“But,” he said again, tracing her jaw with his index finger and idly studying her mouth, which was most unlike Quinn’s in a very good way, “you’re also like Kira.”
Sadie’s eyes blazed furiously.
Blake charged onward. “You’re spontaneous and interesting and fun. I never know what you’ll want to do next. You make me imagine a world with infinite possibilities. Once, you asked me what I did for fun. The answer is, whatever you ask me to do, Sadie. I want to go. I want to ice skate and fish on a frozen lake and chop my own firewood with a chainsaw named Lambert.”
At this, something that might’ve been a smile in wait lurked behind her keen, smoky gaze. It was like clouds parting for a thin beam of sunlight. It made him hopeful.
He dared a smile. “Finally—”
She briefly closed her eyes. “If you compare me to one more woman, I’m out of here.”
“Finally,” he repeated, “You’re like neither of them. You have an oomph and drive that Quinn lacks and a compassion and graciousness that somehow peacefully coexists with your ambition, forever setting you apart from people like Kira, who was a manipulator and a user. And Quinn, she bored me.” His hands went up defensively, despite no one around to take offense. Maybe he just couldn’t believe he’d said the words out loud. “She’s boring,” he said again, this time more confidently, more certain in his honesty. “Maybe not to Jack, who has personality to spare, but to someone like me, who apparently needs to be entertained and dragged out of my comfort zone. So much of what went wrong in my past is my own fault. I’m not blaming Quinn or making excuses, but that’s the truth of the matter. I was bored. I would’ve stayed bored. The last piece of the puzzle comes down to one fundamental difference—one thing that definitively sets you apart.”
Sadie’s expression softened into an inscrutable mask. Probably hiding her emotions in case he said something irrevocably stupid and truly ruin
ed everything.
He wanted to tell her to breathe. To trust him. He tucked his finger under her chin and ran his thumb over the smooth skin of her jaw, his gaze torn between her captivating eyes and her seductive mouth. “You’re Sadie Darling Felix, and you are worth a million Quinns.”
He dropped his hand and took a deep breath. Time for the final act.
From his pocket, he withdrew the ring he’d kept in the canister on his desk, showing it up in the light for Sadie to see. “I’ve kept this. My first wedding band. The one Quinn gave me.” Without further pontificating, he hurled it into the dark woods.
Sadie watched it fly, her head following the arc it made as it left his hand and landed with a soft thud several yards away. She looked at him with wide eyes. “Was that hard for you?”
Blake shrugged one shoulder. “Impossible until I met you.”
With a tremulous smile, she scoured his face and blinked away moisture gathering at the corner of her eyes. “You’re saying you don’t want Quinn anymore? You’re sure? I get the big symbolic gesture, but if there’s any doubt—”
“I’m sure.” He squeezed her hand. “After all this time, I finally broke down and asked her if she’d ever forgiven me.”
“Did she?”
“A long time ago, but that’s irrelevant. Because I realized something. Her forgiveness didn’t mean anything to me. She suggested I forgive myself, but even that isn’t what matters. The only opinion that counts is yours. If you believe in me, then I can believe in myself.”
Sadie scooted closer and tilted her face to his. “So, you don’t want Quinn? Or someone like her? It’s just you seem sort of hung up on the whole blond thing—”
Blake grinned. For an answer, he lowered his mouth to hers.
Sadie responded instantly, her mouth opening for him, her hands coming up to grip his shoulders and encircle his neck.
When they came up for air, he shook his head. “I’m sorry, what were we talking about? I forgot.”
Running the Numbers Page 22
