Just For Now (A Flirting With Trouble Novel) (14 page)

“You think it’s my fault, don’t you? That I fucked up?”

Owen looks down at me. His eyes widen and he shakes his head.

“Of course not. This has nothing to do with you—”

“It has everything to do with me!” I interrupt.

Tears fill my eyes and I start shaking my head rapidly. Owen approaches and places his hands on my shoulders. I allow him to draw me close. He leans down and kisses my forehead, then each of my eyes. Tears are now streaming down my face and I feel like an absolute idiot.

“This isn’t your fault, Rainey. Not even close.”

I slump a little more into him at his words. Turning around, I walk toward my purse on my dresser, reach in, and pull out the credit card. Once I’ve placed it in his palm, I pull back.

“Kensington didn’t ask for it. Now you can decide what to do with it.”

Owen stares down at the card, then back up at me.

“Look, I probably should have told you this before.” He shoves a hand through his hair, then exhales hard. “I knew that there were money concerns when I got the job at BYC. Part of the reason there was a shake-up in management at all was that the city wanted to be able to take a closer look at the BYC’s expenses.”

I frown. “You knew there was money missing from the beginning?”

“Not . . . exactly. I mean, I knew there were budget concerns. It wasn’t until later that things had to be . . . looked at.”

I feel a bolt of something like condensed fury fly up my spine and bloom over me.

“Things had to be looked at? Was I one of those things?”

Owen clears his throat.

“Yes.”

My stomach drops at that one little word. I stare at him.

“For how long?”

He frowns. “What do you mean?”

I have to swallow back the bile in my throat and try to speak slowly.

“How long have you been watching me? Making sure I’m not some thief who steals money from kids?”

Owen shakes his head. “It wasn’t like that . . .”

“How. Long?”

He looks at his hands. “Since about two weeks after I got the job.”

I inhale deeply.

“You were fucking me, while you were trying to make sure I wasn’t embezzling money?”

Owen shakes his head. “Rainey, it wasn’t like that.”

I glare at him. “Go fuck yourself.”

Without another word, Owen strides forward and presses his hot and eager mouth to mine. I hold up both hands as though to prevent myself from putting my arms around him. I don’t want to want him, but, God, I do. I want him against me and with me and in me. I want him now.

“Rainey, please,” he murmurs against my mouth.

When I don’t respond, he deepens the kiss and wraps his arms tightly around me. Unable to hold back any longer, I run my hands up over the muscles of his back and shoulders, then up into his hair.

I’m reminded of our night in the pool. Our night on the motorcycle. I’m reminded of every moment before this one—and then I’m reminded of this morning.

I’m reminded of now. And I push him away. Hard.

“You need to go,” I say, pulling my hands back down to rest at my sides.

Owen exhales hard, then nods.

“I get it—I do.”

He moves to press another soft, delicious kiss against my mouth, but I turn my head. With a sad last look, Owen walks toward the door.

“As soon as I hear anything, I’ll let you know, okay?”

I nod, not trusting my voice to say anything.

But once the door closes behind him, I’m already dialing Cyn’s number. I feel terribly for not confiding in Carson earlier, but whatever was blocking that impulse before is gone now. Now, I’m choking back tears as Cyn answers her phone.

“I think . . . I think I’ve been fired,” I manage to say. “Can you come pick me up? I can’t be alone right now.”

Cyn doesn’t ask anything, doesn’t beg for details, doesn’t demand an explanation. All she says is “Be there in ten.”

And then the phone goes silent.

Chapter Sixteen

Thank God for best friends.

Cyn refuses to let me stay alone. She drives me directly from my place to her apartment, where she gives me hot tea and tucks me into her bed, taking the couch instead.

“Smith’s working a forty-eight-hour shift, so I promise you won’t be disturbed,” she swears.

“You really don’t need to do this,” I protest weakly.

“I absolutely do. And I don’t want you getting out of this bed until noon tomorrow,” she practically threatens, wagging a finger at me. Then her scolding turns to sorrow as she rushes forward to hug me. I’m swallowed up in a cloud of her curls, but I squeeze her back, hard.

