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Anxiety consumed me. I was losing track time. Molly had been missing for a little over a month now. From what I’d seen on TV and in the movies, as well as read in books, cartel members weren’t exactly famous for their patience and understanding.
What if I was too late? What if Molly was already—
An errant tear soaked into my pillowcase, darkening the fabric where it made contact. The tears wouldn’t stop, nor did the sniffles. I tried to fight it, but I was tired. Tired of putting on a brave face. Tired of waiting. Tired of staring into an unknown future. My sniffles broke into uncontrollable sobs that I tried and failed to muffle.
There was a knock on my door. It was none other than Jesse. Of course it was. He was the only one else in this forsaken prison.
“Vivian?” I heard the door handle jiggle under his hand. “What’s going on?”
“Don’t come in,” I snapped.
“I thought I heard you—”
“I said don’t come in! Just leave me alone.”
“Do you need anything?”
I wanted to scream. I wanted him to stop being such a dick. I wanted him to hold me like he used to. Tell me that everything was going to be okay. That Molly and I would be safe. That he missed me just as much as I missed him.
Fuck, did I miss him. And I hated that I did because it made me realize just how much I cared about him.
And now he couldn’t even look me in the eye.
Chapter 24
Jesse
It was a herculean task not to touch her. I wouldn’t allow myself to because touching her was a slippery slope. I told myself these boundaries were in place for both our sakes. I couldn’t cave now, no matter how much I missed her.
I tried to use work to distract myself, finally putting my home office to good use. It was my little fortress, a place where I could zone out and manage the firm without constantly thinking about Vivian’s plump lips or the sound of her cute giggle or how I went absolutely feral for her in those stupid pink shorts of hers.
God, I missed her in her stupid pink shorts.
But not just that. I missed her smile. Those three little freckles on her eyelid that were only visible close up. The way she fit in my arms so easily. Everything.
The last two weeks had been torture. Worse than that.
She was near. Only a couple of rooms away. Yet she was so impossibly far because I deliberately placed her there for her own good. I gave her space, respected her privacy. Made sure she had enough food and entertainment and whatever else she might need for a comfortable stay.
Even though I wanted to give her so much more.
For the first couple of days, I wandered out of the office late at night to find her in the living room, watching episodes ofJeopardy. She was good at it. Not so much with the history trivia, but everything else. I wanted to tell her she’d make a killing if she ever got to play on the show for real, but I stopped myself. I didn’t trust myself not to ascend into more flirtatious banter.
Best if I kept out of her way.
After the first week, I turned up the penthouse’s main thermostat. Vivian never complained about it out loud, but I could tell she was cold, always shivering and teeth chattering. She bundled up in a sweater and sweatpants, though oddly enough never wore socks despite it being the smart and easiest thing to do to warm up. She was stubborn like that. I liked that about her, even if it was silly.
I gave her a phone number to call if she wanted food delivered. She ordered pretty much every night, opting to skip both breakfast and lunch in lieu of a snack around 5:00 p.m. and then a massive dinner around 8:00 p.m. Like clockwork. If I weren’t so dead set on giving her space, I would have told her that having equally spaced-out meals and portions was better for her health, but I didn’t want to overstep.
One thing I did notice was that she ordered tuna casserole from this Italian restaurant down the way frequently. Always with extra cheese and a bottle of Diet Coke. It must have been delicious because she could clear the whole dish by herself without any leftovers. For what it was worth, it smelled great. I wanted to ask her for a bite, just to try it, but decided against it. She obviously loved it, and I didn’t want to take away from her favorite meal.
On Monday morning, I got the call. Melissa’s name popped up on the screen. I nearly threw my phone out over the balcony.
“Now’s not a good time,” I grumbled into the receiver.
“When is it ever?” my ex-wife scoffed.
“If you’re calling because you want more money—”
