No note, no coffee cup, no clue.
Hot nauseous bile rises in my throat with every second that passes.
He wouldn’t leave. He promised.
I check my phone for a missed call or a text, but there’s nothing.Just ring him. What’s the worst that could happen? Hell, the man could be out buying a sneaky Christmas present or anything.If I thought for a second it was that innocent, I wouldn’t hesitate. But what if I ring him and he says he gone? It would obliterate me.
The rational part of my brain finally kicks in, engaging a lot later that I’d like to admit. I have two choices. Phone him, and ask outright where he is, at the risk of sounding like a desperate, needy sap, or sit here and freak out all morning until he hopefully returns. Yet again, the gut instinct is screaming at me that it’s not that simple.
My gut is ninety-nine per cent accurate. I trust my intuition more than I trust most people, even the ones I’ve known most of my life. And right now, it’s screaming something’s wrong.
The pad of my index finger unlocks the phone. The not knowing is killing me. If he’s gone again, I’ll deal with it.
Maybe.
But the need to know consumes me.
Jabbing the green button, my breath catches in my chest. Silence echoes in my ear, as it takes an unnatural amount of time to connect. Finally something clicks and I’m directed straight to an automated voicemail.
It didn’t even ring.
Did something happen to him? Or did he switch it off?
Ten years’ worth of insecurities violently rip through me along with both Evelyn and Jayden’s words replaying like the soundtrack of my life.
She’ll never keep a man like that.
He’s not going to have much time for a relationship.
Things were going so well until Jayden showed up. What happened? What did he say? Or what did I do to drive him away again?
Events of the past few days assault my mind without any particular categorisation. Even though it goes against the advice of every romance article I’ve ever stumbled across, I dial his number again.
‘You have reached the voicemail for—’ I throw the phone face down on the bed in frustration.
Pacing the penthouse barefoot, the Christmas tree Ryan persuaded me to decorate with him flashes offensively before my eyes. Damn him, damn those flashing fucking lights and damn the stupid timer. I rack my brains for some sort of idea.
Thankfully it comes to me before I wear the skin from the soles of my feet.
Angela! The woman knows everything. She deals with every single detail of Ryan’s life, no matter how big or small.
Picking up the landline, I dial reception. Louise answers on the first ring.
‘Mr Cooper, how may I help you?’ Her girlish coo rings straight through me.
‘Lou, it’s me. Have you seen Ryan at all this morning?’
‘Sasha, hi.’ The smile is evident in her voice. My staff are not used to me sleeping with guests, let alone one who’s a fucking rockstar. ‘No, I haven’t seen him. Or his brother…’ She pauses for a second, the clicking sound of her finger on the mouse on her desk travels over the line while she searches for something. ‘Actually, now you mention it we’re down two security guys from the front gate too. That’s odd,’ she says to herself as much as me.
‘Can you email me the security footage from the night?’ Cameras at the front door and front gate should provide me with the proof of what I need to know.
‘Is everything ok?’ Louise asks pensively.
‘Fine. Well, not fine. But it’s nothing you need to worry about.’ Though it will be when today’s guests check in to see the living legend Ryan Cooper perform one of the most intimate concerts of his life, and are sorely disappointed because, once again, he appears to have done a runner. After I let him come inside me. Again.
‘Ok. Anything else I can help you with?’
‘Can you connect me to the suite Angela is staying in?’