“Rainey,” she says quietly as she pulls back to look into my face, “I didn’t know Remy well, but are you sure he did what they’re saying he did? Embezzling money from the city is a really serious charge.”

I shrug. “I only ever got stuff for BYC on the card. Well, actually, that’s not entirely true. There were a few times Remy told me to use the card for meals out and stuff—that it was considered a work meal if it was with coworkers. But Remy . . . I mean, honestly, Cyn, I think I saw him use that card at the mall a few times. Maybe even at the bar.”

She nods. “I think that’s what you need to tell them, then, Rain. Tell them the truth—that you were doing what your boss told you to do, but that he may not have been steering you straight.”

I chew hard on my bottom lip and Cyn grabs my hand.

“Do you know when they’re going to interview you?”

I shake my head. “Mr. Kensington said a county official would call and that I’d probably have to talk to a detective assigned to the case.”

“Have you tried calling Remy?” Cyn asks gently.

“I can’t—not yet. I know I need to, but I’m so furious right now. We wouldn’t get anywhere with that. Me yelling and him crying. Doesn’t sound like much fun.”

She smiles then and pats my leg. “Okay—well, I adore you, but you smell like a bar and you need some sleep. I’m going to go make myself at home on the couch.”

I grin at her, shaking my head in disbelief and gratitude.

“Thanks, Cyn,” I say. “You’re the best. I love you.”

“I love you back. Get some rest. Don’t worry about anything.”

***

I did my best—I really did.

But I tossed and turned, despite my efforts. I kept waking up to nightmarish visions of getting fired and escorted off the BYC premises with all the kids watching me go. By the time the sun rises, I’ve barely slept an hour. Still, I pretend to be fast asleep when Cyn tiptoes in and grabs clothes for work. She showers in the hall bath and I have to smile at her desire to leave me undisturbed. Any normal time, I’d appreciate it. But today, I feel the furthest thing from normal.

When she’s gone, I hardly wait five minutes before throwing off the covers and taking a shower of my own. I know that I should stay away from the BYC today, that I should let Mr. Kensington handle things from here on out and wait for them to call me in. And yet . . . well, I just can’t help myself. BYC feels like my home and I want to be there—especially if my time there is limited.

Hell, the worst thing they can do is kick me out, right?

But as I walk through the BYC doors this morning? It’s as though the energy has completely left the building. Something has changed. Even the bricks and mortar know it. There’s a quiet, a silence that blankets the entire space.

When I enter the main office, I’m hit by how the space is both full of people and full of silence. Every employee at BYC is here and every single one is either frowning or furious, either weeping or ready to throw a punch. People looked pissed and hurt and maybe both and I can’t blame them for it. When Jenn sees me, she hops up from her seat near my office door and comes barreling across the room. She practically crashes into me, then hugs me hard.

“I’m so sorry, Rainey. This is total bullshit.”

Her voice breaks on that final word. I just nod and say, “I know. I’m so sorry.”

I’m not sure what I’m apologizing for. Still, I feel the need to say what I’m feeling—and sorry is one of those feelings that is surging up inside me. I’m filled with it in an inexplicable way.

“Who’s next?”

I turn to see a woman I don’t recognize holding a cell phone in one hand and a folder in the other. She has icy blue eyes and hair so blond it’s almost white. Her hairstyle is a severe bun pulled back tightly from her face, creating a tenseness in her expression.

“Who’s that?” I whisper to Derrick, who is leaning against a nearby wall.

“Detective from the Baltimore Police Department,” he mutters. “She’s interviewing all of us about Remy.”

“I’ll take the next person please,” the detective says, her voice cold and emotionless. She says “please” but I get the distinct impression that she isn’t asking.

I tip my chin up.

“Me,” I say, scooting past my coworkers and raising a hand at her. “I’ll go.”

“And you are?”

