Chapter 33

Paisley was still glaring out the front window. For the third time, she grumbled, "It must be nice."

I was still dashing around the house, trying to get my things in order. In our driveway, a company limo was waiting. It was the same limo that had shuttled me from the office an hour earlier.

As for my company car, it was in the Bennington parking garage, where I'd be picking it up upon my return.

Whenever that would be.

Paisley said, "Why do you get a limo? I mean, it's not like you're anyone important."

She was right. I wasn't. But Zane had been adamant, and not in a nice way. Of course, I knew why. He didn't trust me to make it to the airport on time, and I was dangerously close to proving him right.

In his usual charming way, he'd told me, "Seven o'clock. Be ready."

Or else.

He hadn't said it, but it was definitely implied.

I glanced at my watch and cringed. Already, it was five minutes to seven, and I still wasn't quite ready to go. I felt stressed and anxious for a whole host of reasons.

For one thing, the limo had been idling in the driveway forever, and no matter how many times the driver had assured me that waiting was part of his job, I felt guilty and awkward just the same.

And then, there was Paisley. I'd arrived home just after six o'clock to find her in the living room, looking not exactly civil, but not nearly as hostile as I'd been anticipating.

Turns out, Professor Lumberjack, or Fergus, or whatever I wanted to call him, had somehow managed to convince Paisley that the flowers had been for her all along. Supposedly, he was only bringing them to me, so I could give them to her when I arrived back home.

What a load of crap.

And yet, Paisley had gobbled it up like a hound in a van full of meatballs. She was still wearing the black dress – the one she'd borrowed from me without even asking.

From the window, she said, "You do know, you could've saved me a lot of heartache if you'd just told me right away."

I was hardly listening as I scanned the living room, looking for the last item on my list. I asked, "Have you seen my phone charger?"

Paisley made a sound of annoyance. "Didn't you hear what I just said?"

Of course, I'd heard, but I didn't have time for this discussion – or for the other discussion that we'd need to have when I returned.

The lease on the house was up in just a couple of months, and I wasn't planning to renew. The way I saw it, I'd rather move to an entirely new place than suffer through another year with a deadbeat drama queen.

I said, "Sorry, but I'm in a hurry."

"Whatever," she muttered and returned her attention to the window. "I guess nobody cares that I spent the whole afternoon crying my eyes out."

I cared, but only because she'd used up all of my tissues, plus the last of the toilet paper. Again.

With growing desperation, I lifted the nearest sofa cushion and did a quick scan for the charger. All I saw were a few pennies and remnants of burnt popcorn.

Well, that was nice.

I lifted the other cushion, only to be disappointed again, unless I considered two nickels a marvelous find. I tossed the cushion back in place and frantically looked around, wondering where on Earth my charger could be.

Funny, I could've sworn I'd set it near the sofa. In fact, I was almost sure of it. My gaze drifted to Paisley, and I felt my jaw tighten.

She wouldn't.

Would she?

I tried again. "My charger, you seriously haven't seen it?"

Slowly, she turned around and smiled in a way that made me almost nervous. "I don't know," she said. "Have you seen my bottle of merlot?"

This again?

"Oh come on," I said. "That was weeks ago. And I replaced it."

"It wasn't just one bottle. It was two."

"Right," I said through gritted teeth. "And I replaced both of them."

"You couldn't really replace them," she said. "They had sentimental value."

"Oh for God's sake," I said. "It was a generic wine, not a love letter."

Paisley's smile twisted into a smirk. Mimicking my tone, she said, "It was a phone charger, not a space ship." She turned back to the window and said, "See how that works?"

Yes. In a roundabout way, I did. And it was one of the reasons it had taken me so long to pack. In a fit of paranoia, I'd gone through the whole house, especially my bedroom, gathering up everything of special importance to me – family photos, old letters, and the few pieces of decent jewelry that I owned.

I'd stuffed all of these things into an extra suitcase with the intention of taking everything with me, rather than leaving it here in the house, where Paisley could do who-knows-what with it.

If the missing phone charger was any indicator, my paranoia had been totally justified. Trying to look on the bright side, I reminded myself that the charger – unlike those other things – was entirely replaceable.

"Fine," I told her. "Keep the charger. I don't care."

"I don't care either," she said, even as a knock sounded at the front door. "And just so you know," she added, "the door's not for me, so I'm not getting it."

"Good," I told her, "because I'm leaving anyway."

I grabbed my stuff and hustled to the door. When I flung it open, the limo driver gave me an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, but Mister Bennington's instructions were very explicit." He pointed to his watch. "And it is seven o'clock."

Technically, it was six fifty-eight, but it wasn't worth quibbling over. So instead, I assured him that I was ready and that there was no need to apologize. After all, I didn't want to be late either.

Soon, we were off, heading toward the airport as I tried not to imagine what kind of trouble surely awaited me – first in New York, and then back home, whenever I returned. After all, I'd be out of town at least a week, which left Paisley plenty of time to wreak havoc on the home front.

I had no doubt, she'd do just that.

I might've spent the rest of the night dwelling on this, if I weren't soon distracted by something even more disturbing. It was the sight of my boss getting practically slobbered on – and not from his dogs.