Page 100 of Dirty Little Secrets
I glance up at him, my smile fading. “Nothing has changed.” Picking up the pen, I scribble along the dotted lines, effectively giving upa title that no longer serves me, that hasneverserved me. I’m ready for a new title.Husband. “Anything else?”
Javier scowls at me, collecting the release documents. “I will file these after the New Year. Better for taxes. Plus, that gives you a couple of weeks to reconsider.”
“No. Now. File them now.” Javier tries to argue, but I wave him off and glance at my phone, sighing. She hasn’t replied to my texts all afternoon. Busy. She’s busy. She’s running errands. Shaking off a sudden bout of anxiety, I stand up and grab my peacoat off the back of the boardroom chair. “Go home, Javier. What’s done is done.”
“Damon, I still think?—”
I tacitly brush him off and head to the parking garage to drive home. Traffic is brutal as hordes of last-minute shoppers swarm the streets. I tap my fingers impatiently against the steering wheel.
I need to get home.
Need.
The sudden urgency grips my chest, like a metaphysical plea from a divine figure. Home.Get home now!The feeling rattles my mental stability and I dial Emery’s numbers. Both of them. Corporate and personal. But my heart drops. Neither phone rings. Not even once. Straight to voicemail. Something’s wrong.
Where is she?
Panic sets in, and I swerve off the main road toward the side streets. I keep calling her. Every second. Every goddamn fucking second it takes for meto drive home. Home. She has to be there. Sheishome. It’s her.
Answer the fucking phone!
“Emery?!” I yell, a sheen of sweat coating my forehead as I stumble through the elevator doors. “Emery!”
Frantically searching the empty penthouse, alarm lingering in my bones, I catch the glint of something shiny on the kitchen counter. My stomach instantly drops when I see both rings, both tokens of my loyalty, sitting on the marble counter, accompanied by a note.
I can’t. I’m sorry.
What…? No…
I reread the note, unable to process its meaning, its significance. No. No, this can't be happening. This is a joke. A game. She’s playing a twisted little game with me.
Dread sets in, and I fling myself into every room, search every fucking corner, open every fucking door, calling out her name with increasing desperation. But there's no sign of her. None.
Something happened. Something must have happened. We were fine last night. We were perfect. We were?—
I grab my phone and dial Javier's number, my hands trembling. "Javier, it's Emery," I blurt out, barely able to form coherent sentences. "She's gone. She left a note, and her phone’s turned off. Find her. I need you to find her right fucking now!"
Javier sighs. “Did you try her personal phone?”
I grind my teeth. “Yes, Javier, I did.”
Javier grumbles under his breath. “Give me a second.” As I listen to the beeping sounds in the background, my heart sinks further. "Nothing," Javier says finally. "Her laptop’s also turned off. No activity on her corporate card. Her car’s also in the garage. Maybe?—”
“Fuck!” I roar, hanging up on Javier and slamming my phone on the counter.
I don’t understand. What is she doing? Why is she doing this?! I clench my fists in frustration. How could she just leave like this? Why didn't she talk to me? Why did she leave the ring? Where would she go? Who is she with?—
And then it clicks.
Bastard.
Without thinking, I dial Quinton's number, rage burning inside me. "Where is she?" I demand as soon as he picks up. "What did you say to her?"
Quinton's voice is cold and calculating. "I don't know what you're talking about," he replies in a smug tone.
"Don't fuck with me, Quinton!" I snap. "Tell me where she is! Right now!”
"Oh, Cavanaugh,” he chuckles, his arrogance forcing my knuckles to turn white. “What makes you thinkIknow where she is? For all we know, she could be shopping. Or swimming. Perhaps taking a little afternoon stroll.” His throat rumbles out a vile laugh. “Or perhaps she’s pouring some milk into her tea and stirring it very,veryslowly. You know,” he hums, “I never noticed but I love the way she nibbles on her bottomlip when she’s concentrating. Have you noticed that, Cavanaugh?”
