Page 16 of Treachery

When a familiar face appeared, Nadia didn’t know whether to spit nails or break into tears.

“Emily, what are you doing here?”

Emily was the wife of the very man she and Vicki were just discussing. She’d met Emily once, at Horde’s house, and she’d liked the woman instantly. She was sweet but sassy, self-deprecating, and thoughtful—an overall great person. Then again, she was married to an asshole who thought it was okay to seduce and spy on innocent women, so maybe she wasn’t such a great person after all.

“What’re you doing here?”

Across from her, Vicki crossed her arms over her chest, her protective mode activated. Seriously, the woman was no bigger than 5’4”, but she had the fierce presence of a momma bear.

Emily’s lips thinned, and she stepped inside the office, her cheeks red, her eyes glossy, and she shoulders stooped.

“Well, I was here to tell you that the flowers Martina Rogers ordered will be delivered tomorrow.” At Nadia’s confused look, Emily continued, “I own Flower’s Blooms on Market St, and Janice called looking for the burgundy cymbidium orchid bouquets. Lucky enough, we had just the right amount.”

Ah. Nadia tipped her head. “Okay, that’s good news, but….”

Emily nodded, looking awkward as hell.

“I overheard what you were saying…about Frost,” she admitted, her voice cracking on her husband’s name. “Did he…did he really do what you said? Did he really send Locust to hurt you?”

Nadia collapsed onto her couch with a moan and dropped her head back to stare into the popcorn ceiling above her.

“Well, that was one shitty ass day,” she grumbled into the empty living room.

After Emily arrived in her office, and the subsequent sharing of what Locust and Frost had done, Emily quietly left. Nadia didn’t know what to make of the prez’s ol’ lady other than she looked truly devastated by what her husband had done, what he’d ordered Locust to do. When Emily left, the office felt heavier, as though it portended bad things to come.

It had taken longer than she’d wanted to shake off the emotion and weighty thoughts of what happened in her office, so once she’d finally emerged, it was to see that Martina Rogers had gone on a rampage, screaming at event staff, overturning tables of samplehors d'oeuvres, and literally tearing dressesfrom two members of her bridal party because the hems were too long. After dealing with pissed off staff, offended chefs, and inconsolable bridesmaids, Nadia was ready to put a bullet in her brain just to make the headache go away. It took another three hours of overtime to set things to rights, finish the accounting paperwork for payroll, and then get her ass home.

Now that she was in her house, she didn’t want to move from that spot. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t eaten since lunch and it was going on 10 PM, it only mattered that her feet were pulsing and swollen, her back was cracking with every breath, and her brain was throbbing like someone was playing angry Beethoven in her synapses.

Closing her eyes, she knew her aches and pains wouldn’t get better from the couch, so she willed herself to sit up. It took another five minutes to convince her feet to cooperate before she stood up, then stumbled into the kitchen to grab the ibuprofen and a glass of water. Pain meds taken, she leaned against the counter, dropped her head, and heaved a pained sigh.

At least she had tomorrow off, which meant she had absolutely nothing planned other than laundry, watchingA Discovery of Witches, thinking filthy thoughts about Matthew Goode as a sexy vampire—not a certain sexy biker—and maybe, perhaps, baking some pumpkin bread to bring to work the following day. That day was the day of the Rogers-Bellamy wedding, and Nadia had no doubt she’d be emotionally snacking all day, so why not have one of her favorite snacks on hand for when she needed some comforting?

Her thoughts about pumpkin bread and bridezillas was interrupted by a decisive, loud knock on her door.

She jerked at the abrupt sound, gasping at the pull in her aching back muscles, then cursed.

Shit! Who came to visit at 10 PM on a Thursday night?

Suddenly, alarm bells rang in her head. She tensed, her eyes pinned to the door through the archway from her galley kitchen. No one with good intentions just stopped by after dark.

Swallowing, she pulled the paring knife from the knife block by the stove, and slowly made her way to the door. A knock sounded again, this time it was louder, making her think the person on the other side was getting frustrated.

Just steps from the door, she waited for another knock. And waited.

A shrillpingfilled the room, making her start and drop the knife. Thank God it missed her foot!

“Shit, shit!” she whisper-yelled, turning to find her phone which was on the couch next to where she’d been sitting. It pinged again.

A text.

With one last glare at the front door, she hurried to the couch and picked up her cell, glancing down at the screen.

Unknown: Answer the door.

Unknown: You missed dinner, so I brought you some.

Unknown: Eat it, baby.

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