“I wonder how this would have gone down if you had gone to your dressing room.”
Noah walked back toward his desk, slower this time, not rushed, not rattled. “I don’t even want to think about that. It seems like whatever she’s up to—it’s got a few different moving parts. Like it doesn’t matter how she gets me, as long as she does.”
Ziggy tapped her toe on the carpet. “And just like Hugh, it wasn’t about the information, it was about how you responded to it. I’m not sure you gave her what she was looking for, but I might have given Hugh a little bit of the jealousy flavor he seemed to want.”
Noah stopped near his desk, his hand resting briefly against the edge before he looked back at her. “Now that I think about it, I get the feeling they were always going to tag team this. I mean, Hugh plants the idea,” he said. “You come over here, a little hot under the collar. Maybe we were both supposed to go to my dressing room. Or maybe I was supposed to go there, and then you get more pictures of something hinky. Either way, Claire walks into my office with something that should rattle us both, but it didn’t.”
“There’s no way any of this is random. It's too contrived, and there are so many what-ifs, it’s giving me a headache.”
“Not what if’s,” he said. “Contingency plans. The kind that have my father written all over them.”
15
Noah stood at the island in Jag’s kitchen with a glass of tequila in his hand. The day had been mostly drama-free. A few whispers, lots of staring, and some finger-pointing. People at the station were obviously curious about him and Ziggy, and he didn’t blame them for that. Neither one of them had ever dated someone they’d worked with. Noah had a hard and fast rule about it, and Ziggy had always said she’d figured it would be too hard.
Five years ago, Ziggy had wanted to keep it quiet for this very reason. He understood. He had his own set of reasons. Mostly, he’d never been in love before, and he wanted to protect it.
He’d failed spectacularly at that back then and now.
Noah glanced up at Jag, who stared at the printout of four text messages Noah had received from a woman at work. A woman who told Noah she’d had enough of his harassment and come Wednesday morning—tomorrow—she was going to bring it to HR.
But the messages seemed strange to Noah because it wasn’t until the last one that Heather, the young lady in question, had mentioned anything about taking action.
Jag set the paper down, and both men stared at it as if it were about to do something magical, but they weren’t sure exactly what.
The lights dangling from the ceiling were set to low, casting a warm, steady glow across the dark granite and catching along the rim of Noah’s glass. Beyond the windows, the night pressed in thick and quiet, the faint hum of traffic just enough to remind him the rest of the world was still moving.
Jag’s place had the kind of wear that came from being lived in rather than maintained for appearances. Fingerprints smudged the stainless-steel fridge, a stack of unopened mail leaned against a fruit bowl, and a plastic truck sat on its side near the threshold between tile and hardwood, forgotten in the middle of whatever game had come before bedtime.
“Did you call HR when you got this?” Jag asked.
“Ziggy thought it might be a good idea, but they’d already left for the day.” Noah tapped the paper. “The timestamp was right after five, and that office is generally an eight-to-five day.”
“Probably by design.”
“This is all bullshit,” Noah said. “I barely know Heather. She’s not on my team. Never has been. But she does work on my floor, and I’ve seen her in the break room to say hello. That’s about it. Nothing I’ve ever said could have been considered harassment.”
“I believe you.” Jag picked up the paper again. “The first text,I have to do it,almost reads like an apology and a warning.”
“Ziggy wondered why she texted me to tell me at all. If it were Ziggy, she would’ve just taken it to HR.”
“I would never recommend giving a heads up to a harasser. Seems counterproductive, especially if she wants to take this to a civil lawsuit.”
Noah rubbed his. temple. He still believed that everything that had happened since his birthday had been orchestrated byhis father. He just didn’t know how, and more importantly, why. “Have you heard anything about the court order to see who’s been visiting my dad?”
“We did,” Jag said. “It came through, and I was hoping to gain access today.” He glanced at his watch. “They were given permission to go back six months.”
“I can’t imagine my dad’s had a lot of visitors. What’s taking so long?”
“Depending on what they find, they might wait to reach out until they’ve spoken with someone who fits the description of whoever sent the card, came to your house, or went to the hospital and dropped off those flowers to Monica.” Jag raised his glass. “If I don’t hear from Brian by morning, I’ll give him a call. I promise. Until then, try to relax. I know it’s not easy, but let the system work.”
“It’s just that I feel like every time I put out a fire, another one starts.”
“I get it. And the only solid advice I can give you right now is to focus on the good things.” Jag pointed his finger toward Ziggy. “The things that truly matter in life.”
Noah took a sip of tequila. The smoky burn lingered as he let his gaze drift into the family room.
Ziggy had settled into the corner of the couch, one leg folded beneath her, the other stretched out just enough to support Steve, who’d climbed into her lap and fallen asleep. His head rested against her thigh, and his fingers twisted into her sweater like she was the safest place in the world.