Just truths that may or may not affect said delusions I’m clinging too.
Sighing, I grab my notebook I have set especially for meetings like this with Jean-Michel and snag my pen.
“All right,” I say. “Quit stalling and give me the rundown on the acquisition of Rosque Enterprises.”
Twelve
Jace
I don’t realizeI’m holding my breath, hoping to spot a certain brunette until I get off the elevator and slow by the open door to her condo.
But the only people inside are the construction crew.
Who’ve followed the abatement team.
Maybe I shouldn’t have pulled strings and made sure the repair work on Marie’s place started immediately.
Maybe I should have tied her to my bed and never let her up.
Maybe I should?—
A saw turns on, jarring me out of my thoughts, and I start walking again, moving down the hall and jabbing at the keypad on my door.
The lock whirs, and I step inside, dropping my shit on the kitchen counter, trying to pretend my place hasn’t felt empty from the moment I woke up and Marie was gone a week ago.
Trying to pretend I haven’t been looking behind every corner, every door, into every elevator car, even the chairs in the lobby, hoping to see her, to have a chance to talk to her, a chance to talk her backupinto my apartment.
But I haven’t so much as glimpsed a curl on her head.
Though, I know she’s been by the building, walked through her condo with the construction team, okayed tearing out the floor and selected the replacement vanity and tile for the bathroom.
How do I know this?
Because I own the fucking building.
Which is why I know that the quickest way to get Marie’s place fixed up is to pay through the nose to use my construction team so work can begin immediately.
And also maybe because using my construction team means that Mark, the general contractor, would be guaranteed to do me a solid and shoot me a text telling me that a certain spitfire was in her condo, checking on the progress to date.
I’m not embarrassed to say that I cut my meeting short and hauled ass from my office here.
Only to find an empty fucking condo.
No.Twoempty fucking condos.
I scowl and go to the fridge, yank open the door then pull out a beer.
But even as I suck it down, as I strip off my suit and change into sweats and a tee, I’m restless.
I have work, an ever-overflowing inbox to sift through, phone calls to review, tomorrow’s meetings to prep for.
But I can’t bring myself to open my laptop.
To unlock my phone.
“Fuck it,” I mutter, tossing it on the counter, leaving my laptop closed while I drain my beer. Then I turn back to the fridge, grab a bottle of water, and head back out into the hall. The guys are still working in Marie’s place—something they’ll be doing until the nightly noise ordinances kick in (something I know because I’m footing the bill for the fucking overtime). I still glance inside, still hope to catch a glimpse of her, and when I don’t, I stifle a curse, move to the elevator, and jab at the button.
Once inside, I hit the floor for the gym.
