Page 89 of Once Upon a Lie

But I don’t need to. All I need to know is that I’m more convinced than ever that Shane Maddox just might be the man for me.

And fate was kind enough to bring him right to my door.

31

Shane

7:45 a.m.

My phone trills with a message in the dark, silent space of Valentina’s office at The Hole Story, waking me from the kind of slumber that doesn’t make sense. The kind that blacks out your mind to the night as if you’ve only managed a blink in the time. There was no thrashing or waking or stirring—only restful sleep on the floor of the backmost room of Valentina Cordone’s bagel shop with her curled against me like she belongs there.

I sit up, pulling my discarded shirt over my lap and my rigid morning cock, and surveil the room. It’s empty, save for me and a pile of clothes in the corner. The documents Teeny and I spent an hour reorganizing after having mind-blowing sex on top of them are gone.

I feel like a prick and a half for the shady thirty minutes I spent photographing each and every one while she slept contently on the floor pallet, and a nagging headache of guilt and shame rages because of it. But now that I’m waking up to them already missing, a small part of me is thankful I did—which is so messed up I can hardly stand it.

Fuck, I hate this shit.

Slipping on my boxer briefs and crossing the room to my phone, I snag it off the desk and let it scan my face to access the encrypted message from Mike.

Mike: ​​Meet at the park. Thirty minutes.​​

I scrub a hand down my face and sigh. I swear to fuck, these surprise summoning messages are going to put me in an early grave. I know it’s my job, but nothing makes me feel shittier than meeting up with some fucker whose last name I don’t even know to tell him all about a woman I’m actively spying on without her consent.

And beyond that, last night, I let myself go through with the ultimate betrayal. She gave me her body and her intimacy willingly—so she thinks.

Fuck.

There’s nothing lower than knowing I didn’t truly have the right. It doesn’t matter that I care about her—that I have feelings I very much shouldn’t fucking have. She doesn’t know who I really am or what I’m doing here, and I should’ve resisted.

Turning back to the pile of clothes, I shove my legs into my jeans and pull my thermal over my head before running a hand through my hair and a quick finger over my teeth to get rid of some of the morning funk. I tuck my phone and keys and wallet back into my pocket, fold my flannel over my arm, and head out into the kitchen, where Teeny is hard at work mixing rainbow-colored bagel dough.

Another kick to the balls, knowing she’s almost definitely mixing that batch so I can get a hit to my addiction given the fact that the shop is closed to the public today.

Her face lifts into a smile at the sight of me, and she wipes a smear of white flour off her forehead with the back of her arm. “Hi!”

“Hi.” I move toward her and touch my lips to hers. Just because I’m fucked in the head doesn’t mean she should pay the price. I have to pull it together enough to do some level of aftercare here, or I’ll really fucking hate myself.

Whatever kind of bastard I am, the last thing she deserves is cold distance this morning.

When I pull back, her eyes are alight, and her voice is a whisper. “Sorry I can’t hug you, but I’ve got dough all over my gloves.”

“That’s okay. Everything go okay with the paperwork? I noticed it was gone?” I ask, hating myself so much I can feel my soul shrivel.

“Yeah,” she says with a smile. “Leo was here before dawn looking for it.” She meets my eyes, unamused. “I handed it off and got him the hell out of here as quickly as I could.”

I smile, but I wish it didn’t feel so brittle. It’s so fucked up that I slept with her last night without being honest with her. To take something like this from someone under these circumstances is the height of evil.

It doesn’t matter what I feel for her or how hard she tried to push me into it; I should have held back.

“Can you hang around for a little while? I’ll have a batch of rainbow bagels done in half an hour.” And there it is. More ammunition to hate myself with.

“No, baby, I’m sorry. I . . . I have to run an errand that can’t wait.”

“Ohhh . . . someone have an emergency repair job?”

I force another smile. “Something like that.”

“It can’t wait for, like, another hour?”