“Would you be more comfortable if I went public?” Like any good journalist, Frank had things stored for later reference—one of them being a recording of Browning banging the wife of the chief of police, who also happened to be Browning’s best buddy. The unfortunate couple were the aforementioned Arnie and Phylicia.
“It’s not that I’m refusing, Frank. I’m telling you it’s impossible. All those homes have state-of-the-art systems.”
“You mean the same systems you install? Don’t patronize me, Timothy. You’ll do it, and you’ll do it right.”
Frank heard a huff of exasperated breath. “Fine. But it will be only the outside system. I can’t touch anything inside the house without Liam noticing. So unless you’re planning to spray-paint his front door, I’m not sure what good it’s going to do you at all.”
“Maybe I do want to spray-paint the front door,” said Frank, reaching for the button to end the call. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
Leaning back in his chair, Frank interlaced his fingers behind his head and grinned. Replacing Hunt’s chemical muzzle with sugar pills had a poetic justice to it, like journalism. All Frank was truly doing was stripping away the fraud to let the truth bubble to the surface. And when that happened, when the real animal hiding beneath Cullen Hunt’s expensive suits came to light, Frank and Denton Uncovered would be there to document it all.
Hell, maybe he’d even have Skylar Reynolds do it, and then take her fine ass atop the printed news sheets.
23
Sky
The next morning, we don’t go to Liam’s on account of him getting called away for work. When I express my disappointment to Cullen over breakfast, he looks at me for so long that I shift uncomfortably in my seat.
“What?” I demand.
“The training. It isn’t going to be fun, Reynolds. It will be months before you enjoy it—if you ever do.”
I raise a brow at him over my morning coffee. “How exactly do you know what I will and won’t enjoy? For all you know, I’ve always wanted to be an MMA fighter.”
Cullen snorts. “And yet, you aren’t one.”
Touché. I stick my tongue out at him. Not that I’m not still mad at him over the apartment thing, but it’s hard to resist the moments when Cullen is being almost funny. Plus, the memory of having slept with his arm wrapped around me again makes me moist. We hadn’t talked about it last night, not even one word. Cullen had just left the door to his bedroom wide open, and when I went to pick up my—his—sleeping shirt, he’d moved over to make space. I never left.
“You want to see your new place?” he asks, putting away his coffee cup, and I try not to think about how much like an eviction that sounds. Though it isn’t as if I thought I’d be staying here to begin with.
Putting on the brightest smile I can, I nod quickly. “Absolutely. I’m more than ready to have my own space. Not that I don’t appreciate staying here but…you know.”
“Yeah.” His jaw tightens for a moment, then he turns decidedly and strides out of the kitchen. “I’ll be ready in ten,” he calls over his shoulder.
Not just an eviction; more like an emergency evacuation.
Cullen drives me over to my new place in awkward silence, pulling up to the Pine apartment complex at the same time as another car pulls into an empty visitor spot next to us. Not only is this location leaps and bounds better than my former abode—sadly, Cullen had been right about the mice and roaches—the complex itself looks gorgeous and nothing like the rent-controlled places I’d need in New York. With elongated log-style buildings, the garden apartment’s knotted pine exterior matches the real pines dotting the property. Like Eli’s home, the Pine has that rustic Colorado feel, but without the over-the-top luxury.
The place has a bicycle stand and individually assigned covered parking spaces. Making a mental note to double-check the lease for any hidden provisions, I’m halfway out of Cullen’s truck when Jaz pops out of the other vehicle. There’s an Uber sticker flashing at me before it pulls back out of the space.
“Jaz?” I turn toward Cullen. “Is this your doing?”
“I texted her just before we left and told her to meet us here.”
Told her? As in ordered her? Great. That’s about as helpful as when my mom walked into my kindergarten class and demanded the first three kids she saw invite me to their next birthday party.
“Something wrong?” Cullen asks.
He truly doesn’t even know. “No. Thank you.” Waiting until he can’t see me wince, I work out a mental apology to Jaz—only to find myself enveloped in an enthusiastic hug.
“Look at this place!” The girl spins around, her wide grin genuine enough to evaporate any guilt I might feel. Cullen may have asked her to come, but she plainly doesn’t mind. “This is perfect.”
“You could move here too,” says Cullen, stepping out from behind me and earning himself a glare from Jaz.
“I could,” Jaz says a little too sweetly. “However—”
“There’s a trail in the back that takes you right to several climbing routes,” Cullen continues. “If you were going to—”
“If I were going to be so crude as to tell you where to shove your meddling ideas, I’d do that just now. But given that I’m a sweet little thing, I’ll just politely tell you to fuck off. Tell Kyan that I’m staying right on at his ranch whether he likes it or not. And Cullen—if I were you, I’d not try to get in the middle of that. Hmm?”
Cullen’s glare is enough to chill hot coals, but rolls off Jaz so easily that I can’t help wonder how she does it. The man clears his throat. “All right. Then I shall leave you two ladies too. The movers should have your things in the apartment already and you’ll find the paperwork in the office.”
“Excellent.” Hooking her arm through mine, Jaz steers me past a little kidney-shaped pool to the administrative building, her chin held high enough that she seems part cat.
“What was that?” I ask.
She gives me a sly look. “Cullen likes to fix everybody’s problems, but we disagree on just how much space Kyan needs. Tough love and all. Anyway, look at this place! I may not live here, but girl, I hope there’s a couch, because you’re having visitors.”
Inside the office, a young girl at the desk goes over some pamphlets about apartment rules, mailboxes, and so forth before handing me the keys. “Apartment 222,” she says, grinning with a mouth full of metal. Braces? How old is this girl? “The furniture delivery was last night—please let me know if you find anything damaged.”
Clearly, she hasn’t seen my furniture.
And just as clearly—I realize as Jaz and I cross the threshold a few minutes later—neither have I. In place of my Goodwill-acquired basics, the living room is furnished in butter-soft leather furniture, its delicate off-pink hue looking inviting instead of tacky. Topping it off, there’s a quaint little breakfast nook, and a lovely red brick gas fireplace with wooden logs set beside it for decor. The rest of the place is fairly standard for a one bedroom, one bath with the usual appliances in a galley kitchen, and a regular tub and shower combo, but it’s all new, like it’s been built in the last year. And that’s not all.