Page 76 of Dating Goals
I push forward with renewed urgency, weaving through the last knot of guests, following where Anika disappeared. The hallway stretches before me, dimly lit and empty except for a few couples seeking privacy in shadowy corners. No sign of Anika.
“Anika?” I call out, not caring who hears me now. My voice echoes off the ornate walls.
I jog down the corridor, checking each branching hallway.
Nothing.
It’s like she vanished into thin air. Or worse. Like she deliberately disappeared withthat guy.
My stomach twists at the thought. Was she that upset about seeing Elodie with me? Upset enough to run off with the first smooth talker who offered an escape?
And it’s not just jealousy, though there’s plenty of that burning through my veins. It’s worry. Something about that guy set off all my alarm bells. The way he appeared out of nowhere, how quickly he whisked her away…
I reach a junction where the hallway splits three ways. Left, right, or straight ahead? I have no idea which way they went.
“Eeny, meeny, miny…Oh, forget it,” I groan, running a hand through my hair. I pick the right corridor, moving at a half-jog.
This hallway is even darker, lined with closed doors. I try the first handle. Locked. Same with the second and third. “Anika?”
Nothing.
The hallway is eerily quiet compared to the ballroom’s vibrant chaos. My footsteps echo as I jog down the corridor, heart pounding in my ears.
“Anika!” I try again, louder this time.
A door creaks open to my right, and an older woman peers out, her face a map of irritation.
“Young man, this is not a hockey rink. Kindly lower your voice.”
“Sorry, ma’am,” I say, trying to peek past her. “Did you see a woman in a blue dress come this way? With a guy in a dark suit?”
She purses her lips. “I most certainly did not. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
The door shuts firmly in my face.
I’m struck by the absurdity of potentially bursting in on some billionaire in the bathroom because I’m jealous of my fake date talking to another man.
But then I hear it. Anika’s voice, faint but unmistakable, coming from around the corner.
I race down the hallway, rounding one corner, then another, just in time to see her dress vanishing through a doorway at the far end. The door closes with an ominous click.
“Hold on, Anika,” I shout, breaking into a full sprint.
I reach the door and grab the handle, giving it a twist. Locked. I press my ear against the wood, straining to hear anything on the other side. Nothing but silence.
My mind races through possibilities, each worse than the last. Did she go willingly? Is she in danger? Or is this just a jealous overreaction because some guy swept in while I was busy with Elodie?
I step back, eyeing the door to see how hard it would be to break it down before Doctor Evil’s younger, better-looking cousin whisks her away to his secret volcano lair.
I stare at the locked door, my brain frantically cycling through every spy movie I’ve ever seen. What would 007 do in this situation? Probably whip out some laser watch that doubles as a lock-picking device while delivering a witty one-liner about “getting the door.”
“Okay, Griffin. Think. You’ve seen every spy movie ever made.”
I pat my pockets, hoping for divine intervention in the form of lock-picking tools I don’t own.
My search yields exactly zero spy gadgets. Just my wallet, phone, and a mint I pocketed at the bar. So much for my secret agent career.
“Maybe I could…” I trail off, remembering a scene from some movie where they slid a credit card between the door and frame. Worth a shot.
