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Until then, Sebastian St. Valentine would get all my attention.
But it wasn’t like I could just waltz up to him and ask him what the fuck his problem was. I needed to do my homework.
I needed to continue to pursue Suzanne; otherwise, I’d waste valuable time and energy tilting at windmills.
At least, that’s what I told myself when I dialed her number the first time. By the time I’d called her for the sixth time and left the sixth message, I was overtired, frustrated, and an anger began to well up inside me, looking for any outlet it could find. I started calling at eight. By midnight, she hadn’t returned my calls. Was she mad at me? I told her I’d call at the end of the week. She couldn’t know that I had no intention of following through.
So then why the hell wasn’t she answering my calls or returning my messages? Was she ill? Had an emergency come up? If it had, why hadn’t she called me? Why the fuck was I acting like a desperate man?
Because I was. Irrational and desperate. I didn’t lie to myself. I knew exactly why my mind and body roared at her silence. This wasn’t about needing information – it was about needingher. Her smiles. Her laughter. Her comfort.
I grabbed my keys on my way out the kitchen door.
Martin met me in the mudroom.
“Do you need a ride, boss?”
“Get the fuck out of my way,” I growled as I passed him.
The car tires squealed as I peeled out of the driveway. The drive to New York would do one of two things - calm me the hell down or ramp up my insanity even more.
It all depended on her.
