Maybe getting fired was a blessing in disguise. If she were in her office at the Pinnacle, she would imagine feeling his presence even through all those floors between them, remembering how the leather of his couch felt against her bare skin as he knelt and spread her thighs open with his powerful hands. Even worse, she could picture him staring at the giant photo of the two cowboys and feeling the pain of Trevor’s betrayal.

“How about we add something to that hot chocolate?” Patty said, standing up and heading for the locked cabinet where they kept a few bottles of liquor. “Think of it as therapy for your aching muscles and your bruised heart.”

Chapter 25

The morning after Pitch snatched victory from the jaws of defeat, Luke tried to focus on a new play diagram, but his mind kept returning to his last night with Miranda. It wasn’t making him happy. Well, some parts of it were.

When his assistant, Doug, knocked on the office door, Luke tossed the diagram aside with a sense of relief.

“Morning, Boss Ice. Everyone wants to know what you said to Brandon yesterday that set him on fire in the second half.”

“You’ll have to ask him,” Luke said, leaning back in the chair.

Doug cast his eyes skyward in resigned exasperation. “I should have known I wouldn’t get a straight answer.”

“Then why’d you ask?”

Doug grinned. “I keep hoping I’ll trip you up.” The grin vanished, and a slight blush climbed his assistant’s cheeks as he offered Luke a printout of an e-mail. “Look, I don’t mess with your personal life, but this just came from the Pinnacle, and I thought you’d want to see it.”

Luke took the paper.

Dear Mr. Archer,

We wish to inform you of a change in personnel in our concierge service. Ms. Miranda Tate is no longer a part of our team. We wish her the best of luck with her new endeavor.

We promise that our unparalleled commitment to the comfort and satisfaction of our residents will continue.

Regards,

Orin Spindle

CEO, Elite Concierge Services

“What the hell?” Luke sat up straight and read it again.

Miranda couldn’t have gotten a new job in the two days since he’d seen her. The memory of how they’d parted slammed him in the gut. Again.

“Thanks, Doug. You did the right thing giving this to me.”

Doug let out a sigh of relief. “You want me to see what I can find out?”

“No, I’ll handle it.”

His assistant nodded and left. Luke stared at the e-mail without seeing it. Miranda shared her office with someone. Stacy? No, Sofia. He’d start there. He pulled up the number that used to go to Miranda’s desk and got her office mate. After some persuading, Sofia admitted that Miranda had been scheduled to work Monday morning. Orin had called Sofia Sunday with the news that Miranda was no longer employed there, and he needed Sofia to come in.

That was all Luke needed to know. He speed-dialed Spindle’s number.

“Mr. Archer,” the head concierge answered. “It’s a pleasure. How may I assist you?”

“By telling me the truth about Miranda Tate.” He kept his voice low and even and menacing.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss personnel issues with our residents. It’s purely to protect our staff members’ privacy.”

Spindle’s prissy self-righteousness ticked Luke off. “No problem. I’ll take it up with”—he searched for the name of the building’s executive manager and found it in some recess of his brain—“Boyce Schmidt. Nice talking with you.”

“Mr. Archer!” Spindle’s prissiness was replaced by a note of panic. “That won’t be necessary. Ms. Tate has some family matters that need her attention, and she felt a leave of absence would be appropriate.”

“Your e-mail makes it sound like she’s gone on to a new job.”

“In my haste to inform the residents of the change, I may not have phrased my communication as carefully as I should have. I didn’t wish anyone to wonder why Ms. Tate was not responding to their requests.”

“You’re an asshole, Spindle.”

Luke disconnected with a disgusted swipe of his finger. Once he’d tracked down Miranda, he’d have Spindle fired. It was time for that nasty little weasel to get what he deserved.

He leaned back in the chair again, debating. Would Miranda tell him the truth if he called her? Would she even answer his call? Miranda’s family might not be willing to talk to him, either. They struck him as loyal folks.

No, he needed to get hold of someone else, a neighbor, maybe. He hoped like hell nothing had happened to the nephew. He was a cute kid. Once again he rummaged around the corners of his mind and came up with the name of the town where the family farm was located. Then he started googling and made a couple of phone calls.

Thirty minutes later, he sauntered into the gym and scanned the room. “Hey, Gorman, aren’t you from Wisconsin?”

A man with a slicked-back blond ponytail and massive biceps lowered the weights he was bench-pressing. “Yeah. You want some cheese or something?”

“You ever milked a cow?”

“Just because I’m from Wisconsin doesn’t mean I grew up on a farm.”

“Did you?”

Gorman eyed Luke warily. “I might have.”

“Good. I have a friend who needs some help on a dairy farm. I’d take it as a favor if you’d go up there with me tomorrow.”