Crude Heir (Billionaire Heirs #3)

Chapter 18

Derrick

I reach out to grab her arm as she spins away. Gritting my teeth, I curl my hand into a fist, forcing myself to let her go. I should stop her, but, given her response to my question, I’m not going to be prepared to hear what she has to say.

Frantic, she grabs her bag off the counter as she passes by it. Then she hauls ass down the hall, barely slowing down to leave.

“Nicole, stop!” She doesn’t break stride. Instead, the door slams shut with enough force to reverberate in my head.

Once again, everything’s changed in the blink of an eye. A machine answers, announcing I’ve reached eight-one-one, the call-before-you-dig number. I smash the button to end the call while the electronic voice announces they’re closed.

It was a bluff, though I didn’t expect it to end with the door slamming in the distance. Because I couldn’t dial nine-one-one and turn her in without having some kind of explanation.

Anger erupts inside me again. Despite wearing nothing more than a towel, part of me wants to go after her. I need answers. Who is she? If she really isn’t involved in this, why is she going through all the records from the office?

More important, why did she decide to fuck me after denying herself her entire life? I draw a blank there, because I, personally, don’t fit into any box she may need to check when it comes to stealing.

Now that all is said and done, nothing about her makes sense.

I slam my fist down on the counter, needing some sort of release. If she’s the one taking money from Kelly Oil in fact, it’s empty. But what if it is him on the stairs behind me? Would he go out into the city without any clothes on?

Unable to answer, even to myself, I rush to the door, pushing it open then walking outside. I glance around, half expecting someone to sideline me, but no, I’m standing here looking like a fool.

There’s still a light rain but nothing like what we experienced yesterday. I glance across the highway, toward the office building. Should I get my car? Would he expect me to head there and have security stop me? I turn, wincing as I walk in the opposite direction, sidestepping the debris to avoid having it dig into the soles of my feet.

I reach into my bag for my phone, grateful I set it down in there while looking for a scrunchie, or things may have ended differently. I unlock the phone, shaking with the adrenaline rushing through my system. Calm down. Everything’s fine. I glance around again, just to be sure.

Finding the app, I schedule the pickup at my location and enter the destination. The cost pops up, considerably higher than the arm and leg I’d anticipated. With no other choice, I wince and hit the button to set up the ride.

It doesn’t take long to get a driver. Being downtown, there’s always someone in the area. Still, I duck behind the building and wait through the longest two minutes of my life.

Nervous, I reach across the back of my head, pulling the hair away from my temple and into the ponytail I’d intended. My life has been thrown upside down since I decided I needed to pull my hair up.

The little green SUV listed on the app finally comes into sight. I glance behind it and breathe a sigh of relief as the vehicle pulls up beside me. I bite my lip, opening the door then climb into the back.

“Are you hurt?” The driver, an older woman, turns in her seat, on high alert.

“No, I’m fine.” I’m shaking as I slide across the back seat. “I got caught in the storm.” I swallow hard. “Now I just need to get home.”

“Okay,” she says, sounding skeptical. She checks the mirrors, giving me another once-over before pulling into her lane.

My heart’s a lump in my throat as we make our way to the other side of town. Thankfully there’s hardly any traffic.

It’s foolish to think of avoiding my car and still ending up going to my apartment. Will he know where to send the police? Being in charge of the systems, would he have access to my personal information?

“You doing okay back there?” the driver asks with concern.

“Yes.” The word is barely audible. “I just…” I have no explanation to share. It’s all I can do to hold the tears burning behind my eyes. “I should have gone home last night.” I grasp at the first thing that comes to mind.

Her reflection in the rearview mirror changes to an expression of understanding. “Fight with your boyfriend?” It’s more of a statement than a question, and not altogether inaccurate.

“Yes. Kind of.” I let my shoulders slump. “Only he’s not my boyfriend,” I correct her.

“Well, men can all still be assholes. Doesn’t have to be a boyfriend,” she says, as if it’s a given. “They lie, they cheat, they treat you like shit. Get out while you can, I always say.”