I narrow my eyes. Her tone is pissing me off. So is her damn face.

“Rainey Wallace.”

You could hear a pin drop at that moment. The detective motions for me to follow her back into Owen’s office. I stride forward, feigning confidence. Maybe even defiance. And they feel pretty natural, too.

At least until I see Owen sitting at his desk. When he realizes I’m the next interviewee, he seems incredibly uncomfortable. From that moment on, I refuse to look at him. I glance at the detective and nowhere else as she closes the door and comes to stand near me.

Detective Allison Parks has been an officer in Baltimore for five years, but has lived here all her life. I know this because it’s the first thing she says to me when we sit down at the conference room table.

“Born and raised in Roland Park,” she says, leaning backward in her chair. She says it like she’s bragging.

I nod sort of woodenly, staring at her and trying not to even consider Owen’s posture. He’s in my peripheral view and I desperately wish he’d excused himself while I was interviewed. I don’t know what to say or how to respond. Now, I’m beginning to regret that I came here today at all.

“I need to ask you some questions, Ms. Wallace,” Detective Parks says, folding her hands and placing them on the desk in front of her. “And I need you to be honest with me.”

“Of course.”

She smiles. Her teeth, like everything about her, are a little too perfect. A little too strategic.

“I’m not suggesting you’d be anything except forthcoming,” she says, giving me an ingratiating pat on the hand. “I’m just saying that some of the questions are . . . a bit uncomfortable.”

I steel myself and cross my arms. “I’m willing to answer any question you ask, Ms. Parks.”

“Detective.”

I meet her gaze and she arches a perfectly sculpted brow.

“Detective Parks,” she repeats.

“Of course.”

She pulls the chair out from across from me and sits down.

“So, tell me about your job here.”

I blink at her. “What about it?”

She crosses her legs. “Well, when did you start working here? Who hired you?”

“Oh—I started working here a year ago. Remy hired me—he was looking for an assistant director who was willing to run a tutoring program for the kids who were coming regularly. He’d come up with some great plans and needed help framing them in a way that would sound cool to teens who’d rather do anything else but study.”

“So, would you say you were partners? Was he your boss?”

I shrug. “I suppose both, but he always felt like my superior when it mattered most, like when there was payroll due to the county or when he had to go to required trainings or something.”

Detective Parks nods slowly.

“And his work—your work—it’s fairly high-stress, correct?”

“Um . . .” I frown. “I mean, I guess . . . it certainly can be.”

“So Remy was under a lot of pressure?”

“Sometimes, maybe. Yes.”

“Any signs of suicidal thoughts?”

I sit up a little straighter.

“No,” I protest. “No—I mean, sure, he was sometimes under a fair amount of stress, but he would never have hurt himself.”

“How about any other alarming behaviors? Self-destructive ones—like drinking or drugs?”

“I mean . . . sure, we’d go out every now and then. Blow off some steam. It was nothing unreasonable. Not a habit.”

“But you’d go together. To the bar, I mean.”

“Sure. Sometimes.”

“Hmm.” The detective stops to take some notes on a pad of paper. I wait, staring up at the wall. Owen clears his throat and I almost wince at the sound.

“I’m going to go have the other staff members start getting ready for the day programs,” he says, standing up and moving toward the door. “We have preschool and a Mommy and Me art class.”

Detective Parks nods. “That’s fine. I’ll be in touch with them personally if needed.”

Which means that my interview was needed. I was a priority. I guess I’m not that surprised. Remy and I were friends and everyone knew it. A half dozen charges on that card were my charges.

Owen ducks out of the room and I lean back in my chair, trying to remain calm and focused. I feel like a criminal.

I cock my head to watch the detective a little closer.

“Have you interviewed Remy?” I ask her.

She stands up from her seat. “That’s classified information.”

I raise a brow. I can’t help it.

“Classified?”

The detective walks toward the door, then back.

“How about we move on to your relationship with your current boss, Owen Marshall?” Detective Parks says.

“What about it?”

