I’ve got ninety days to prove my innocence and keep this life. The clock started the second I walked out of that station.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
LOLA
The apartment is tooquiet without Violet.
I’ve been on the couch for hours. I’ve drunk enough caffeine to kill a horse, and my phone is face up on my thigh, the local news page still open with nothing new to report.
Hunter’s hat is on the dining table. I haven’t moved it. Haven’t touched it since last night. It sits there like a promise neither of us knows how to keep.
I’m reaching for the wine again, the same glass I started hours ago and never finished, when the knock comes.
Three sharp raps against the front door. It makes my hand freeze around the glass.
I set the glass down and stand. My bare feet are silent on the floor as I move toward the door, and I don’t know why my pulse is already climbing. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s late, and I never get visitors. Maybe it’s the fact that nobody knocks on your door at this time of night with good news.
I look through the peephole.
Reese.
His shirt is untucked on one side, the top three buttons open, his hair pushed back like he’s been dragging his hands through it for hours. His jaw is working even though he’s not speaking.
Every instinct I have tells me not to open that door. But, he’s the sort to use a key and just come in here anyway. So opening it may defuse the situation perhaps.
He knocks again. Harder. “Lola. I know you’re in there. Open the door.”
His voice is wrong. He sounds angry.
I take a breath and open the door halfway. “Reese, it’s late. What do you want?”
He pushes past me before I can stop him. Just walks straight in like he has every right to be here. And I suppose in his mind, he does. He owns the building. He owns this apartment. He’s reminded me of that more than once.
I close the door slowly. But I don’t lock it.
He’s standing in the middle of my living room with his back to me, hands on his hips, head dropped forward. He’s breathing hard. I can see his shoulders rising and falling beneath the wrinkled fabric of his shirt.
“Reese, what’s going on?”
He laughs. It’s not a real laugh. That patronising one he does.
Maybe he can tell me what happened to Hunter?
“What’s going on?” He repeats it back to me like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. Then he turns around.
His eyes are bloodshot. The composed, slick-suited lawyer I’ve known is gone. What’s standing in front of me is something else entirely, something feral hiding behind expensive cologne.
Scary almost.
“Do you have any idea what you did to me yesterday?”
I fold my arms across my chest. Hold my ground. Nope. He’s just here to be a dick. “What I did to you?”
“In front of my friends, Lola.” He takes a step closer. “In front of people that I do business with. People I’ve known my entire life.” Another step. “You threw my hat on the ground like it was trash.”
“Because you put it on my head without my permission,” I say, keeping my voice level. “I’m not your girlfriend, Reese. I’ve told you that. We are not dating. You embarrassed me. Not the other way around.”
I’m sick of this man.