Page 25 of The Endless Want

I kill the headlights and swing into a narrow side street. I’m out of the car before the engine fully shuts off, boots hitting the pavement hard.

The alley ahead is dark. Too dark. Quiet. Wrong.

I take three steps toward it and hear it.

A scream.

My vision goes white around the edges. There is no thought. No strategy. Only instinct.

I sprint toward the sound like my own life is the one in danger.

CHAPTER 8

Ailish

The morning starts with coffee, three overlapping to-do lists, and the faint, familiar ache of exhaustion that has settled into my bones these days.

Declan has not called. Not last night, not this morning. He kissed me in my own office, walked out without a word, and has been a closed door ever since. I've decided I'm not going to be the one who mentions it.

I’m halfway through reviewing the updated logistics Liam pulled from me yesterday when he appears in the doorway of my office—tie slightly askew, expression tight.

“Ailish,” he says, not quite meeting my eyes.

That’s never a good sign.

“I set you up a meeting with the commercial real estate group,” he adds. “The one we talked about last month.”

I straighten in my chair. “The Midtown properties? I thought those were being shelved until Q4.”

“They were. But the Italians want us to revisit the joint investment sooner. They think it could stabilize our image.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Today at noon.”

It’s already ten. Short notice—but nothing unusual. Declan used to do that to me all the time.

The thought of him has me sighing. “Fine,” I say. “I’ll go as soon as I finish⁠—”

His phone pings, and he pulls it out of his pocket, a worry line creasing his forehead. I almost feel bad for being so frustrated with him. He is under a lot of pressure lately.

“Actually…” He exhales. “Something came up. They need to move it. They asked if you could come tonight instead. They’ll make sure they make you a drink. Good hospitality.”

My stomach dips in a way I can’t name. “Evening? How late?”

“Eleven.”

That late would mean the building is mostly cleared out, the sidewalks dead, loneliness settling over the city in cold pockets of air. I don’t like it, but Liam is already grabbing his phone, already thinking about three other crises. I’m not going to make this meeting harder than it needs to be.

Besides, I need to keep the little bit of trust we have left between us.

“Okay,” I say. “I’ll go.”

He nods, touches my shoulder briefly—distracted affection—and leaves. I sit for a moment after he’s gone, staring at the papers in front of me without seeing a single line.

Something about the change makes my skin crawl. But I don’t have a reason to object. Not without sounding paranoid.

So I make sure I ready everything to go.

The meeting is dull. Two men in suits too expensive for their knowledge level. A slideshow that barely loads. Assurances about zoning regulations and long-term potential that I’ve already read twice in the proposal packet.

The alcohol is cheap too.