“Do you have an . . . intimate relationship with Mr. Marshall?” she asks in a low voice. I turn to stare at her.

“Would you like to define ‘intimate’?” I ask carefully. She smirks at me.

“Are you romantically involved?”

If I didn’t think she’d have me down in two seconds flat, I’d go right for this woman’s throat. I glare at her and shake my head, tears entering my eyes.

“Absolutely not,” I say, enunciating each syllable. I don’t care that I’m lying. I know this shit is none of her damn business.

“I’ve heard otherwise from Mr. Marshall,” she says, “so you don’t need to lie to me.”

She reaches over and opens a slim laptop computer sitting on a nearby desk. She clicks on an icon in the bottom left corner of the screen. And it immediately fills with my face. And Owen’s. Another click and we’re moving. We’re kissing. In the pool.

I open my mouth, then close it.

“This is a surveillance video,” the detective says, as though I’m an idiot. I swallow hard.

“I realize that.”

“Your superiors are aware of all of the camera setups and security measures taken in this building. I’d be careful where you choose to hook up with your boss, Ms. Wallace.”

Which is when I decide I’m just about done.

“Am I being charged with something?” I ask, standing up and crossing my arms.

Detective Parks cocks a brow.

“Not currently, no.”

I shake my head. “Then I’m leaving.”

She walks away from the desk and faces the wall, examining it as though there’s an answer to a question buried deep within.

“One last question, Rainey. Is it possible,” she says slowly, “that Remy was a friend you used for the perks of a job, like a credit card at your fingertips? And then, when he left, Owen was your next target?”

I glare at Detective Parks’s back, wishing I could set her on fire with the heat of my gaze.

“No. That is not possible. I never charged anything for myself. It was always for the center. I can’t speak to the charges Remy made, but I only ever used the card for work purchases.”

She turns and eyes me with interest.

“And I’m assuming that’s something you can prove?”

I feel my anger froth up and around me as though it could drown everyone in the building.

“Absolutely,” I say, my voice measured, “and I stand by every charge on that card. Every dollar I spent was for the good of the children I was working with and working for. You want me to prove it? Bring me the card statement. Show me the purchases. I’ll prove to you beyond a shadow of a doubt that I never bought anything for myself.”

Without another word to Detective Parks, I stand up and walk out of the office. I somehow manage to make it out into the hall and back down the front steps before I burst into furious tears.

***

I’ve managed to pull myself together—at least, I’ve stopped crying—by the time I’ve reached my apartment. When I make it up the stairs, however, I feel my emotions take me over once again.

Remy is standing outside my apartment.

“Rainey? Are you in there?” He is banging on the door and his expression is filled with concern. I lean my hip against the bannister and clear my throat.

“Hey.”

He turns to see me standing there, and the relief in his face is palpable. He cocks his head a bit, clearly aware of my tear-stained cheeks and red, swollen eyes.

“I’d ask you if you are okay, but clearly that’s a useless question. I tried calling you this morning, but it went straight to voicemail.”

I swallow hard, then shake my head.

“I—my phone’s probably dead. I haven’t even looked at it all morning.”

I bite my lip and force myself not to look away.

“Remy . . . what the fuck is going on?”

He blinks at me, pausing only half a second before walking closer.

“How about we go inside?” he asks. I unlock the door and we head straight for the couch—our traditional chill spot. It’s like nothing has changed, but everything’s changed.

I think I could shatter at any moment. Of course, I feel as though I already have.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, flopping down on the couch and giving me a wounded look. “I should have told you what was going on with me. What was happening in my life. I just couldn’t.”

I shake my head. I’m completely exhausted.

“They think I used the card to get cash and buy shit for myself.”

Remy jolts back and stares at me, his expression shocked.

“Seriously—fuck, Rain. I don’t get it. They have no reason to pin this shit on you, I swear.”

“I don’t know—I’m so confused.” I close my eyes and suck in a shaky breath. “Tell me the truth, Remy. What happened? Did you steal the cash?”