The coffee was hot. Too damn hot. I abandoned it on the counter. I pulled up my itinerary, scrolling through today’s meetings.

There wasn’t room to fucking breathe today.

It was my own creation. My own triumph. And days like today, my own prison.

My dark hair was still damp from the shower. I’d already run five miles on the treadmill before sunup.

The first meeting on the schedule was with acquisitions. I was in buying mode. Snatching up as many of the small security companies that I could get my hands on. It was the quickest way to expand without spending a fortune on infrastructure development. I had thirty minutes to read the team’s report on the ten companies we were targeting. I’d choose the top three and hope we landed one.

My phone beeped. It was my assistant Eileen. She called at 7:30 every morning, like clockwork. She was punctual and meticulous. I trusted her about as much as I trusted anyone. She was the first person I hired when I started Taylor Securities.

“Yes?”

“Good morning, Mr. Taylor.”

“Eileen.”

“I synched today’s schedule. Are there any changes? Should I add anything for you?” she asked.

“No. Nothing was missed.” It never was.

“Ok. I’ll confirm all your meetings.”

“Thank you.”

I sat on the couch. The TV ran in the background. The chatter of the broadcasters made my penthouse feel a little less sterile. A little less isolated.

It was bound to feel that way. Everything inside was made of steel and reinforced glass. It was a fortress. I had personally supervised the installation of Taylor Securities latest tech. It was impenetrable. I used the penthouse to test all our prototypes. If it didn’t meet my standards, it never moved from research and development.

I glanced at the screen as the anchors ran through back-to-school hacks for parents. They clutched cups of coffee and grinned, showing off their white teeth. I muted the TV.

“Is there anything else, sir?” She asked the same questions each morning.

“Make sure there are no changes. You’ve done an excellent job of managing my time today, as usual.” It was a compliment of sorts.

“Of course, Mr. Taylor. There will be no changes.”

I walked to the doorway of the master suite. The brunette from last night was tangled in my sheets. Her long legs were toned. Her toenails painted in red. I remembered how they looked last night bouncing on my shoulders as I fucked her.

Vickie Riley and I for drinks last night in the lobby of my building under the guise she wanted a marketing contract. She claimed to be an expert in online data. She threw out snappy catch phrases like SEO and high CPC returns. I drank bourbon and listened, knowing full well her only intention was to make it upstairs.

Serious business women didn’t meet clients at 9:00 wearing fuck-me heels and mini-skirts. The way her boobs spilled out of her top didn’t give her much professional credit either. I took her cues and after two drinks took her upstairs. I admitted her lips looked good wrapped around my cock.

There wasn’t going to be a contract. I didn’t do business with women I fucked.

I turned from the room, closing the door.

“Thanks, Eileen. I’ll be in the office—”

My eyes landed on the breaking news banner flashing on the screen. There was a special news report.

I reached for the remote, listening to each word. Confused. Numbed with shock. It was as if there was a buzzing sound coming from their mouths and not actual English.

I saw the pictures. The chaos. Flashing lights and sirens blaring.

“Actress Abi Lawrence has been rushed to L.A.’s Saint Simmons Medical Center. Authorities say her attacker is still on the loose and should be considered armed and dangerous. We are waiting for Lawrence’s spokesperson to update us on her condition. We can confirm she was shot this morning as she exited her gym in Hollywood. Witnesses at the scene say there was blood, and the beloved actress was unconscious.

“There is a second victim in the attack. We’re awaiting details while this story develops. Miss Lawrence was recently nominated as Best Actress for her role in Under Water Love.”

I blinked, scanning the news scroll. I saw her name. I saw the blood splatters on the sidewalk. I heard what they said, but putting the words and the scenes together was like trying to make the opposite ends of magnets meet. Everything in me wanted to reject what I heard and saw.

“Mr. Taylor? Are you there, sir?” Eileen’s voice felt faraway as if she were in a tunnel.

I swallowed hard. My chest tightened.

I pressed the phone to my ear. The buzzing hadn’t stopped. “Eileen, there has been an emergency. I need you to call the TS pilot. Abi—” I stopped myself from going into details and wasting seconds. “I’m headed to the jet immediately. We leave for LA as soon as he can get us in the air.”

“Sir?”

“Do it,” I gritted my teeth, unable to look away from the images of Abi. “Please.”

“And your schedule?” she eked.

“Cancel it. All of it.”

“Yes sir. I will handle it.”

“Thank you.”

“And sir?”

“Yes?” I paced the penthouse.

“If I can help—”

“I know. I’ll call from L.A..”

I shoved the phone in my pocket and grabbed my jacket. The door clicked behind me and I hurried to the elevator. I didn’t care that Vickie was still asleep and I’d left every light on.

Somewhere Abi was lying in a hospital. She was all that mattered and I had to get to L.A.