I drag my hand down my face as a laugh erupts. It’s full of disbelief. But the truth is, I need another taste of Beatrice Walsh, because there is no way it could have been as electric as I remember.
When another ten minutes pass and no message arrives, I wake my cell up and check our thread.
Coffees for her and her team arrived fifteen minutes ago, and she hasn’t thanked me yet.
She does it every day. And never more than five minutes after I get the notification that my delivery has been successful.
It’s never taken her this long.
Concern tugs at me, but I tell myself she’s probably got an early client.
But when an hour has passed and I still have nothing, my concern and impatience get the better of me.
Rett: Good morning. How are you feeling today?
I stare at the ticks beneath my message, showing it as unread, the unease is growing.
Something is wrong.
I don’t know how I know, but I do.
Jumping to my feet, I pull up another contact and hit dial as I march toward my hallway and shove my feet into my sneakers.
“Good morning, Mr. Donnelly. What can I do for you?” Sienna sings, the lightness in her voice putting me a little more at ease.
“Is everything okay with Bea?” I bark, unwilling to be distracted by her.
“Oh, uh…she’s called in sick. She?—”
I don’t need to hear any more. I’m grabbing my car key and marching through my front door before I know what I’m doing. “Is she at home?” I demand as I jab at the elevator button over and over in the hope it makes it move faster.
“As far as I know, yeah. She said she was struggling with morning sickness. I don’t think she’ll?—”
I cut her off, not wanting to hear her opinion.
If Bea is at home feeling like shit, then there is nowhere I need to be but with her.
I do a quick Google search as I descend through my building, and then I make a pitstop on the way to Bea’s apartment for supplies that I hope will help.
I don’t second-guess anything as I put my truck into park, pull the grocery bag from the passenger seat, and march toward the entrance.
But as I approach the door and notice that the intercom is busted and the lock that keeps everyone inside secure is buckled, my hackles rise.
It’s no secret that this part of town isn’t the best. And one look at the surroundings only confirms that. But I assumed her building was safe. Now, I’m not so sure.
As I slip inside and the stench of the stairwell hits my nose, it becomes more and more obvious why Bea didn’t want to direct me back here that first night.
She deserves so much better than this.
I take the stairs two at a time, and only a few minutes later, I’m stepping up to her door. Once upon a time, it was royal blue, but now the paint has faded, it’s chipped and covered in dirt. We’re on the third floor of the building. I dread to think how it got there.
I shake my head, lift my hand, and knock.
Silence.
Well, no. It isn’t silent, because there is music booming from the apartment down the hallway. It’s so loud, I can feel the bass beating through me.
I knock again, only harder this time.
