Karen hadn’t forgotten that the door to Wes’s office was open the night Tanner was killed.
But according to the report, he wasn’t there. No sign of Wes or his car on the security footage from the parking lot, nor was his card swiped to get into the building. Bianca said in her statement that she had been in his office, fixing a mistake on Wes’s schedule, when Tanner walked in. Louis didn’t press her further on that, but he did check her phone for calls or messages from Wes. Just in case. Nothing there, nothing to indicate Wes had any part in what happened that night, so Louis left it alone. Karen couldn’t blame him. If she hadn’t been looking into Wes about something else, she wouldn’t have investigated any further, either.
The other thing that interested her was the set of Russian dolls. They were taken into evidence, and Louis had asked Bianca about them. She said it held a flash drive, a backup of everyone’s schedule in case something happened to the servers, and she always updated it.
That gave Karen something to work with.
She heads back into the station, typing into the Check This app as she walks, preparing her to-do list for tonight. She had been stuck before, unsure about which direction to go. Joey Fisher had shown her the way.
The more she thinks about it, the more items end up on her list. So many things to do, so many things to check. It motivates her to do more, to work harder.
No one was there for her when she needed it, but she’s there for them.
Including Ivy.
36
Wes had planned for a smooth day at work. Fifteen minutes in between meetings—enough time to send a couple emails, grab a coffee, and prepare for the next.
Karen’s phone call blew it all up.
Everything is off, in his mind and everywhere else. Thoughts zoom around in his head like a swarm of flies, the buzzing so loud he can’t concentrate. Can’t do anything right. Too much sugar in his coffee; he’d put it in twice. He writes the same email three times. Checks his schedule a dozen times and still doesn’t remember what comes next.
He misses Bianca. She used to remind him about upcoming meetings or any changes in the schedule. Abigail is more hands-off. Probably a good thing, given what happened the other night, but still.
In the middle of an online meeting, a woman reminds him of Karen. The way she talks, firing off questions. The woman makes him think about the call again, along with the car.
Not to mention Ivy.
His mind is rotating in a dangerous loop, one that’s left him not only confused but also making bad decisions. Starting with Abigail. That was the only night he hadn’t ended up alone at his house, phone in hand, trying to convince himself not to call Ivy.
Ghosting Ivy is starting to feel like the worst choice he could’ve made. The healthier thing, the more mature thing, would’ve been to talk to her. Have a real conversation about what she had done, and about Karen. It doesn’t make him feel stupid that he ran straight to Ivy after she called the police. It makes him feel stupid that he didn’t react well when Karen kept showing up.
More than anything, he is surprised Ivy hasn’t contacted him. Also, he’s not surprised at all.
“Wes? Are you with us?”
And now he’s being called out in a meeting. This day has gone to hell.
Somehow he muddles through the afternoon, making more mistakes than sales, though only one thing on his schedule is important. The afternoon client meeting. He is still trying to prepare, reading background info, when a message from Abigail pops up on his screen.
Abigail: They’re in the conference room.
Wes: Already?
Abigail: It’s 3:30.
Right. It certainly is. Only he thought the meeting started at four. He curses himself under his breath, ordering his brain to get it together.
During the meeting, the flies in his head are mercifully quiet. He forces them away every time the buzzing starts. It’s a strain on what’s left of his mental capacity. By the time the meeting is over, he’s exhausted. Fighting his own brain can be more tiring than working out.
His original plan had been to go home and watch the game. Any game.
His reality is Liver, where Marcus is buying the first round of drinks. The whole sales team is already there when he arrives.
Wes heads to the far end of the bar, where Dana is holding court. She is one of the few women on the sales team, and she’s telling a story about someone she just started seeing. Some of the guys are gathered around her, thinking they’ll learn something about women. Wes orders a scotch and joins in.
And he really, really tries not to think about the women in his own life. But the story Dana is telling reminds him, vaguely, of Ivy.
He glances over at Abigail, catches her looking back at him. Wes averts his eyes quickly, looks back at Dana, but something makes him glance toward the front door. Almost like he has a sixth sense about her.
Ivy. With Heath.
They maneuver through the maze of tables, walking toward the bar. Heath says something, and Ivy turns to him and laughs. It looks like they are heading right for Wes.
Ivy is about a foot away when she passes by. Doesn’t look at him, doesn’t say a word, doesn’t acknowledge he exists.
Like he’s a ghost.
* * *
—
Okay, fair. What Ivy is doing is perfectly, undeniably fair. Wes knows this.
That doesn’t make it any less awkward. Or painful.
He turns around and acts like nothing happened. Marcus is saying something, Wes has no idea what. He’s too busy imagining Ivy ordering a drink and laughing with Heath. And if he knows his colleagues, they’re checking Ivy out.
Someone touches his sleeve.
Abigail.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey, how are you?”
Without breaking eye contact with him, she says, “Isn’t that Ivy?”
For a second, he thinks about playing dumb, like he doesn’t know Ivy is in the bar. But this is Abigail. She knows too much. Has seen too much.
“Yes,” he says.
Abigail looks like she’s waiting for more, but he has nothing else to say. He turns to Marcus and asks him a question, something about the Warriors. The answer is irrelevant. Wes doesn’t listen to Marcus cite player stats and make predictions. The energy coming from the other side of the bar is too strong. He can hear Ivy’s voice, or at least he thinks he can.
Abigail takes a sip of her drink. Whiskey or scotch, like everyone else. Ivy hates it. Wes knows without looking that she is drinking a gin martini.
He gets distracted by a group of women who have just walked into the bar. Five of them. Dressed up in Instagram-worthy outfits, with high heels, a lot of skin showing, and long hair everywhere. They get the attention of everyone at Liver, which appears to be the goal.
A brunette catches his eye. She is wearing a black skirt and a flowy green blouse. Bare shoulders.
He watches as they sit down at a table and order drinks from the waitress. Their voices ring out across the bar, packed with giggles and not-so-sneaky looks toward Wes and his colleagues.
Marcus nudges him, nodding toward the women. “Let’s go.”
“Nah.”
“Come on. I need a wingman.”
Marcus always needs a wingman, and he usually asks Wes. The nice guy. That’s the role of a wingman—to keep everyone happy and distracted while Marcus focuses on the girl he’s interested in.