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“What apartment number?” I bark at Max.
“101.”
“First floor? Dammit, what was she thinking?” I growl as I kick open the door and sprint up the stairs.
I knock on her apartment door and when she doesn’t answer, I kick it down and stalk inside. It’s empty and I want to pull my hair out. Where is she? Why would she just disappear?
An image of her sick and lying alone in a hospital bed or riding a bus all by herself fills my head and I punch the wall next to me.
“Boss.”
“Find her,” I spit at him and he nods, heading out of the apartment.
“Adeline!” I call after him.
“Sir?”
“Her best friend. She told me that her name is Adeline. She’s a dancer or something. A showgirl.”
“Here in Los Angeles?”
“I think so. She mentioned that she was thinking about crashing on her couch before she met me.”
He nods and I see him pulling out his phone to make a few calls as we head outside. I slip into the backseat, pulling out my phone and googling Adeline and showgirl. One result comes up for a Facebook profile and I click on it.
“Adeline Jacobs,” Max says, already backing out of the parking spot.
I nod, sitting back in my seat as he races, zig zagging through traffic. He pulls up a few blocks away to another rundown apartment building, although this one isn’t quite as bad as Izzy’s was.
“Which apartment number?”
“405.”
I head inside, catching the door before it can close and taking the stairs two at a time up to the fourth floor. I spot the apartment and knock on the door.
“Izzy! Open up!” I yell.
I can hear movement on the other side of the door and I’m about two seconds away from breaking the door down when Izzy opens it.
She looks like she’s been crying and my heart breaks at the sight.
“What’s wrong? What happened, baby girl?” I ask, stepping into the apartment and pulling her into my arms.
She sniffles and I turn to look at Max. He’s waiting halfway down the stairs and I motion him up.
“Call a doctor. Have them meet us at the penthouse,” I order him and he nods, pulling out his phone and heading downstairs.
“Come here, baby girl. I’ll carry you. I’m going to take care of you.”
“I don’t want you to,” she says, squirming away from me.
“What?” I ask, frowning and following after her. “What’s going on?”
“Clark told me about you. He told me about how I’m just the flavor of the week to you. I can’t believe that I fell for your act,” she spits at me, tears spilling over onto her cheeks.
“Clark?” I thunder and she backs away a step when she sees the murderous look on my face. “Clark came to see you today?”
She nods, looking uncertain and I tug her into my arms.
