When I first moved to Seattle, I didn’t think I would ever get used to the amount of rain, so different from the desert compound my brothers and I were raised in.
But then one day, I did.
Mandy’s sitting at her desk, bathed in the soft light of her desk lamp. She doesn’t acknowledge me when I step out of the office. Brushing her hair back, I kiss her neck, her jaw, her mouth. If her skirt wasn’t so tight, I would force her legs apart and stroke her through the panties.
I settle for sliding my hand down the unbuttoned dress shirt to cup her breasts. “You ready to go?”
“I can’t. I have to go back to my apartment.”
“No, you don’t.”
She turns in her chair. “I don’t even have any underwear.”
I undo the next button on the dress shirt. “I don’t mind you walking around my penthouse in just one of my shirts.”
“God, I can’t believe I’m even acting like I’m going to stay with you.”
Grabbing the front of the shirt, I half pull her out of the seat to snarl in her face. “I’m not letting you out of my sight. So if you need your underwear, I’ll take you back to your apartment, and you can pack a bag. You’ll have five minutes, by the way, then I’m locking you in my penthouse for the rest of the weekend.”
She drops back in the seat with awhooshof air.
“Get your purse, get your dog, get all your bags. We’re leaving. You can keep working from my study.”
My phone rings. I ignore it.
Mandy slowly starts packing up her laptop.
Keeping my eye on her, I go into my office to grab my own things. My phone rings again, then the text messages pour in.
McCarthy:Where are you?
Whitman:There’s a situation…
Fitz:Don’t freak out.
Faulkner:Dude, answer your phone.
Whitman:You need to pick up. I need to talk to you.
“What happened?” I demand as soon as Fitz answers the phone.
“Like I said, don’t freak out.”
“Too fucking late.” Then I realize. “Where’s Hawthorne? He didn’t send a text—where is he?”
For a second, images of accidents and muggings gone wrong flash in my head. Maybe Hawthorne had a heart attack or something and died, and he was just found. When did I last hear from him? This morning?
“Where is he?” I demand.
“Who, Salinger? Christ, can you just focus for one minute?” Fitz pauses to yell at someone in the room.
“He’s so ADD.” I hear Faulkner.
“Where is Hawthorne?” I demand.
“Dude.” Hawthorne’s voice comes through on the phone. “You are wound way too tight. You need to chill out.”
“What’s the emergency?” I try to still the panic.It’s an overreaction. I’m overreacting,I try to reassure myself.
