Chapter Forty

Beau

Where the hell is Annabel?

I’m rattled to the core by Edgar’s sudden dismissal. I don’t know where it’s coming from. I don’t know how being with Annabel ever jeopardized any of my work, aside from needing an extra cup of coffee once in a while. For God’s sake, I’m on the verge of asking her to move in with me permanently. She’s not some fling. She’s not some distraction.

Fine. She is a distraction. But not like that.

I spent the entire day swinging wildly between abject confusion and a pointed, angry focus on all my other work. How am I going to explain this to everyone at Hawthorne International? Most of my business comes from contracts arranged by Edgar Sykes. I’ll be able to recover—I never put all my eggs in one basket—but I wasn’t prepared to spin up every other aspect of my business. Why would I have been? Up until this morning, everything was fine.

What happened this morning?

What happened?

Or was it earlier, and I had no idea?

Guilt washes over me again and again, but I refuse to indulge it. I didn’t do anything wrong. Something must have happened.

I can’t figure out what.

So I was desperate to get back to the penthouse. Back to Annabel.

The moment I open the door, I know she’s gone. The stillness is different somehow. She isn’t in the library, in the bedroom, in the living room. She’s not in the gym on the next floor down. She’s not in the kitchen or the dining room. She is nowhere. There’s not a trace of her here, other than the clothes I bought for her and the book she was reading the other day, left out on the end table near the sofa.

Fear roars to life in my gut. For once in my life, I can’t tamp it down, can’t rationalize it away.

There’s no note, and she didn’t send me any messages letting me know her plans for the day. Not that she needs to. I’m not her keeper.

I can’t get out from under this sickening falling feeling. My phone can’t respond quickly enough to my touch, but once it does, I dial her number.

Straight to voice mail.

I try again.

Straight to voice mail.

“Fuck,” I say out loud into the quiet of the living room. The sun is wheeling down behind the city skyline, blood orange, and my pulse is pounding loud in my ears.

There’s nothing I can do but wait and see if she’ll come back. With every moment that ticks by, the warning in the back of my mind gets louder: She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone.

It would make perfect sense. She always wants to get out before things collapse, and I snapped at her. I started that fight when she was half-awake, and that was probably the cue.

I’m still drowning in rage and hurt when the elevator doors open and Annabel steps out, midgiggle.

“Beau!” she cries. “You’re not going to believe the day I had. It was almost as crazy as getting snatched off the street by a handsome hotel owner,” she says, then laughs again, patting at her hair. It’s clearly not in the form it was in when she left this morning. Tendrils are falling around her face. She looks beautiful. It does nothing to stop my blood from boiling.

“Where have you been?” It’s an effort not to grit my teeth, not to growl at her like a wild animal. I can’t stand this feeling. I can’t stop myself.

For the first time, she looks directly at me. The smile fades from her face. If I was less angry, that falling expression would break my heart. Shatter it. But I’m seething, hardly able to control it. “Beau, I—” She turns and digs through her purse, finally pulling out her phone. “I’m sorry. It must have died after—” She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Mystery Man. I was out with my old roommate. I’ve told you about Cynthia. I ran into her when—”

“When you were gone all day without saying a word?”

She draws herself back like she’s been slapped. “Whoa. I don’t think—”

“That’s right, Annabel. You don’t think. You’re always doing whatever you want, with no consideration for the consequences.”

“That’s not true,” she spits, her voice bewildered and hurt.

“Oh, it’s true enough,” I say, all the ugliness spilling out of me. “I thought you left. That’s all you ever talk about. I know how badly you want to leave. Nothing is sacred to you, is it?” My lip curls into a scowl that I loathe even without seeing it. “That’s your thing, right? Getting out before things get difficult? Let me tell you, Annabel, things always get difficult.” I shake my head, hating myself on another level. “I doubt you could handle that level of commitment.”

“I—” She’s pale, red spots high on her cheeks. No more words come from her lips, but her chin trembles. That tiny movement makes me want to rush to her side, gather her in my arms, and never let her go—but I’m in too deep, and I can’t claw my way out. The fear and anger have joined in an unholy union, and I’m caught in the cross fire. The rush of blood in my ears is so loud that I miss what she says next.

“What?”

“Fuck. You.” She enunciates each word so it’s crystal, crystal clear. “I’ve had enough of you, Beau. You’re a nightmare. You’re married to your job, and trying to get you to do anything joyful or spontaneous or fun is like pulling teeth. I’m done. I’m done.” She spins toward the elevator and steps inside it, stabbing at the buttons while her chin quivers harder. “Enjoy your ritzy penthouse,” she hisses right before the doors close. “It’s all you’re ever going to have, you heartless bastard.”