Page 83 of Hating the Boss

I hastily hit the button for the elevator. I had to get up to my office and find Sarah’s address to her apartment, assuming she was there. It seemed ridiculous that I didn’t even know where the woman I was involved with lived. There was still so much about her I needed to know. Wanted to learn. I just needed that chance.

My father followed me into the elevator. We rode in silence, as he stewed next to me. I tried to ignore the growing tension, quickly striding off the elevator as soon as the doors opened. The office floor was still empty of employees as it was still too early for them to clock in. It was better that way as the door to my office was opened, revealing how ransacked it was.

“What the hell happened here?” my father asked in surprise as he followed in after me. He turned in a circle, looking at the papers scattered everywhere and the desk drawers haphazardly opened.

“Angela,” I muttered.

I began shuffling through the mess of papers, searching for Sarah’s paperwork. I couldn’t find her contact sheet or resumé anywhere. Her folder was missing. I slammed my palms against the surface of my desk. The sound echoed through the room, making my father jump slightly.

“Damn it!” I yelled.

Angela must have taken everything on record of Sarah’s with her. Feeling helpless, I slumped in my desk chair and tried to think of how I could get to Sarah. She wouldn’t answer her phone, that much was clear, and knowing how stubborn she was, it was likely I would continue being sent to voicemail.

I had to find another way to get to her.

“Son…” my father started, his voice tinged with worry now. He walked toward me cautiously where I sat with my head in my hands. “What is going on?”

I wanted to tell him everything, but I had already wasted enough time arguing with him. I couldn’t lose any more time. I stood from my desk and walked toward him. Placing my hands on his shoulders, I looked at him square in the eye.

“Don’t follow me. If you actually care about me as your son, and not just your business partner, you will let me go,” I said.

“But… the meeting…”

“Please. I will explain everything later.”

He pressed his lips into a thin line and gave a slight nod.

Permission.

I slipped past him and walked toward the elevator. I brainstormed where else I could find Sarah’s address. I could ask Fred from HR, but it was likely he had destroyed any evidence of her working there since I had paid him off. Plus, he likely hadn’t arrived yet.

As I rode down to the parking garage, an idea came to me. I knew who would have Sarah’s address. The driver I had sent to pick her up for the gala last night would have it. I quickly called the limo company and was connected to the driver.

“Hello?” he answered groggily, like he had just woken up.

“This is Brad Ashcroft. I hired you to pick up a passenger last night and bring her to The Plaza Hotel.”

“Yes, of course,” he said, sounding much more alert now.

“I need that address.”

“The one in Brooklyn?” he asked.

Brooklyn. She wasn’t close.

“Yes, that one. Please text it to me now.”

I hung up before he could reply. A minute later, a text came through from the number I had just called with the address to a Brooklyn apartment. Sarah’s apartment. I let out a sigh of relief as I entered the dimly lit parking garage. I was one step closer to getting to her.

As I approached my car, I stopped in my tracks and my heart quickened in my chest. There, on the driver’s side window, was a note. I looked around, but there were no signs of life. The only cars there were those belonging to security and were parked in their designated spots. Cautiously, I walked to my car and pulled the note from the window.

If I can’t have you, no one will.

I swallowed hard as I read over the scrawled black ink. I didn’t have to think twice about who had left it. I knew now more than ever that Sarah was in serious trouble.

I unlocked the car and quickly clambered inside. I tossed the note on the passenger seat and started the car, the engine roaring to life. I quickly typed in the address to my GPS and peeled the car out of the parking garage and up into morning traffic. I slammed my hand against the steering wheel in frustration.

Carefully maneuvering my car through taxis and crosswalks, I finally gained a comfortable speed as I made my way to Brooklyn. On the way, I dialed Anton, the phone connecting to my Bluetooth, so I could have two hands on the wheel.