Page 39 of Chance's Choice
“Oh, shit, sorry.” He recently made Detective, so I cut to the chase, knowing that, all joking aside, he takes his job seriously. “I just wanted to check in, make sure you’re okay.”
Another stretch of silence spreads between us over the line, and that’s got me even more on edge. When he does answer, his words don’t do much to resolve my concerns. “I’ve just got some stuff going on is all,” he tells me, and I can feel myself frowning. But he can’t see that. I can’t see him, either, but I can picture the fake grin on his face when he forcefully chirps, “So a day with all the guys is just what the doctor ordered.”
“Josh…”
“Listen, Chance, I’ve gotta run. Duty calls. I’ll see you next weekend, okay?”
The line goes dead before I can reply.
I pull my phone away from my ear and stare at it blankly for a minute. I’m even more worried about Josh now than I was before I called him. And, no, I mightn’t be his Daddy, or even a regular caregiver, but he’s one of my friends, and he’s Charlie’s little brother, and -all jokes about his attention seeking aside- this is all out of character for him.
Before I can make up my mind about whether or not to call Charlie, my phone starts to ring in my hand. Kade’s face lights up my screen -a shot I took of him a few weekends ago, smiling and relaxed on a date at a local restaurant- and I grin as I answer, “Hey, baby.”
My stomach plummets at the sound of his sniffled, “H-hey.”
“What’s wrong?” I sit bolt upright in my chair, all thoughts completely focused on my boyfriend.
“Can you come over? I…” It sounds like he swallows a sob. “I know it’s only Tuesday, but I need you.”
With my laptop already packed away in my satchel, it takes me less than five seconds to toss the remaining detritus -a couple of pens, a notepad and some sticky notes- in with it. Then I’m patting down my pockets with my free hand, checking for my keys and wallet as I tell Kade I’m on my way.
Chapter Eighteen - Kade
Tuesday starts like any other day. I park in my executive spot in the garage beneath our office building, I ride the elevator up to our company’s floor, I greet Rhonda, the receptionist, with a smile and a wink, and I head over to my glassed in corner office, ready to dive into a mountain of sales reports and data analysis.
Things start feeling different as soon as I power up my laptop and open my email application. The very first email to grab my attention is one that arrived moments after I clocked in. It’s from Donald Baker, and it is marked with a bright red exclamation mark.
Urgent.
What could Don possibly need from me that’s urgent? We only had our most recent meeting last week. He has the same reports to sift through that I do. We haven’t had any notable changes to any of our contracts with our suppliers or franchisees, and there aren’t any major sales campaigns scheduled to start this week.
Something is up.
I can feel it deep in my gut. The tense, churning sensation only increases as I click on the email and open it to find three simple words: ‘See me immediately.’
I don’t know what it is that inspires me to do so, but I methodically and systematically wipe any passwords stored in my computer, my browsing history and any personal files from my laptop. I don’t use my work computer for personal tasks often, but the odd copy of a receipt or photo of a meal has sneaked in over time. I also make sure to download any of the excel files filled with complicated formulas and macros that I’ve built myself to streamline my job, saving them to my personal thumb drive before I delete them from the work server.
Call it paranoia, but I have a feeling I won’t have access to my office for long after I’ve spoken to Don, and I’ll be damned if I make it easy for him to replace me or my hard work. Sure, IT can probably recover the excel files from backups from the server, but only if they know about them in the first place.
After one final sweep of my laptop, I shut it down and then make sure my briefcase has any of my minimal personal effects already stored away. If my gut is right -and it’s rarely ever wrong- and I’m going to be forced to leave, I’ll be doing it with dignity and as minimal fuss as possible.
With that settled, I tuck my phone into my hip pocket, my wallet into the other, and stride out of my office and back through the catacomb of cubicles. I nod and smile at my colleagues, those working on my team and those I’ve barely spoken three words to, and follow the hallway that curves around past the break room and bathrooms towards Don’s office. The door is open when I arrive, and he spies my reflection in the glass of his window, which he was staring out of as I approached.
The man turns his high backed leather chair slowly, and I can’t help but liken him to a cheesy Bond villain. All he needs is a fluffy white cat to stroke menacingly, but I wouldn’t want to subject an innocent kitty to this man’s personality.
“Close the door, Kade, and take a seat.”
His voice is oily as ever, and that dread I was feeling earlier solidifies in my belly. Still, I do as he says, even though I desperately want to head back out into the office proper so I can grab a witness.
Don sits silently and observes me from across the glossy timber desk, and I know he wants to see me squirm. I refuse to give him the satisfaction, so I force myself to sit still, appearing as calm and patient as possible.
“I thought we had an agreement, Kaden,” he finally says, after God only knows how much time has passed in strained silence.
I arch an eyebrow at him. “An agreement?”
Don rolls his eyes and slaps his palm on the surface of the desk. The harsh sound makes me flinch, despite my best efforts to appear unruffled. “Don’t play dumb with me. I told you to stay away from Chance, did I not?”
That solid lump of dread seems to increase in size. My thoughts drift back to his threats from weeks ago, and his intimation that he’s been keeping an eye on his son. If it’s an ongoing thing, of course he’d know about our relationship: I’ve been spending enough time at Chance’s place lately, that’s for sure.
