“What is going on with that, Dad? Why aren’t you telling her?”
He runs a rough hand through his hair. “It’s complicated. Big Davis, that asshole from Lion’s Den, is now bidding on my patent.”
I blink. “What? Are you kidding me?”
“I wish I was. He’s bullying the other bidders, threatening to pull out of other deals he has in the works with several key players. The asshole seems to have his hand in everything.”
My brow dips. “Why does he want it? What is really going on here?”
“You know why. He made a fool of me. I can’t be a winner now.”
“Surely it’s not that simple. That’s an expensive I told you so.”
“You’re right. It’s not,” he confirms. “He wants to kill my patent because it hurts another product line he’s involved in. In other words, your mother and I will get paid and paid well, but the work I did gets buried. It’s not the ending I was looking for.”
“Is there nothing the attorney can do?”
“He’s trying. And I can say this—Jess hooked me up with the right guy. If anyone can fix it, he can.”
“Why are you being pushed to do Lion’s Den?” I ask. “Is that some game he’s playing with you?”
“The attorney thinks he just hopes I’ll want to save face and go on the show to get the press. The attorney also thinks that would be a foolish decision on my part.” He looks me in the eyes. “I’ll talk to Mom,” he states again. “I didn’t mean to put that pressure on you.”
“You’re sure about the affair? I mean her new boss—”
“No affair. I even had her followed at the recent convention. Nothing happened. Not even close. But I don’t want her to know I didn’t trust her. Please don’t tell her what I did.”
“My lips are sealed.” I zip my finger across my mouth.
“I know they are, baby girl.” He motions to my dessert. “Eat. You love strawberry shortcake, and so do I.”
We both pick up our desserts, but he’s not focused on strawberries and whipped cream. He’s focused on me. “What’s new in your life?”
In my head, I say everything I want to say. My ex was murdered in front of me last night, throat sliced, and now I’m being held captive by a madman, but what I say is, “Good books. Always good books.” I leave it at that, and he lets me, when I know he knows there’s more. I just don’t think he has the capacity to truly worry about me right now. He needs me to be okay. He needs to believe my life is still just books, and more books. Without haste, I finish my dessert, and then I say my goodbyes to both my parents. It’s time for my mother and father to talk.
Without me.
On the Uber ride home, my anger is palpable. That jerk Big Davis from Lion’s Den is pure evil.
He ranks right up there with Adam. He really does. He destroys lives. If anyone deserved to die, it was him, not Kevin. And I didn’t even like Kevin in the end. I just didn’t want him to die.
Chapter Sixty
Once I’m inside my Uber, headed home, I dial Jess, needing to vent over Big Davis, the ultimate jerk of Lion’s Den, but I end up in her voicemail. Next up is Jack, and he, too, doesn’t answer. I want to scream in frustration, but my Uber driver probably would not appreciate my voice, even with a trade-off of a large tip.
I arrive at my loft while the bookstore is still open—of course it’s open. It’s Sunday and one of their biggest sales days. With my lips pressed together, I hesitate in the foyer that leads to the store or the steps to my loft, contemplating Ben showing up here last night. The entire situation was strange, and I consider entering the store and mentioning this to the owners, but thus far they’re pro Ben. He can do no wrong. For all I know, he’s a family member of some sort. Honestly, I don’t know why I’ve never asked that question. I don’t know a lot of things right now. I’m also not exactly in the best of moods to deal with them and not sure I’d handle myself well. Not to mention, I don’t really need to be talking about my late arrival home last night with anyone, when Kevin died last night. While I watched. Oh God, Kevin. How have I not even thought of his death—no, his murder—in hours?
I hurry up the stairs and stop dead in my tracks at the landing. There’s another box sitting in front of my loft door. Another box. Another red ribbon. My hands go to the top of my head. “No. No. No.” All I can think of is that this is another dress, meant to be worn to yet another murder event. Or maybe this time this really is Kevin’s severed head. This is, really actually, an insane thought. Of course it’s not Kevin’s head. It’s not.
That was in a movie. I can’t even remember the movie. Brad Pitt was in it, I think. Or maybe it was a book. But, damn it, right now it doesn’t feel like all things fiction are really fiction at all, not anymore. Not for me.
I pace back and forth, resisting the idea of touching the box, opening it, even looking at it, but what can I do? What can I do? If I don’t open it, maybe that’s what makes him kill again. Maybe that’s what sends him over the edge, as if he’s not already there. I step around the damn box, unlock the door, and draw in a hard-earned breath. Pressing fingers to my forehead, I accept what cannot be avoided. I rotate and pick up the box, which is larger than the last, heavier, too, and struggle to lug it inside. I dump my purse and the box on the kitchen island, with my phone next to both.
“Oh my God, I might have to become a drinker,” I murmur, willing my heart to stop trying to jump out of my chest. I swear I’d go see a doctor and ask for some good drugs to calm me down—I really need help right now, truly, I do—but Adam might kill him or her as well. Too queasy to consider wine anyway, I just stand there, staring at the box. There is also a lot of running fingers through my hair and pressing my hands onto my face. Finally I just do it. I work the ribbon off the box, puff out a breath, and lift the lid.
There don’t appear to be any obvious body parts inside.
This only delivers a small degree of relief.
There’s a bottle of champagne and another box inside. Who knows what is in that box. Of course there is a card on top of it all that simply reads: “Mia.”
Oh, how I wish this man would forget my name. The Invisible Girl was so much kinder to me than this man knowing my name. My hand trembles as I reach for the card, and somehow I manage to open it to read:
The champagne is to toast a new beginning, your new beginning. The dress is for you to wear tomorrow. It will look beautiful on you. Move forward, Mia. Show me you can do this for yourself, so I don’t have to do it for you.
Call me.
—Adam
Okay, so the unopened box is also not a body part. There is that. I grab hold of the small reprieve from my worst fear and cling to it.
The champagne is Veuve Clicquot, my favorite, which he knows because I told him. I told him so much, too much, about myself. And what are we celebrating? My new beginning? What does that even mean at this point? What did killing off my ex-boyfriend do for this new beginning? I mean, sure, he was an asshole, but the world is filled with assholes. Life goes on.
Except for Kevin.
He’s gone.
Forever.
I literally force myself to reach for the second box, which I set on the island next to the bigger box. I lift the lid to find an olive-and-black-and-white tweed dress with diamond shapes mixing up the colors. There’s a matching thick black belt. There are boots to match. Expensive boots. I can tell just from looking at them. I check the labels. The dress. The boots. The belt. They all bear the Chanel brand. And they’re beautiful—truly they are—but I would feel ugly wearing them, wearing anything this man gifted me. Not only that—Jess would know Chanel from a mile away.