It’s nearly midnight. Her PA shouldn’t have to deal with this. Still, this saint of a woman answers. “Mr. Astor?”
“Amanda. Sorry. Sorry, I know it’s late.”
Concern immediately sharpens her voice. “Is everything okay?”
“I—uh—don’t know.”
The admission sounds pathetic even to me.
I scrub a hand over my face. “Do you know where Cece is?”
That one-second pause is enough to heighten my panic.
“No, I’m sorry.”
Fuck.
“She left the office hours ago,” she says, her voice cracking with sleep.
“She went in today?”
“Yeah. Came in around noon.”
That catches me off guard. Then she adds, “She was actually here most of the afternoon.”
Most of the afternoon. A rare occurrence lately. Cece hadn’t been going to the Wentworth office. Not for days since she resumed work.
I thank her and hang up before she can hear how badly my voice is close to splintering.
Then I chastise myself for forgetting that we’ve shared our location with each other, and I immediately openFind My.
Please.
Please don’t have disabled it.
Please don’t have turned it off in the mere weeks we fellapart.
The app loads. For one horrible second, nothing happens. Then her location appears.
Relief crashes into me hard until I actually see where she is.
Gastown.
My pulse immediately spikes again.
The little thumbnail hovers near Water Street.
Downtown. At nearly midnight. On aFridaynight.
“What the fuck are you doing there, baby?”
I don’t bother changing out of my suit. I don’t bother grabbing anything except my keys from the entry console. The moment the elevator doors open, I’m already moving.
Because whatever Cece is doing in Gastown at this hour, every instinct I have tells me I need to get to her.
THIRTY-ONE
Levi