Only, this time, it isn’t the guy who’s lying. It’s me. And I lied to everyone, not just him.

She takes the exit off highway forty-five, and we start through the neighborhood in silence. People are packed around the local taco truck. Guys are hanging out in front of the car wash. Soggy pi?atas hang outside the corner store. All things I see on my daily drive. I’ll miss seeing all of it.

I fish out my keys as we pull up to the apartments. “You sure you’re going to be okay?” she asks, clutching the steering wheel as she glances at the few people hanging out on their balcony, watching us in return.

She may not understand, but, for me, this is home. It has been for a couple of years now. If not for the rain, there would be a lot more people milling about. “Yes, I’ll be fine.”

“You take care, girl.” She turns in her seat, giving me a reassuring smile.

“I will.” I manage to return her smile.

“Hey, keep your head up. You’re not the first to come home the next day with your panties in your purse and tears on your face.”

Heat rushes across my cheeks. I let myself out, shutting the door carefully. I move away and start down the sidewalk, feeling a pinch every other step now. The driver finally pulls away, and I continue through the light rain.

The scent of flour tortillas is in the air, along with something spicy. A voice rings out over music, complaining about a flooded apartment.

I clutch the banister, trying to keep my weight off my ankle as I go up the steps to the second floor. My grandmother’s words echo in my head: Never get an apartment on the first floor. They’re one problem after another.

The second floor is bad enough. I couldn’t bring myself to go higher; with her aches and pains, she’d have trouble when she visits.

My neighbor comes out on the balcony, lighting a cigarette as she watches my progress. “Girl, you look like hell.”

“Thanks, Terry,” I say drily. Somehow she always seems to be out and about when things happen. Which keeps her up to date on everything.

She blows out a cloud of smoke giving me a once-over. “If you weren’t such a goodie-goodie”—she waves the cigarette, pointing a finger at me—“I’d think you’re coming home with your panties shoved in your purse.”

“The power went out at the office,” I inform her, steering the conversation away from my walk of shame.

“You didn’t get trapped in the elevator, did ya?” she asks, concerned.

While that would solve the problem of where I was all night, it would only create more questions in the long run.

“No.” I shake my head as I turn toward my door. “I just had to take the stairs all the way down.”

“Ouch,” she replies with a grimace.

I let myself into the small, one-bedroom apartment. Once upon a time, this felt like home. I can’t focus on that right now. I only planned to pack some clothes and the money I keep hidden under the kitchen cabinet.

A sinking feeling takes over as I close the door behind me. I have to hurry. Someone might be on their way to pick me up even now.

I go straight to the bedroom, determined to pack a bag and get going. Opening the closet door, I find my travel bag, nothing more than an oversized tote, and start pulling clothes from the closet. I have to travel light—at least that’s what the shows on television always say.

Pausing, I take stock of my clothes, mostly dresses because I used them for work. I’m as comfortable in a skirt as most people are in jeans. I only own two of those...because my parents didn’t approve. I’ll wear one of them on the trip. It’s easier to maneuver when you’re not in a dress.

Memories assault me. Pictures on the bookcase, dishes in the kitchen, the knit throw on the love seat. All the things that bring me comfort. I’d have to leave them all behind—all of them, if I’m going to start over.

I’ve done the research. I know where to go to lose myself. But I’ll be alone. My grandmother will be in the same situation, her own daughter dead, thanks to a blown tire.

If this had happened in any other manner, I think it would have been easier. I have money hidden away, and I had a plan to jump on the first bus out of town, then make my way across the country. I could drive, but I’d be a much more visible target than if I am lost in a crowd.

I turn on the shower then strip off my clothes. The one thing I could have never anticipated is what happened today. I can still feel Derrick’s hands on my body. I can see him smiling as he fed me a bite of the French toast he brought. He was smiling, laughing, teasing me. All sides of him I’d never seen at work.

Tears stream down my face. I’m about to wash the scent of him off my body, and my heart aches because of it.