Chapter Thirty-Six

Beau

So much for buying myself some peace of mind by getting ahead with work.

Edgar Sykes needs to get some sleep. We were out late last night, and this kind of call—wanting to meet with me in the office, where I can go over my choices of contractors with him—doesn’t come from a man who’s well rested. He sounded like he’d been up for hours. He might not have gone to sleep after he dropped me off. I don’t know.

I can handle all that. I’ll make room in my schedule to meet with him all morning, if necessary.

The part that has me on edge is Annabel.

Why didn’t she tell me about the job at the Pearl coming to such an abrupt end? From the sound of it, she was hoping for it to have lasted longer. For all her bluster about leaving jobs before they go sour, there was such disappointment in her expression that it makes my heart ache.

It also makes me nervous.

The job was the thing that bound her to the Pearl.

Last night I thought inviting me into bed was an act of passion. She had to have been lonely sitting there all by herself, waiting for me to get back.

Now I wonder if it was one of evasion.

She might not have wanted to tell me about the job. She might not have wanted to tell me why she looked so sad before she knew I was in the room. She might not have wanted to say those things because she’s planning to leave.

Annabel’s strange obsession with leaving situations behind before they go sour can’t already be happening to us, can it?

From the look on her face last night, it absolutely could. If she’s already holding back from telling me the things that happen to her, she might be gaining distance, making it easier to walk away. Easier to disappear into this city or even elsewhere in the country.

Finding her wouldn’t be impossible. Not with my resources. But that’s irrelevant if she doesn’t want to be found.

My heart thuds in an erratic rhythm. I don’t want this. I don’t.

I love her.

It sings through every one of my veins. I’m not tired anymore. My vision is razor-sharp.

She should know it, too. I should tell her.

Winston needs to turn the car around. I open my mouth to tell him so, but he’s already pulling the car to the curb in front of my office building.

I steady myself, hands pressed together, forehead leaning against my hands. I cannot go into a meeting with Edgar Sykes with my mind scattered in a thousand different directions.

This afternoon. That’s when I’ll let this feeling back in.

*****

The meeting is a disaster.

I’ve never been so impatient in my life, and it shows. I catch myself twice drumming my fingertips against the surface of the table in the meeting room. I don’t drum my fingers on tables. I’ve never had that habit.

But the energy running through me is like a riptide, and it’s going to come out somewhere.

Get back to Annabel. Get back to her.

Tearing my mind away from the nagging fear is impossible by nine o’clock. What’s the fear? That she’ll already be gone by the time I get there this afternoon. Between meetings, when Edgar steps outside to call DC, I write and delete so many texts I lose count.

An abridged list:

Don’t make any hasty decisions without me :)

I’m planning an amazing getaway. Try to stay in the city, would you?

I’m sorry to hear about the job at the Pearl. I’ll fund another show, if you’d like.

Stay.

They all seem desperate or condescending or cavalier. None of them strike the mood I want to strike.

In the third meeting of the day, I can’t sit still any longer. I push my chair back from the table and pace over to the window, trying to show on my face that I’m still extremely invested in the outcome of this meeting. The man giving a presentation to Edgar is one of my regular contractors. He’s currently giving the rundown on what kind of doors are the most secure without being obvious. The last thing these people need is to stand out.

“An excellent marriage of safety and discretion,” he’s saying.

But Edgar Sykes is looking at me.

“Is there a problem, Mr. Bennett?”

“Not at all.” I answer him quickly.

Too quickly.

He narrows his eyes.

“It looks like there’s an issue.” Edgar cocks his head to the side, his eyes locked on mine. My entire body goes still, but inside, beneath the skin, my impatience is a roaring heat. “You’ve been unable to stop fidgeting all day. Now you can’t keep your seat.”

It snaps me into a cold reality. I am not impressing Edgar Sykes, and he is the key to Bennett Inc. in a way that all but a few of the employees—and even the rest of my friends in Hawthorne International—will ever understand.

“I have an appointment at noon,” I say. “But there’s no issue as long as we can wrap this up in time.”

Edgar stares, his eyes going dark. This is the first time I have ever suggested that he cut a meeting short. “What’s your availability in the afternoon?”

I try to tell myself this is due to the pressure he’s facing. He’s coming down on me because he needs this—whatever this ends up encompassing—to go off without a hitch. But my blood is rushing through my veins. I need to get to Annabel more than I need to make Edgar Sykes happy.

No.

I need to do both.

I’m failing miserably at it.

I grab the impatient beast in my chest with both hands around its neck. I can make it one more hour. One more hour, and then I’ll be back with her.

Tick, tock.