“Reece! I wasn’t expecting you in today. You should be home.”
“I’m fine.” And there was that word again. He needed to come up with a better adjective. He plastered on a smile and strode toward James, hand outstretched. “I’m sorry I had to leave the party early last night. I wasn’t feeling well.”
He must have looked the part of an ill man, because James used a small bottle of sanitizer after the handshake. “I heard you were also caught in a fire last night?”
He nodded and kept his face calm and pleasant, even as his insides jumped around in complete panic. “At my parents’ house.”
A frown pulled James’s brows into a crease over his eyes. “And didn’t your wife’s coffee shop burn down recently? I seem to remember reading something about it.”
“It did,” he admitted, wincing internally. “But I can assure you, I’ve not let my recent troubles affect DMW Systems.”
“I was just assuring Mr. James as much,” Dylan said smoothly. “We’re still operating full steam ahead, and our profits have never been better.”
James’s lips twisted in distaste. “And as I was telling Mr. Porter, I’d like to have my accountants look through your books before we finalize anything.”
“Absolutely,” Reece said, a spark of hope flaring deep in his chest. He’d been expecting this request, so maybe everything hadn’t been fubar’d yet. “I’ll make it happen.”
“Good.” James relaxed and even smiled. “Now that business is out of the way, I’m attending a charity gala for the Washington National Opera tomorrow night. I’ve heard you’re both WNO patrons. Are you feeling well enough to attend another event? I’d like to introduce you to some of my business partners. The invitation extends to your wives as well.”
Shelby at the opera. That was exactly the situation he’d hoped to avoid putting her in. Damn. But what other choice did he have?
He again forced a smile. “We accept. Gladly.”
Chapter Twenty
Shelby woke to an empty apartment, shocked that Reece was already gone for the day. Was the man a machine? Because he’d taken a category five emotional wallop last night, and no average human withstood that kind of heartache and got up for work the following day. Just wasn’t natural. It hadn’t even been her house and she was sick about its loss, maybe even more so than when she’d lost The Bean Gallery.
Which reminded her. She was going to be late for her meeting with the arson investigators if she didn’t get moving.
The meeting went about as well as she expected, given the fire last night. They told her the security footage had gone missing before anyone had the chance to view it. She told them about Steven and her suspicions that he might have come back to terrorize her, but left off the part about thinking he was dead because The Headhunters had killed him.
By the time the meeting was over, she was exhausted and starving. She’d turned off her phone out of courtesy, but while waiting for the elevator, she turned it back on. It vibrated with an incoming text message from Reece. They’d been invited by Irving James to an opera gala tomorrow night.
Wow. That sounded fun.
Not.
She sent him a quick text back, then called Libby to apologize for last night and see if she wanted to meet for a late lunch. She did, and they ended the day with a shopping trip. Turned out, some quality girl-time was exactly what Shelby had needed to brighten her spirits.
She got back to the apartment around eight that night, fully expecting to see Reece— nope. Still not home.
Was he avoiding her?
That didn’t seem like him. Maybe he was just dealing with…things. Libby had mentioned the guys were all worried about Greer. Maybe they were out looking for him. And no doubt Reece had a ton of paperwork to fill out about his parents’ house. She’d had reams of it after the fire at The Bean Gallery.
God, she missed that place. Up until The Bean Gallery, she’d always hated her jobs. But, thing was, running the coffee shop had never felt like a job to her. She’d loved her workers and the customers. She’d loved ordering inventory and the ever-changing puzzle of scheduling. She’d loved the badly painted “masterpieces” on each table. Loved jumping behind the counter and whipping up a latte when it got too busy for the baristas to handle it on their own.
Maybe when the arson investigation ended and her insurance paid out, she’d buy a new place. If the arson investigation ever ended. They didn’t seem to be getting very far with it.