Escaping Reality

to
    see what would be the first thing Liam would have seen if he had as well.
    I’ve scribbled Why is there no record of the fire? and Who covered it up?,
    both phrases underlined heavily. There are references to my hometown
    papers and my father’s name is everywhere. I feel sick to my stomach all
    over again and it has nothing to do with my concussion.
    Liam may never have looked at these notes, but if he did, he is too
    smart not to put two and two together. I have to talk to him now. I have to
    make sure he doesn’t do anything to get the wrong people’s attention. I
    dial his cell. He doesn’t answer. I press fingers to my forehead. He never
    answers his phone.
    A text beeps and I quickly glance at it. Just walked into meeting. Are
    you okay?
    I sigh and type. Yes. Yes I’m fine.
    Derek wants us to go to dinner with him and Mike.
    Mike is the “a-hole”. I’m never going to get to talk to Liam at this
    rate. What time?
    Seven. I’ll send a car for you.
    I’ll be ready.

    ***
    At seven sharp I exit the hotel in a white, form-fitting lace dress Liam
    had picked out during our shopping trip, paired with red high heels and a
    red purse, both of which I’d chosen.
    My only other accessory is the white bandage by my hairline that,
    despite my efforts to sweep my long blonde hair over it and seal it there
    with hairspray, still shows.
    I’m barely in the car when my cell phone rings, and it’s Meg. I frown.
    She’s avoided me for almost a week and she chooses now to call? “Hello.”
    “I just ran into Jared. He told me you had some sort of a head injury?
    He said he’d stopped by the hotel several times and left you messages you
    won’t reply to.”
    Jared stopped by the hotel? “I’ve been in bed. I had a concussion.”
    “Was it—”
    My defenses prickle. “No, it was not Liam. Jared knows that. Is Luke
    back in town?”
    “Oh, yes. I emailed you a new property list. Did you see it?”
    “No. No, I didn’t.”
    “Luke inadvertently sent you the wrong one and he apologizes. He let
    your boss know. I guess you were supposed to do some reports you haven’t
    done? Dermit was asking why, so you better get on it.”
    I’m confused. Completely confused. Who do I work for? Do I work for
    anyone? Is
    Dermit real or not? “Can you please get me a number for my boss?”
    “You’ll have to talk to Luke about that.”
    “Can I make an appointment?”
    “I’ll get with him and call you.”
    My phone beeps. “I need to take that. I’ll check in tomorrow.” I click
    over to Liam.
    “Where are you?” he asks.
    “I’m almost there, I think. I’m in the car.”
    “I’ll be at the door waiting on you.”
    “Okay. Yes.” We end the call and I immediately pull up my email. The
    only email is from Meg with the property listing. I really have no idea what
    is a cover story and what is a problem anymore. The idea of telling Liam
    everything and no longer being on my own with this sounds better every
    second.
    “Your destination, ma’am,” the driver says, and the door opens
    almost immediately. Liam leans in and tosses a large bill at the driver.
    “Keep the change.”
    He offers me his hand and pulls me to my feet, giving me a hot
    head-to-toe inspection before leaning in near my ear. “You look good
    enough to eat. I think I will.”
    “Liam,” I gasp softly, instantly warm all over, my nipples tightening.
    That is how easily this man gets to me.
    Deep, sexy laughter rumbles in his chest and he shuts the door
    behind me. “Come with me.” He laces my fingers with his and pulls me
    toward the building, and the way he has said the words “come with me”
    has me quaking with the certainty he is up to something naughty.
    We enter the high-rise building and my heels click on the fine white
    ceramic tile that blends with my dress and contrasts with my shoes. I glance
    upward at spiraling rows of offices that remind me of a corkscrew and seem
    to climb forever. “Wait,” I say, and tug on Liam’s hand.
    He stops and turns to me, glancing up as I am, and then back down at
    me. “You like it?”
    “This is the building you designed, isn’t it?”
    “Yes. This is it. You like it?”
    “It’s…” I struggle for a word that suits it, and settle on, “sexy. Like
    you.”
    He pulls me against him. “Sexy, huh?”
    “Yes. Very.” My fingers curl on his cheek. “And brilliant, also like
    you.”
    His eyes darken and heat. “Come with me,” he orders again, and sets
    us in