Page 111 of Brassy Bigwig

Shelby: Not good. You really messed up.

If I can get Shelby on my side at least a little bit, then there’s a chance she can help Chloe realize how much she misses me. Maybe then she’ll at least start talking to me again.

Me: I was just trying to protect her. My ex is a vicious, cunning bitch, and she would have chewed Chloe up and spit her out.

Shelby: I understand, but that’s pretty much you saying Chloe isn’t tough enough to handle her. Do you even know Chloe? She’s one of the toughest people I’ve ever met.

I know that, too.

Me: I do know that. I didn’t for one second think she couldn’t handle Emilia. But with all the shit going on with Blake, I didn’t want to add to her plate.

Me: Can you please help me? Can you ask her to text me? Call me? Come by the penthouse? Anything?

Shelby: I shouldn’t be telling you this. If Chloe ever finds out she’ll kick my ass for real and probably not talk to me for a long time.

Me: Please, tell me.

Shelby: I think you and Chloe are the real deal. I believe you’re meant to be together. She’s hurt, and she needs to work through her feelings, but if you give her a little more time and space, I think it will work to your benefit.

For the first time in a week, I can feel my heart start to beat again. It’s faint, but Shelby just gave me the little glimmer of hope that I needed.

Shelby: And by space, I mean stop texting her. No more deliveries. Cut her off. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that bullshit. Got it?

Me: Got it. Thank you, Shelby. Thank you so much.

Shelby: You’re welcome. I’m deleting these messages and putting my phone down now.

Shelby: Radio silence, bossman.

Me: Understood. Goodbye.

Placing my phone on the table, a small smile breaks through the melancholy exterior I’ve displayed since Chloe walked out of my office. I pick up my glass and down the rest of the bourbon in a silent cheer to Shelby. What she just said to me gives me the strength I need to make a promise to myself that I won’t try to contact Chloe again. That I’ll let her come to me when she’s ready.

* * *

The next morning, I’m awoken early by a phone call. Thinking it could be Chloe, I answer it, still half asleep, without even checking the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Andino. It’s Travis. I apologize it’s taken me so long to get back to you.”

Tell me about it.

The only reason I haven’t fired him yet is because everyone who recommended him to me tells me this is how he works. He goes dark while he’s investigating, and you won’t hear from him unless there is something he thinks you need to hear.

“It’s fine, do you have anything for me?”

“Well, that’s the thing. I’ve dug as far as I can, and there is not much on Blake Myers past his prison stint last year. Since he got out, he’s been the poster child of the perfect parolee.”

That’s not what I wanted to hear.

“He’s never missed a meeting with his parole officer. He attends his therapy and group sessions regularly, only missing one for an illness that he was able to obtain a doctor’s note for.”

There’s no way.

“Are you sure? I mean, how easy is it to make others believe you’ve changed, and you’re meeting all of the requirements?”

“It’s not very easy, actually. I’ve been trailing him for a week, and he hasn’t made one misstep. Nothing to cause any alarm or to make me think he’s up to anything other than exactly what he’s supposed to be doing.”

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