Chapter 28

Bishop

The house is quiet when I walk in. Brooke had given me a key last week. Actually on the day she and I agreed to extend our charade. She was tentative when she did it, I think fearful that I would take that as being too much, too fast.

I didn’t, though, and gladly gave her one of my keys, although we rarely hang out at my place.

The kitchen and living room lights are off, the only light coming from the open windows, which is substantial in itself, as Brooke has a lot of great natural light due to the open layout of this house.

“Nanette?” I call out as I shut the door behind me.

“In the guest bathroom,” she calls back.

I don’t respond but head into Brooke’s kitchen, where she keeps a basic tool set in the pantry. I asked her once why she didn’t put it in her garage and she said she had nothing to fix in the garage.

It was a fair point.

After snagging the tool bag, I head through the living room and down the hallway to the guest bathroom. I can hear the water running as I get closer.

When I turn the corner to enter the bathroom, my eyes go to the tub first. Sure enough, water is running out of the faucet and the hot water handle is gone.

Then I see Nanette, who is holding the handle out to me with one hand while clutching a towel that’s wrapped around her with the other.

A miniscule towel.

Shaking my head, I grab the handle before taking a wide step around her to get to the water cutoff valve. “You should get dressed.”

“I’m getting in the shower as soon as you fix that,” she says, and then her voice turns teasing. “Besides…all my good parts are covered.”

Gritting my teeth, I don’t respond to her provocation. After shutting the water off, I move back to the faucet to look at what the issue is. It takes only a moment to see a long screw that had held the faucet on had broken and is an easy fix.

If I had a long screw, which I don’t.

“You’re going to have to use Brooke’s bathroom—” I say as I turn to look at her, but I’m stunned silent, my words sticking in my throat.

Nanette stands there before me stark-ass naked, the towel pooled around her feet.

“Bishop,” she purrs in a throaty voice, dragging her fingertip from the base of her throat down between her breasts. “Let’s have some fun.”

My eyes stay focused on her face, although I can see enough out of my periphery to know she’s got a great body. But it’s her expression I’m interested in right now, and it tells me everything I need to know.

Calculation.

Cunning.

Malice.

She’s doing this to hurt Brooke and for no other reason.

“What in the fuck is your problem?” I snarl at her as I bend over, snatching the towel off the floor. I fling it at her, and it catches her in the face and chest. I get only a glimpse of wide, startled eyes as she pulls the towel away.

But I’ve turned on my heel and I’m getting the fuck out of Dodge.

I make it no more than halfway down the hallway before Nanette is pushing past me—still naked—and then turning to plant herself in my path. She actually tries to launch herself at me, but I simply grab on to her shoulders and hold her at arm’s length. She puts on a sultry expression, pursing her lips in a pout. “Come on, Bishop. What man would turn this down? I’ll let you do anything you want. Let you use me however you want.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, you are tripping, bitch,” I growl as I turn her, keeping my arms locked and her at a safe distance. I let her go and continue my escape to the front door. I make it halfway through the living room before something hits me in my back and thuds on the floor. It catches my shoulder blade and hurts like a motherfucker.

“Goddamn it,” I roar as I spin back toward Nanette, glimpsing a copper vase at my feet that Brooke had on her TV stand. My eyes cut to Nanette and she has her arm cocked back, getting ready to throw a bookend that looks to be made of something a lot heavier than copper.

I brace and watch her. She lets it fly and she’s got good fucking aim. It comes straight at my head, but I easily manage to sidestep it, and it hits Brooke’s wall behind me so hard it puts a hole in it.

“What the fuck is your problem?” I bellow as she turns to find something else to throw. I’m sick of this shit. I rush her, covering the living room in two big strides, and before she can grasp a ceramic fish figurine, I grab her wrist. Twisting it up and behind her back, I ignore the little yelp of surprise and spin her toward the adjacent wall. I walk her into it and press her up against it so she can’t move, one hand holding her wrist behind her back and the other lightly but firmly holding her by the scruff of her neck. Her chest is heaving and she starts throwing curses at me in an endless rant, and I swear I think she might actually be crazy.

“What is your problem?” I repeat.

