HER SISTER

HER SISTER


Andrew's Pov

“I found something, sir.”

I don't know why I'm so anxious about the message. Of course she did, that's what I paid her for. And of course that's the way to tell your employer you did the work they paid you to do; with no fanfare, no addendums, no emojis.

But. . . it just feels serious.

I fidget, still staring at the message like the words might jump out of my phone. I think I'm just projecting. This ‘something’ she found could be anything, literally anything. I could be ruining a surprise for myself or a guilty pleasure purchase.

But even as I try to rationalize it, I don't open it. I dally around, called Angel and watch a little TV until it's been sitting unopened for more than an hour.

I think I'm just scared, for all my rationalizing. Because I haven't let myself think about what I'd do if it’s something big, something that would be hard to forgive. What then? I'd definitely try but it might hurt our relationship.

I should open it. And I will.

I've been in some serious sticky situations where I might not have made it out but here I am crippled by a text. I won't let this draw out any longer. . .

Right after I do some work.

I stand, shutting my screen down and walking to my office. I stay until Anna gets back. She takes one look at me and brings me dinner. I eat it, take the dishes downstairs, thank her as she sits in living room talking with Jameson and get right back to work.

I stay until she pops her head in, telling me she's going to bed. I linger even more, more than I usually would on a because I know I have no more excuses.

When the fourth yawn in just as many minutes escapes me, I stand. Turning off the light and cloaking my office in darkness makes me feel a little bit of trepidation.

Almost annoyed at myself at this point, I march myself to my room, take a bath and change into my pajamas.

Settled in bed, unopen the message. She sent another a minutes later, minutes long.

A voice message? I blink at it. I was kind of expecting a file or a folder of some sorts as usual. Okay then, I think as I shrug and play it.

The PI’s voice rings out clear, crisp but with a sort of rushed excitement. “Okay, good afternoon sir. I just got out of the hair salon.”

I pause the recording, my brows furrowing. Then I check to make sure I'm listening to what I think I am. And yes, it's the PI. Why is she telling me about her hair salon trip? I think but I unpause it.

“Thank you for that by the way, sir. I'm a blonde now, although that wasn't the end goal but I kind of like it— ”

Again, I check. It is. This is the woman I paid to tail my fianceé. “It worked out in the end. Your fianceé had been there for a while before I got in. Immediately I just confirmed she was a drinker and that made my job way easier. I got us a round of good sexy wine, made up some bullshit celebration that I recently cheated on my husband and divorced him because that's what I suspected she was hiding.”

Oh fuck.

I pause it again. I'm not sweating but I wipe my hands across my forehead. That's my big fear and I'm about to find out if it came through.

Psyching myself up with two sharp breaths, I listen. “I was looking at her while I talked. Nothing. She didn't relate so you're good.”

She's not cheating on me.

I let out a big sigh of relief. I mean, I didn't really believe it but it's nice to have confirmation. I could probably stop the voice message here but she hasn't said why exactly Daphne was keeping a hair appointment from me. I continue.

“Then I added that I had a child too, and still nothing. Now you only paid for me to follow her around so this is what I gathered. I could, of course, confirm all this should you want sir.”

No, that's okay, I think. I don't want Daphne followed for weeks. I just. . . panicked about the secret.

There are still a few minutes to go so I sigh and continue. This must be my karma.

“I recorded the whole conversation but it took hours sir, but if you still want it tell me and I'll send it over.”

No I don't. Truly all I want right now is to find out what she found out. Maybe I should just type it out and ask her? Would she be asleep? I'm almost done, let me just continue.

“So I slowly steered the conversation away to let her talk. She said she had a fianceé, even named you sir.”

I nod, a pleased smile curving my lips. I like that when people ask her she tells them. But of course she would. I'm just paranoid.

The gravity of what I did hits me. I groan deep and loud, cradling my head in my hands. I can't believe I had Daphne followed.

Communication is very important and that's what I should have done in the first place instead of hiring someone to tail her.

I was just a little paranoid with everything that's been happening, but that's on me, not her.

I'm going to sit with this for a few days. If I still feel weird about it when she gets back, I'll tell her about how it made me feel. She might have not called me for two days but maybe she didn't think it was a big deal. Or maybe. . . she thought I wanted my space Just something.

A little splash of guilt colours my thoughts and I close my eyes against the woman's voice. This is the last time I'll do this. . .

But I already did it so let me finish hearing this. I'll get her a gift, a silent apology. And I won't do this again. It would break the trust in a relationship.

“—and her roots have started growing in. Usually she'd wait for it a bit but she didn't want you to see the colour of her roots that's why she’s touching them up now.”

If I ever use this PI again, I need to have a stipulation on how she'd send in her reports. If she must use voice messages, they should be two minutes or less.

Although I didn't know that Daphne wasn’t a natural blonde. Her father's blonde and it just hasn't ever come up I guess. “She doesn't like her hair because it reminds her of her sister's. She called it ugly that she didn't want to share such a bright feature with her—”

The PI keeps talking but I'm not listening anymore. I stop cold, the phone in my hand like a witched block, all of a sudden. I place it down, blinking, almost stupidly, at it.

What?

“So yeah, I found out she's a drug user. Recreationally though, but she says she's tried every one under the sun—”

I turn off the recording. For a moment, I roll the words around in my head, a simple
revelation seeming to just . . .not fit

Her sister? Daphne . . . has a fucking sister?