Page 22 of Arranged Addiction
I still don’t understand what that means. Maybe it’s some kind of game Declan’s playing, like he’s trying to test me? But I don’t even know what that could accomplish.
I spend like two hours Googling and searching, trying to dig up anything I can on Declan Whelan. But there’s nothing I haven’t seen before.
Is this something he does? Brings his assistants home, fucks them, and uses some complicated proposal scheme to scare them away?
But here’s the thing. I’ve known Declan for two years now. I’ve worked extremely closely with him all this time. And not once has he ever been anything but ruthlessly pragmatic and direct.
If he’s unhappy, he says so.
No skirting around the subject. No coming at things sideways.
If he wants something, he takes it.
He comes off as difficult and a pain in the ass sometimes, but I find his unflinching honesty refreshing.
Even though he’s a bastard, at least I know where I stand.
This ring makes no sense.
He wouldn’t drop something like this in my lap without at least explaining what it means first.
Which means I have to be missing something.
I’m overreacting. I’m reading too deeply into it. The ring stuff was a part of a list of normal, work-related tasks. So the ring has to be a work thing too.
He probably just didn’t have time to give me details and there’s a perfectly innocent reason for all this.
And not some insane marriage proposal.
I keep trying Natalie, but as the afternoon turns to early evening, I start to actually worry. It’s one thing for her to get absorbed by work, but she should be home by now. She’s never been outof contact for this long. Not even that one time she had to get emergency surgery to remove her appendix. She was texting me from the operating room.
Around six that night, I find Aunt Sheila sitting in the living room watching TV. “You haven’t heard anything from Natalie, have you?”
She seems surprised. “No, I don’t think so. Why? Have you gone an hour without talking?”
“More than an hour. I haven’t heard from her since last night.”
“That’s genuinely unheard of, but you know most people don’t talk all day every day, right?”
“Right, except we do. I think I’m going to head over to her place and make sure she’s okay.”
“Sounds good, dear. Tell her I said hello.”
I fidget with the ring in my pocket on the subway ride over to Natalie’s neighborhood. She’s not too far away, only a couple of stops, and it’s a nice night when I hurry down her block. She lives in a decent building on a quiet neighborhood corner, but there’s no answer when I buzz her apartment, which puts me completely on edge. I call and call, text ten more times, and even reach out to her mom.
Haven’t spoken to her since a couple of days ago. Is everything alright?
I slip the ring on and off nervously. I have to lurk like a creepy stalker for a few minutes before I catch the door after someone comes out. Fortunately, he doesn’t say anything when I sneak past him and hurry up the steps toward Natalie’s front door.
I’m probably overreacting. I bet she went out with some coworkers and she’s just drunk. But just in case, I’ll hang around for a while, on the off chance I catch her on the way back.
But my stomach goes all cold as I approach her place. Something’s not right. I can feel it right away. It takes a second before I realize her little welcome mat is kicked aside and halfway flipped over. Which isn’t like her at all.
She takes serious pride in her home. There’s no way she’d leave her mat like that.
And even less of a chance she’d leave her front door open a crack.
I’m in full-on panic as I push it in. “Natalie?” I call out. Her apartment is dark. Not a single light is on. I flip them on as I step inside. “Natalie, are you sleeping or something? Is anyone in here?”
