Page 192 of Hate to Love You

She seemed genuinely interested in what kind of business I ran, outside of Nikotech. She asked how many employees I had, and what their jobs entailed. She asked about the Irish, and the men who attacked us outside the gala.

She even asked about my old assistant.

But no matter what I said, she didn’t flinch.

Nothing seemed to shock her, no matter how macabre or gruesome my answer was. In fact, she said that in some weird way, a lot of things made more sense now.

Like my comment about Igor being my “enforcer,” or why I had reacted the way I did about the bomb at Albertos, and the fact that all of my men seemed to carry guns.

And then she fell asleep, right there on my chest, as if nothing I said was shocking or earth shattering.

Admittedly, it had felt like a relief to unburden part of my secret double life to her, and even better to feel like she wasn’t threatened or intimidated by it.

But although I’d confessed my secret.

Abby still hadn’t confessed hers.

She’d opened up a little about her husband, telling me what an actual monster he’d been to her when no one was looking. And it took everything in my power to remain calm and collected, while simultaneously wanting to track down his parents and strangle them both with my bare hands.

I still might.

However, despite cracking the door enough to give me a glimpse of her past, she still hasn’t told me what I’m actually dying to know: whether or not she’s the one who has been killing my men. And why.

But in the end, I’d ultimately decided not to broach that topic. At least not yet.

I’m not entirely sure why I hadn’t pushed it, but I suspect it’s because on some level, I can sense she isn’t quite ready to tell me.

Cal knocks on the glass door to the patio, distracting me from my thoughts.

“Morning, Boss,” he says, stepping outside. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes,” I ask, taking a drink. “What did you think about my conversation with Abby last night? I trust the Bluetooth caught it all?”

“It did,” he nods slowly. “She took that…rather well.”

“She really did, didn’t she?” I say, rubbing my chin.

“Almost…too well.”

“Yeah, my thoughts exactly.”

“I have a theory,” Cal says, rubbing his chin. “If you’ll allow me.”

“Go on.”

“All of the men who have died were in your Walston Street meeting.”

“No,” I say watching Cal’s brow furrow. “You forgot about Igor. He was the first to die, and technically Abby’s resume was on my desk, well, on Ana’s desk, days before he died. Which was weeks before the rest of the men started keeling over.”

“True, but perhaps Igor was an isolated incident? Because when I think about the men she’s targeted—”

“Potentially targeted,” I growl, pointing at him. “We don’t know for certain.”

“Yes, Boss,” Cal nods. “But Boris, Jacques and Noah may have worked together, but they didn’t actually like each other. They didn’t associate outside of the office. So, I was trying to think of places or instances where they would’ve all been together, and I remembered that meeting.”

I rub my chin.

“I invited her to that,” I say quietly. “Even though I stressed the fact that she wasn’t to discuss it outside of work.”