Mirror of My Soul by Joey Hill (book club recommendations .TXT) 📕

Goddamn it, if you’d just open the door so I don’t have to pick the lock every fucking time, I promise I won’t do anything to abuse your trust.” He shook his head, backed off the step, gave her a long, thorough look. “I’m going home. Don’t even try to pretend you won’t miss me.”

“Like a mosquito.”

He smiled, for real this time, and went down the walkway. She moved to the top step, her hand falling on the paw of the stuffed tiger. Absently, she stroked the soft plush, watching him walk to his car. He had a fluid stride, a bearing that women would notice and men would respect. She couldn’t pull her eyes off the stretch of the shirt across his shoulders, enhanced by the fact he carried his jacket slung over one shoulder, his fob in his hand to deactivate the security. He was James Bond, she thought with a suppressed amusement, but her gaze lingered on his waist, the fine ass, long legs. He was more than that. He’d just told her he was hers. All she had to do was come to him.

The hardest thing in her life she could possibly do.

She glanced over her shoulder to find Chloe and Gen in the doorway, their

fascinated attention divided between her and the man leaving. Realizing she was still petting the tiger, she folded her hands together, gave herself a quick, reassuring squeeze—that’s that—and rose.

“Give me just five minutes for the shower,” she said briskly. “I apologize that I’m behind schedule.”

Her employees exchanged glances. Gen folded her arms and tucked her tongue into her cheek. “Should we slap her on principle for that comment and then beat

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information out of her, or just combine it into one general throwdown?” she asked Chloe.

“If you don’t tell us something that explains why he was here this morning, why he looks like he’s been in a fight to protect your honor and why your dress is in pieces on the floor, we’ll just implode,” Chloe added.

Marguerite pushed her hands through her hair. “I suspect it’s rather obvious why he’s here. I do have a personal life, though it generally doesn’t intrude on my routine.

Tyler is… We’re… I don’t know what we are and it…” She stopped, all of the calm she had felt after the yoga drifting away, eluding her desperate grasp before inquisitive eyes that suddenly felt invasive. “I am not a teenager. We are not teenagers. He was here, we fucked.” Or something close enough to it that it was not a lie, exactly. They both looked startled at her crudity and that spurred her further. “We had a fight of sorts and I beat the hell out of him. Does that satisfy my staff’s curiosity?”

Chloe nodded, hurt written across her features in big letters. Gen, older and more understanding, reached out toward her. “Sweetie, we didn’t mean—”

Marguerite stepped back to avoid the contact, forgetting she was at the top of the stairs. She met air. Falling, the sense of falling. This she knew. And it frightened her as it never had before.

She was jerked to a halt before it actualized. Both women lunged forward and

caught her. Chloe her left arm, Gen her right.

She took a deep breath, clutched their arms. They cared about her, she knew that. In the normal world, people who worked together enjoyed a rapport. Would exchange light banter over a romantic interest, women especially. This was yet another reason she couldn’t do this. Pain radiated through her chest, but then Chloe wrapped her arms around her in a hug. “I’m sorry, M. I wasn’t trying to be nosy. Okay, I was, but not to be mean. We love you, you know? And you looked happy, the way you guys walked up

here, holding hands. You don’t often look happy. You don’t have to tell us anything.

We just want you to feel that way. We’re glad for you.”

Gen put a hand on her shoulder, stilling her, but Marguerite gave her a tentative, stiff squeeze, eased her back. “I know, Chloe. Thank you both. I just don’t do…this.

And it’s hard for me to understand how to handle it. I don’t want to hurt either of you, so let’s focus on this morning’s routine, all right?” Her voice sounded a little desperate, even to herself. “Can we just get back to the morning routine? I’ll meet you inside in a minute.”

They retreated reluctantly with another of those pregnant exchanged glances,

leaving her alone, standing with her back to the edge of the stairs. Turning carefully, she stared down the road after his car. She felt the beat of her heart hitting the wall of her chest, resounding in her stomach like a cavern.

He’d been wrong. It wasn’t her that was the drug. It was him, for as he drove down the street, she felt the emptiness, the desire to have him back beside her like a physical 37

Joey W. Hill

pain nothing could assuage, except something she wasn’t sure she was capable of doing.

Please, come to me.

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Chapter Four

The right connections could get you where you had no business being. Tyler went up the walkway of the modest patio home. It was located in a quiet retirement

community designed to appeal to senior citizens of modest income, the type of home that would appeal to a widow who’d spent her career as a social services worker.

She’d opened the door when he drove up, waited for him behind the screen. He felt her assessment of his car, his appearance, even the way he walked as he strode up the paved path. While he made eye contact, determined not to project anything but

confidence, he felt like a thief pretending to be the owner of the house he was about to rob.

“You look like you’ve been mugged.” Komal Gupta said as he made her top step.

“Since you look like