“Your fucking bitch girlfriend is my problem,” she spits out, and tries to struggle loose. I pull her wrist up a bit and she goes deadly still so as not to cause herself pain.

“What in the hell did Brooke do to you?” I’m absolutely confused. I thought they were getting along better, and while I was skeptical of her change, I was hopeful.

Apparently my judgment is better than Brooke’s on this issue.

“She’s always taking what I want. She got the job I wanted in New York, and now here. And that cocksucker Sebastian is going to be fucking sorry about that too. She has the hot hockey star, and the great house, and I fucking want what’s mine. I want a piece of this too.”

“You are one demented woman,” I mutter as I pull her away from the wall and walk her back to the guest bedroom she was staying in. I give her a tiny push as I release her and she stumbles a few feet before turning to face me. Her chin lifts and she sticks her chest out, all in defiance and not with any sexual meaning at this point.

“Fuck you, Bishop, and that high and mighty girlfriend of yours.”

I don’t bother engaging her. I just point at her suitcase on the floor. “Get dressed and get packed up. You’re leaving here now.”

“Or what?” she sneers at me.

Pulling my phone from my back pocket, I tell her, “I’m calling the police in five minutes. Pretty sure they’d have no problem with arresting you for assault and destruction of property. So I’d get going if I were you.”

She makes a growling sound low in her throat, her face an ugly mask of bitterness and hate. For a moment, I’m actually a little concerned about what she might do.

Thankfully, she spins away from me. Muttering curses and talking to herself under her breath, she gets dressed and starts throwing shit into her suitcase. It takes her about seven minutes but I give her a little leeway, because she’s at least getting it done.

By the time she’s finished, I have an Uber waiting out front. I even gallantly take her suitcase and carry it to the car. She throws herself into backseat and slams the door shut without a word to me. I go to the driver’s window and watch as his eyes get wide when I bend to talk to him. He rolls down the window and I say, “Know who I am?”

He nods.

Pulling my wallet out, I grab a fifty and hand it to him. “Get her to the airport and nowhere else, despite what she might say. Understood?”

“Yes, Mr. Scott,” he says, taking the money.

“What’s your name?” I ask him.

“Devin,” he says eagerly. “Devin Carruthers.”

“I’ll have four tickets for next week’s home game on the seventh waiting for you. Enjoy.”

“Awesome, man,” he says with a wide grin.

I wait until they are out of sight before I pull my phone out and reluctantly call Brooke. She doesn’t answer, but a voicemail won’t do.

I call her back again, hoping she’ll see and realize it must be important if I called right back again.

Still no answer.

Walking into her house, I dial the front office main number. A woman answers, I assume the receptionist I met two days ago when I stopped by to take Brooke to lunch and almost beat the shit out of her new boss. I identify myself and ask her for two favors. To have tickets put in for Devin Carruthers and to find Brooke and ask her to call me. I tell her it’s a slightly urgent matter.

By the time I pick up the copper vase and the bookend, returning them to their rightful places, Brooke’s number is buzzing on my phone.

“Hey, babe,” I say with a heavy voice.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I assure her quickly. “But, um…had a little problem here at your house and I’m going to need you to come home.”

“What problem?”

I proceed to tell her all of it. Every nasty thing that Nanette said, not to cause Brooke pain, but so she understands the gravity of the situation. That bitch is crazy.

“We need to get the locks to your house changed today. It can’t wait. I’m going to call a locksmith now and will stay here until you can get home, but I need you to come right now. Unfortunately, we’re not going to be able to get lunch today.”

Brooke gives me the reaction I expected. Levelheaded and efficient, without wanting to ask me a million follow-up questions. She just says, “Okay, babe…let me go let Charity know I have an emergency to attend to and I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

This is good. I’m glad she’s taking it seriously, because I know Nanette has one of her house keys. I would have asked for it back, but why bother? Someone as crazy as that bitch could have had copies made. It’s safest to get new locks, and while he’s at it, I’m going to have the locksmith add some extra dead bolts. I think I’ll also call a security company to see if I can get someone out here to install an alarm today. I’ll pay them fucking double.

If I can’t, then I’ll just have Brooke stay at my place until I can get back.