He looks so damn sexy in the morning with his hair all messed up and that damn grin on his face.
“You won’t be wearing that smile when Aaron Townsend reams you out for showing up late.”
He shrugs. “First time being late in almost three years working with him. After weeks of putting in late hours to help oversee this deal. Somehow, I think it’ll be okay.”
“Yeah, well, Townsend doesn’t seem like the type to play around or to accept the excuse that you’re late because you enjoyed staring at your girlfriend for too long.”
His grin widens.
“What?”
“As many times as he’s shown up late for work because he wasoccupiedwith his wife. Trust me, he’ll understand. Besides, Aaron’s a taskmaster, sure, but he’s not a slavedriver or unreasonable.”
My frown deepens. Mark sounds utterly unbothered by our lateness. “I still have to go home, shower, and change, and then get to the office. Oh man, and I need to check in on Mama.”
I begin patting my waist for my phone. When I recognize the pockets are empty, I dart out of Mark’s bedroom and head up the hall to the living room where I dumped my purse. Pulling out my cell, I see there’s a missed call from my mom.
Unmindful of the early hour, I call back but receive no answer.
“Everything okay?” Mark asks as he emerges from the hallway, dressed in a pair of boxers only.
I shake my head. “Mama called me last night but didn’t leave a message, and she’s not answering the phone.”
“She would’ve called again if something were the matter, right?”
“I need to get home.” I grab my purse and my keys, and head toward the door. That ominous feeling from yesterday is back, and it’s more worrisome than ever. My mother never calls me, not late at night. That little voice in the back of my head that kept reminding me to play things smart, not to get too attached to Mark, and to remember to finish what I started, grows louder.
As I take the road that leads home, a million thoughts race through my head of why my mother called me last night. She could’ve been bored and wanted to talk. That thought alone causes my heart to strain. As happy as I am with Mark and would rather spend the night in his bed than anywhere else, I still have to think about my mother.
She’s an adult, sure, but she’s so fragile. Even before my father passed. I attribute her fragility to him repeatedly ruling her with his iron fist for all of these years. But since he died, it’s as if she’s lost all sense of direction.
I run my hand through my wild hair, panicking about my mother and wondering what excuse I’m going to give Jase and the other members of the management team at Cypress. I’m only two and a half months into this job and don’t want to screw it up. I need that bonus.
I’m hit by a small ounce of relief as I pull into the driveway. At least the house is still standing, and there aren’t any other cars here aside from my mother’s—which she hasn’t used in the months I’ve been living here.
“Mama!” I call as I enter the front door. Waiting for a response, I pick up on the eerie silence. It’s as if the house is quietly begging me to step inside farther and uncover its secrets. A piece of me wants to run the other way. The hammering in my chest already warns me that the deeper I move inside, I’m ultimately going to find something I won’t be able to unsee.
Forcing my feet to move, I toss my purse and keys on the end table by the couch in the living room and notice there are two glasses set out on the glass table. They’re both sitting on coasters. Lifting one, I sniff and realize it’s half-filled with a rum and Coke.
“Mama.”
No answer.
The bedroom. That’s where she’d been at this time of the morning. I run up the stairs as the warning bells in my head go on full alert. My mother isn’t the type to leave used glasses just sitting on the coffee table.
Pushing the door open, I hope to find her in the bed, sleeping. Unfortunately, the bedding is wrinkled, but she’s not there. I start to call again, but a light out of the corner of my eye catches my attention.
The master bathroom.
A shiver moves through me. I don’t want to go any farther, but I have to. As I do, the tension in my body grows because I suspect that I’ll find something horrible on the other side of that door.
Inhaling, I use my arm to open the door all the way, and as soon as I do, I see her foot hanging over the side of the bathtub. Moving closer, I see the halfway filled tub of water, except it’s all red—liquid red surrounding my mother’s prone body.
“Oh, Mama,” I cry out, falling to my knees.
Where the hell is she?
The question screams in my head as my gaze volleys between the door and the front of the boardroom. Every few minutes, a new person enters the room, but my heart sinks because not one of them has been Jackie so far.
