Two Years Later

The coffee was hot. Too damn hot. I abandoned it on my kitchen 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 Mickey. She called at 8:30 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 Westbrook Securities.

“Yes?” I held the phone to my ear.

“Good morning, Mr. Westbrook.” Her voice was warm, but firm.

“Mickey. What do you have for me?”

“I synced 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 and upload the finalized version for you.”

“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 Westbrook 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 beyond 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. It wasn’t a mandatory script, but Mickey knew I liked consistency. I valued productive habits. I admired routines and people I could count on.

“There aren’t room for adjustments, so if something pops up today, you’ll need to fit it in later. You’ve done an excellent job of managing my time today, as usual.” It was a compliment.

“Of course, Mr. Westbrook. There will be no changes. The schedule is locked.”

“You have the information on Avajean’s return?” I pressed. I had already asked yesterday and the day before, but when it came to my daughter I would ask a hundred times to make sure every detail was secure.

“Yes, I spoke with her grandparents last night, again, and she will be on the early flight back to New York first thing tomorrow. She has a first-class ticket.”

“The nanny is sitting with her?”

“Of course. Always, sir. I bought two tickets together.”

I twisted my lips together. I considered how much I disliked this arrangement. Four times a year I sent my daughter to visit her grandparents in Valencia. Part of the agreement was that she didn’t travel without, Nicole, the nanny I hired the minute I had taken custody. The grandparents had pushed back, but there wasn’t much they could do. I had full custody and it was my decision. Avajean traveled with the person I trusted, or she wouldn’t travel at all.

Gene and Shelly were good people. I had gotten to known them through bits and pieces of conversations that revolved around their granddaughter. It didn’t change the circumstances. Their daughter had walked out and never returned. Avajean didn’t have a mother. I was the one left trying to navigate single parenting. Over the past two years I had built a securities empire, while managing fatherhood. I seemed to succeed at one more than the other.

“I think I’ll give Nicole a call once I know everyone is awake on the west coast. I don’t know that she would appreciate a 5:30am call.”

“I’m sure they’d love to hear from you, no matter what time you called, sir.” Mickey could get away with lies like that because of the kind tone in her voice. Anyone else would sound flat and fake.

I chuckled. “Thanks, Mickey. I’ll see you in the office in an hour.” I ended the call and tossed the phone on the coffee table.

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 red.

Savannah Green and I met for drinks last night in the lobby of my building, under the guise of her wanting 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 to my bed.

Serious businesswomen didn’t meet clients at 9:00 pm 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 to the penthouse.

There wasn’t going to be a contract. I didn’t do business with women I slept with. Savannah didn’t believe me. She wanted to change my mind with her body. Westbrook Securities didn’t do business like that.

Her eyes opened. She smiled like a satisfied cat.

“Good morning,” she purred.

“Good morning.” I watched her from across the room. “Should I have a car take you back to your place?” I offered.

She pouted. “I thought we could have breakfast together.”

“I already had coffee. I could bring you a cup.”

She nodded. “That sounds lovely. Would you?”

“Sure. There are towels in the cabinet next to the shower. Why don’t you get ready and I can drop you off on my way to the office?”

“Want to join me?” Her long legs slid from the sheets and she strutted in front of me, naked and proud of her physique.

“I’ll get the coffee, Savannah.”

“Want to have dinner at my place tonight?” she asked. Her fingertips rested against the doorframe. “I think it might be hard to top what we did last night, but I’d like to try. Are you up for the challenge?”

I shook my head. I didn’t date. I didn’t see women more than once. I had a rule about getting attached, or letting anyone into our lives.

“I’m afraid not. My daughter will be here bright and early tomorrow. I don’t do sleepovers, Savannah. Enjoy the shower.”

I turned for the kitchen, pausing for a second. Wondering if I should go into greater detail about my situation with Avajean. Questioning my tactics. I realized when I talked to women about Avajean, they had one of two reactions: complete adoration for the single dad burden I carried, or fear that they were going to be trapped in an insta-family. I couldn’t tell what type of woman Savannah was, and it didn’t matter. The one-night rule kept me from having to worry about it.

As I strolled through the living room to retrieve her cup of coffee my eyes fell to the TV. I caught a glimpse of the breaking news banner flashing on the screen. There was a special report. I took another step toward the kitchen, but stopped.

I reached for the remote, increasing the volume. I tried to listen to each word. Confused. Numbed with shock. The buzzing that had started in my ears muffled the sound of the anchors’ voices.

I saw the pictures. The chaos. Flashing lights and sirens blaring. First responders were running back and forth behind the reporter on the scene. I stood there, watching it unfold.

“Actress Journey Tessier 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 Tessier’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 Tessier was recently nominated as Best Actress for her role in Under Water Love. We will bring you news of her condition as soon as our reporter at the scene has more information.”

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 them.

“Ash, baby. I forgot to get the towel.” I heard Savannah call for me from the bathroom. Her voice felt far away as if she were in a tunnel.

I swallowed hard. My chest tightened. I picked up my phone and pressed for Mickey’s number.

“Sir? Did I forget something?”

I pressed the phone to my ear. The buzzing hadn’t stopped. The sick feeling had gotten worse. It felt like I was being poisoned with every passing second.

“Mickey, there has been an emergency. I need you to call the Westbrook Securities pilot. Journey—” I stopped myself from going into detail and wasting seconds. “I’m headed to the airport immediately. We leave for L.A. as soon as he can get us in the air.”

“Sir? I don’t understand. Is it Avajean? Is she all right?”

“She’s fine. She’s fine. Just call the pilot.” My voice already sounded horse.

“You just said not to make any changes to your—”

“Do it,” I gritted my teeth, unable to look away from the images of Journey on TV. They alternated between the crime scene at the gym, and pictures of her smiling on the red carpet.

“Please,” I added. “Do this, Mickey.”

“And your schedule?” she eked.

“Cancel it. All of it.”

“Yes sir. I will handle it. It will be taken care of. Anything you need.” The confidence in her voice was reassuring.

“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 I had left Savannah in the shower and I’d left every light on.

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