"I'm just giving you a hard time,” I said now. “I appreciate what you’re saying. I will keep that in mind as I go forth with my declarations of affection."
I walked over to the large wooden desk and plopped down in the brown leather chair in front of it. I meant to be present in the conversation with my sister, but at the same time I was thinking, This is Donovan's desk. This is Donovan's chair. Was this where he sat when he thought about me? When he watched me? When he called me and I imagined him nursing his drink?
Is this where I'd be sitting when I figured out my own feelings about him?
“It’s complicated,” Audrey said, as if reading my mind. “I get it. But I have every faith that you'll figure it out, and when the time is right, you’ll say the right words."
I wasn't quite so confident, but there was a power in sitting amongst Donovan's things. It made me more wistful, and my hope less tentative. "I'm sure you're right."
We talked for a few more minutes about school and plans for Christmas and then we hung up with the usual I-love-yous and keep-out-of-troubles. And when her voice was gone, for a few minutes I missed her more than I had before I’d called.
I sat in Donovan’s chair and swiveled back and forth, flipping my phone absentmindedly against the desk while I thought about what Audrey had said, and about Donovan, about where I wanted our relationship to go. After the phone slipped through my hands one too many times, I got bored of the activity and let it lie. My eyes caught on the manila folder sitting on the desk in front of me, not unlike the folder that had contained all of Donovan's connections to my past. This one was thin, and I turned it to read the label that had been printed on the notch. Sun Le Chen.
I sat forward, my heart hammering against my ribcage. Why did Donovan have a file with Sun's name on it?
I opened it up.
There was very little inside, just a stack of black-and-white photographs. All were candid shots of the gorgeous model, seemingly taken without her knowledge as she shopped in a street market. I couldn't say for sure if they’d been taken recently, but they didn't seem to be in the United States. The style of the streets and the architecture appeared to be European, French maybe. And if it was France, it could have been recent. It had snowed here the last month but not there.
So Donovan had photos taken of Sun while she’d been in France?
"I'm sweaty," he said, suddenly standing in the doorway. "And I'm ready to make you sweaty."
I twisted my chin in his direction. "Why are there pictures of Sun here?"
He folded his arms across his chest and leaned one muscular shoulder against the frame of the door. "Have you been going through my things?"
"Is that a problem?" There was a hint of laughter in my agony.
He worked his jaw, not giving an answer. "They're part of the France campaign," he said finally, thankfully choosing not to debate my snooping further. "They were delivered the day I got back. I've barely looked at them."
"They’re candid." I flipped through them again. "She’s unaware of the camera." I looked up at him, pleading for a more satisfactory answer.
He cocked his head with incredulity. "Sabrina, you can't be suggesting…"
"Can't I? Secret photos taken of a woman—"
He cut me off. "She knew about the camera. It's called acting. The whole shoot was taken in that style. It doesn't mean—"
“How am I supposed to know that?" I let that hang, our gazes locked. To his credit, his eyes were stormy and tormented. "Do you have feelings for her, Donovan? Is this folder like mine?" I couldn't help the tremble in my voice or the heat of the tears in my eyes.
He rushed to me, coming around the desk and turning the chair to face him. "No. No, Sabrina. You are the only one. You are the only woman alive that I have spent any time… The only one I've wanted to… watch and know. Everything has been you."
I'd never seen him struggle so much to get a thought across, and it made me want to climb into his arms and believe everything he told me.
But…
"You've slept with her." He'd told me that he had. He’d had his mouth on her pussy. He'd even described how he'd gone down on her.
And if he’d slept with her—like he’d slept with me—then couldn’t he feel things for her too?
He didn't move, didn't lean forward or draw away, just stood there holding his ground with his hands planted on the armrests of the leather chair. "And you slept with Weston."
Ouch.
It felt like a punch.
I slumped back into the chair, absorbing the shock of his words. I knew what he was getting at—that I should understand that sleeping with someone did not equate to feelings. But what I heard was: you hurt me, I hurt you.
And he still had the upper hand.
"The thing is," I said, "you can just ask your private detective whether or not I'm sneaking off to see Weston behind your back."
Now he straightened. He considered for a moment, circling around the front of the desk. He was caught. If he asked me just to trust him, he would be a hypocrite.
When he was at the center of the desk, he turned to face me, placing both palms on the flat surface. "Is that what it would take to fix this? If you had someone watching me the way I have someone watching you?"
I turned the chair so it was pointed at him, and wrinkled my nose. "I can't really afford to hire a detective to follow you around everywhere, Donovan, if that's what you're getting at."
It was also dumb. If I wanted to know something about him, I’d just ask him.
Of course, he could always just ask me as well and that didn’t seem to be good enough for him.
"No, it's not what I'm getting at. I take care of you, remember?" He reached over and grabbed the phone that was secured to the landline and dragged it over to him. Before I could ask what he was doing, he picked up the receiver and dialed a number he knew by heart.
As it rang, he said to me, "You’re in luck. The guy I had working for Cade is free now, but he’s still on retainer, which means he's—" He moved the mouthpiece to his lips. "Ferris. It's me. I have a new job for you."
I was beginning to understand where he was going with this. "This isn’t necessary. Really.”
He ignored me. "It's going to sound odd, but here's the details: your contact is Sabrina Lind. Yes, the same Sabrina Lind."
So, I’d been Ferris’s subject before. Great.
"You're going to send the bill to me,” he continued. “Anything she asks you to look into, you do it, no questions asked, even if the subject is me.”
“No,” I mouthed. “Hang up.”
But he didn’t hang up.
He moved his eyes so he wasn’t reading my lips. “I don’t want any copies of the reports. They all go straight to her. You got it?"
“Donovan…” I warned.
Stubborn and alpha-minded, the man disregarded everything I’d said so far and held the phone out to me.
“No!” I couldn’t even entertain the idea. I wouldn’t.
“It’s already done. Just take the call and give him your information.” He pressed the receiver toward my hand.