“Hi.”A woman’s voice, breathy and trembly, washes through the line. My stomach drops straight through my heels. Somehow, I know it’s not a person calling about business.“Who is this?”
“This is Beatrice,” I say, perhaps too briskly because panic makes me efficient. “Mr. King’s assistant.”
“Oh.”A shaky inhale.“Oh, I—I didn’t mean to call this time. Noah told me to never call his work. But… I just—I fell, andI can’t get up. Stupid. Bathroom rug. I’ve been sitting here a while, and Noah’s not picking up, and I don’t—”Her words wobble.“Could you… would you tell him I need a hand?”
Every molecule in me freezes, then sprints. Jealousy flares ugly and fast. A woman without a name calling him because she fell in her bathroom, and he’s the person she picks to help her.
“Where are you?” I ask, already grabbing my bag from my desk drawer.
“At my apartment.”
“Let me call you back.”
I jot down the number and hang up. Then I immediately open Noah’s contact. My hands are a little shaky, which is stupid. I shouldn’t care—I’m just the messenger—but the memory of his head between my legs is still on my skin, and now there’s a mystery woman calling “his work” for help, like he’s her designated knight.
I type with more force than necessary:
A woman called the office. She’s at her apartment and needs your help. Where are you?
I stare at the screen, waiting for the typing bubbles to appear, feeling fear gripping my gut. I want him to answer, but I’m scared of it at the same time.
Instead of an answer, I get“Delivered.”That’s it. I stand in the hallway with my heart pounding, not knowing where to move from here.
After a full minute of no response, I take off toward Martin’s. He’s hunched over two monitors, lips pursed. He doesn’t look up until I hover over his desk like a ghost.
“Did you need something, Beatrice?” My full name—looks like someone is still offended.
“Do you know where Noah is right now? It’s important.”
Martin blinks. “They both just left for the site. That old turtle Wilson called and said he needs an urgent adjustment, and he wants to see it now.”
“Dang it.” My brain is stuttering, trying to come up with the right way to ask if Martin knows something. The need to keep Noah’s secrets Noah’s even when a woman calls his work to help her in a bath is very annoying. Where is this loyalty coming from?
Martin leans in, lowering his voice. “Are you okay? You look a little rattled.”
“It’s fine,” I reply quickly. “Can you call Ezra?”
Martin dials his phone number. “Went straight to voicemail.”
“Great,” I mumble under my nose, then to him louder, “Tell them to call me as soon as you can reach them.”
“Will do.” Martin nods as he already starts dialing the phone again.
I put the digits into my phone and dial. “I can’t find Noah. What’s your address?”
She gives me the address of the very same building that Noah lives in. I recognize it because I’ve sent a lot of laundry service that way.
“I’m on my way,” I say as I head down the hallway.
“I’m fine, I just can’t… I can’t get off the floor by myself.”
“I’m coming,” I say, hearing how determined I sound. “Stay on the line with me if you can.”
I text Ezra with fingers that barely feel attached to my body:
911. Make Noah call me. Now.
Nothing.
