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Tracy’s best friend and I follow after them, my eyes scanning the room the second we walk in as I search for Zoey. We’re only halfway to the table when I hear Brandon and Tracy walk in, the loud cheers filling the room at the mention of the new bride and groom.
But as we reach the table that’s been set for us at the back of the room, next to the huge windows that overlook the mountains, I don’t see Zoey at the table waiting for me. I also don’t see Eric anywhere either. Simon glances back over his shoulder at me as my heart stutters in my chest, my gaze scanning the room as I try to find her.
“Maybe she’s out on the balcony,” Simon says, gesturing to the large open doors that lead outside.
I shake my head, knowing there’s no way she wouldn’t be at the table with the bridal party arriving, even as I pull out a chair for Tracy’s friend before moving toward the large open doors and stepping outside. The setting sun is casting the sky and mountains in brilliant shades of red and orange that I barely notice as I scan the balcony. There are portable heaters taking the chill out of the air and lots of lanterns and lights that provide intimate lighting to the few high tables and couches that are scattered about, waiting for people to fill them.
“She here?” Simon asks beside me, surprising me because I thought he’d stayed with the others at our table.
“No,” I say shaking my head as I pull my phone from my pocket, wishing to fuck I’d called earlier when we were having photos. I call Zoey now though, the phone at my ear as I listen to it ring and ring before it eventually goes to voicemail. “Fuck,” I mutter, scrolling to Eric’s number next.
His also goes to voicemail, and I immediately try Zoey’s again, which once again rings out.
“Jesus,” I mutter, shoving my phone into my pocket as I head back inside, Simon close behind me.
“She’s not answering?” Simon asks.
“No, neither is Eric,” I say as I stop at the table where we are supposed to be sitting.
“You okay?” Brandon asks as I stand behind my chair, my eyes immediately going to the empty place beside me that has Zoey’s place setting in front of it.
I shake my head as Simon says, “Zoey isn’t here.”
“Shit,” Brandon says, standing. “Babe, give me a sec,” he says, a hand on Tracy’s shoulder.
She looks from him to me and back to Brandon again. “Of course, go. I’ll stay here and let you know if she shows up,” she says, a worried look on her face as her gaze meets mine. “I’m sure she’s okay,” she adds, trying I know to offer me some comfort even if we both know it’s probably pointless.
I nod once before Brandon, Simon and I make our way toward the other side of the room, where the bar is set up and the doors to the kitchen lead. We are stopped along the way, everyone wanting to congratulate Brandon and apparently no one realizing that this isn’t just the groom and his two best friends doing a meet and greet.
Eventually I get to the bar, asking the staff if they’ve seen Zoey. They all know her, having worked here with her for a while.
“She was here earlier,” one of the guys says. “Came in with this big guy, her date I think,” he adds, not realizing that Eric isn’t her date but her security. “I think she went and spoke to the kitchen about some stuff, maybe you could try there?” He shrugs, as though he isn’t sure and my jaw tightens in frustration.
“Let’s go check out the kitchen,” Brandon says, squeezing my shoulder.
We head over to the doors that lead to the kitchen, walking inside to find my staff all busy pulling together the first course which is probably going to be served soon.
“Mr. Morrison,” the events manager says, coming over to me. “Is everything okay?”
“Hey, Gina, you haven’t seen Zoey anywhere, have you?” I ask her, as I look around the kitchen.
“I haven’t, no, but she wasn’t working today.”
I shake my head in frustration. “No, she’s here as a guest,” I explain. “But I can’t find her anywhere.”
Gina looks at me, a curious expression on her face that I’m guessing is because I’m here in the kitchen, searching for Zoey, asking where she is even though she isn’t actually working tonight.
“She’s here with me,” I finally say, letting out an exhale. “But I can’t find her, and I’m worried she’s—”
The doors to the kitchen fly open and several of the wait staff come through, talking loudly about the big guy in the black suit and how he suddenly went rushing out of the room a few minutes earlier.
“I think they’re talking about Eric,” Simon says, nudging my shoulder.
I walk over, stepping right into the middle of their conversation as I shout, “Which way did he go?”
“Who, wait…oh Mr. Morrison, hi, sorry,” one of the young guys stammers.
I wave his apologies away as I say again, “Which way did he go?”
