Cracking an eye open, I scowl at Penelope. "Interesting? That’s what you’re going with?"
She shrugs, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Would you prefer ’hot’ or ’steamy’ instead?"
"I’d prefer we never speak of this again," I groan, sliding down the door until I’m sitting on the floor.
Penelope plops down next to me, bumping her shoulder against mine. "Come on, Nikki. You can’t deny there’s something there."
I shake my head vehemently. "There’s nothing there except a stubborn werewolf who can’t take no for an answer."
"A stubborn, hot werewolf," she corrects.
"Penelope!"
She holds up her hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. I’ll stop. But seriously, Nicole, what are you going to do?"
Resting my head against the door, I just... sigh. "I don’t know. I can’t even think about him right now."
"But you want to, don’t you?"
Letting silence fall between us, I close my eyes. Shoving him out the door took all the energy in my limbs. I’m drained from fighting off his pheromones.
"It doesn’t matter what I want," I say finally. "What matters is that I’m still a suspect in Scott’s murder, and Logan is investigating the case. Any... feelings... between us would just complicate things."
* * *
Monday starts with a bang.
Not a literal one. Probably a bad metaphor, considering the circumstances.
First, there’s the coffee delivered to Penelope’s apartment. It’s fragrant and ordered exactly how I like it, which—how does Logan even know that? I guess he’s a better detective than I gave him credit for.
Penelope, of course, gushed over it. Maybe because she’s a minor coffeeholic.
But then he called her phone. Not my phone. Penelope’s phone. All to tell her to go back to bed and tell me to take my sweet ass to the taxi waiting in front of her apartment building.
Sweet ass is a direct quote, or so she claims.
That’s when Penelope declared him husband material. It’s amazing how quickly she’s turned to his side, all because she gets to sleep in. I get it. She’s a night owl. Going to bed at the wee hours of morning, only to wake up a couple hours later to drag my car-less ass to work is not a fun time.
But that’s not all. No.
On my free ride to work, my insurance agent calls to let me know they’re overnighting a check for the full replacement cost of my vehicle, as long as I approve the replacement cost. What? After dragging their heels all week?
And to top it all off, the price is reasonable. So reasonable, in fact, that I agree to it on the spot. I’ll finally be able to get a new car and stop relying on Penelope.
A little dizzy from the whiplash of positive happenings in the grand span of sixty minutes, I’m almost unprepared for the gloomy atmosphere when I walk into the office.
Almost.
Because, even if the pendulum of luck finally swung to my benefit, I still know there’s a long, long road ahead.
The moment I step into the office, the usual buzz of activity dies. It’s like someone hit a mute button on the entire floor. Heads swivel in my direction, eyes wide and curious. For a heartbeat, I freeze, my feet refusing to move forward.
Get it together, Nicole.
I force myself to walk, one foot in front of the other, heading straight for my cubicle. No one approaches. No friendly waves, no casual "good mornings." Just stares. Silent, judging stares that follow my every move.
Okay. To be fair, I’m not exactly the kind of coworker who gets the greetings on a regular basis anyway. But the weight of everyone’s eyeballs is heavier today, for obvious reasons.
As I sink into my chair, the whispers start. A soft hiss of gossip that spreads like wildfire. My hands tremble slightly as I reach for my keyboard, but I school my features into a mask of indifference.
Fake it ’til you make it, right?
"Can you believe she’s back?"
"After what she did to Scott?"
"Ice queen. Look at her, not even fazed."
The snippets of conversation drift over the low walls of my cubicle. Each word is a tiny dagger, but I refuse to flinch. Let them talk. Let them speculate. I know the truth, even if I can’t remember all the details of that night.
I focus on logging into my computer, trying to ignore the prickling sensation of being watched. My desktop flickers to life. Just as I’m about to open my email, my phone rings.
The caller ID makes my stomach drop. HR.
I pick up the receiver, my voice steadier than I feel. "Nicole d’Armand speaking."
"Nicole, this is Janice from HR. Could you come to our office, please?"
My throat tightens. Silly to think I’d be able to walk into work and, oh, I don’t know, do my job. Not with these kinds of rumors going around. "Of course. I’ll be right there."
I hang up, acutely aware of the sudden hush that’s fallen over the nearby cubicles. They heard. Of course they heard. I can practically feel their eyes boring into my back as I stand up.
Head high, shoulders back. Don’t let them see you sweat.
I make my way to the HR department, each step echoing in the unnaturally quiet office. The walk feels endless, a gauntlet of whispers and stares. By the time I reach Janice’s door, my heart is pounding, but my face remains impassive.
I knock, waiting for her muffled "Come in" before I enter.
Janice sits behind her desk, her expression unreadable. "Please, have a seat, Nicole."
I lower myself into the chair across from her, my back straight, hands folded in my lap. "What can I do for you, Janice?"
She clears her throat, shuffling some papers on her desk. "Nicole, I’m sure you understand that given the... circumstances, we need to discuss your position here at the company."
I nod, keeping my voice level. "I expected as much."
"Good, good." Janice looks uncomfortable, her eyes darting around the room before settling back on me. "First, I want to assure you that we’re not making any hasty decisions. We value your work here, and we understand that the situation is... complicated."
Complicated. What a word to describe a murder investigation.
"However," she continues, "we do need to consider the impact on the office environment. Your colleagues are... concerned."
"Concerned," I repeat, the word tasting sour on my tongue. "You mean they think I’m a murderer."
Janice winces. "Nicole, please understand—"
"No, I get it." I cut her off, my calm facade cracking just a little. "They’re afraid. They don’t know what happened that night. It’s a sensational story, and no one wants to work with a murderer."
She nods, her expression softening slightly. "I believe you, Nicole. But until the investigation is concluded, we need to take certain precautions for the company."
My stomach twists. Here it comes. The suspension. The polite request to clear out my desk and not come back until I’m proven innocent.
I brace myself for the inevitable, but Janice’s next words catch me off guard.
"We’ve decided to gift you a paid vacation, Nicole."
My eyebrows shoot up. "A paid vacation?" I repeat, my voice dripping with skepticism. "Is that what we’re calling an administrative suspension these days?"
Janice laughs, but it’s a nervous, fluttery sound that doesn’t reach her eyes. "No, no. It’s not a suspension at all. The company is genuinely gifting you a two-week paid vacation. We’ll revisit the situation if anything comes up during that time, of course."