Page 61 of The Little Black Book

Zoey:Maybe. I’ll text you and let you know.

Me:Is everything okay?

Me:Did I do something wrong?

Me:Zoey, please don’t ignore me. I need to know if you’re okay.

Me:Good morning. I hope everything is okay. Please let me know when we can get together. I really need to talk to you.

I check my phone again and sigh. Zoey didn’t respond to my last three text messages last night, nor the one I sent as soon as I woke up this morning, which is why I’m here, atGlaZZed, hoping to catch her so I can see for myself that everything is okay with her. It’s just not like her to ignore my texts, especially since we’ve been sleeping together.

I climb from my car and head into the donut shop, but my steps stutter when I see not Zoey, but Zeke standing behind the counter. He spots me and lifts his chin in greeting as he finishes ringing up a woman with two small children. I shift my weight from foot to foot as I wait, watching the door that leads into the kitchen to see if Zoey will emerge from the back.

“Hey, man. What can I get you?” Zeke says as I approach the counter.

“Is your sister around?” I ask, nodding when he lifts the coffee carafe in my direction.

“I sent her home,” he says, filling a paper cup and handing it over.

“Is she sick?” I ask, tension spiraling through me.

“I don’t think so,” Zeke says, shaking his head. “But when I came in this morning, my kitchen was a disaster, and Zoey was passed out on the couch in her office. She didn’t say much and tried to start cleaning, but she looked like death, so I told her to go home and sleep off the sugar overdose. Apparently, she cooked and ate a half-dozen chocolate glazed donuts last night.”

“Seriously?” I ask, my mind racing with this new information.

Zoey refused to see me because she had plans, and those plans were to come here and make herself a batch of donuts and eat them, alone? Something is definitely not right here.

“Yeah,” Zeke says with a short laugh. “The last time she did that was when one of her old boyfriends dumped her.”

Another customer comes in before I can respond, so I dig a five from my wallet and pass it over, telling Zeke to keep the change. I head to the end of the counter to add cream and sugar to my coffee, my thoughts spinning.

What would have possessed Zoey to seek solace in a sugar binge? Did someone upset her?

I pull my phone from my pocket and check the time.Shit. I don’t have time to go by her house and check on her. I have to get to work. I try to call her, and when she doesn’t answer, I tap out another text telling her I’ll call her when I get off work and head out to my car.

As soon as I walk into the casino, Tabitha approaches me. She looks much better today, and I offer her a kind smile. She’d refused to take any personal time after the incident yesterday, assuring everyone she’d be fine after a good night’s sleep.

“Sam,” she says, returning my smile, “I want to thank you for yesterday. I know it was unprofessional––”

I hold up a palm to cut her off. “No thanks needed, and please, do not apologize for being upset. No one has a right to touch you, and Jared agrees with my decision to blackball that asshole.”

“Mr. Hart wasn’t upset with me?” she asks softly.

“No, Tabitha. He cares about his employees and won’t stand for anyone abusing them in any way.” I soften my voice, adding, “Are you sure you’re up to working today? Jared said it would be fine if you wanted to take some time off.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m fine. Really. Thank you again. For everything.”

“It was my pleasure.”

She nods and walks away. I watch her go, glad that she doesn’t seem to have any lasting ill effects from that shit show yesterday. Turning my head, I catch sight of Jared and head in his direction.

“Oh, you already got coffee,” he says, nodding toward the cup in my hand as I fall into step beside him. “How is Zoey this morning?”

“I wouldn’t know,” I say dejectedly as we walk into the casino’s coffee shop. “She wasn’t working this morning, and Zeke said she spent the night in her office. She’s not returning my texts or calls, either.”

“Wait, you haven’t talked to her?” he asks, and I narrow my eyes.

“What do you know?”

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