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It takes over an hour for my phone to ring, and I answer it immediately.
“David, is everything alright?”
Ah, it would seem my terse tone has him worried. I take a deep breath, which apparently does absolutely fucking nothing, because when I speak, my fury sounds down the line.
“Why is Haven Enterprises’ receptionist insisting that Anica doesn’t work for your company?”
There’s a silence on the other end of the line, and a slight sigh.
“Ms. Kasan handed in her resignation a week ago,” Uncle Bill informs me, like he’s telling me it’s a bit windy outside. “She requested that her it be effective immediately.”
My insides are cold and numb. Why would she quit? She loved her job. She said so over dinner one night.
“What’s her address?”
I’ve only been there once before. There’s no way I could direct a town car there on my own.
“I’m afraid that would be an invasion of Ms. Kasan’s privacy, David. Is there a reason you seem so set on reaching her?”
For the first time in my life, I hang up on Uncle Bill. I try Ani’s number again. Straight to voicemail. Shoving my hand through my hair, I drop my phone onto the couch, bracing my hands against the back of it, and bowing my head. I’ll have to fly to Chicago and see if I can find her fucking apartment building from memory. That’s all there is to it.
My phone buzzes and I snatch it up. Uncle Bill’s new PA Cathy has texted me. That’s a weird thing for her to do. Clicking the message, my breath catches. It’s an address. No explanation. Just an address. AChicagoaddress. The woman is a fuckingangel. Grabbing my things, I stride over to my door, pulling it open.
“Christine, rearrange my schedule for the next week. I have to go out of town.”
Christine glances around, startled. “O-of course, Mr. Brooks Westerhaven. Is everything okay?”
“It will be.” I stride toward the elevator bank as she stares after me in shock.
“Where to, sir?” Antonio asks over his shoulder as I slide into the back of the SUV.
“Home. But park out the front and wait. I won’t be there long.”
“Of course, sir.”
It’s too short notice to organize the private jet. Fuck it. I’ll fly commercial. I have the first-class ticket booked before we pull up in front of my building, jumping out of the vehicle and racing upstairs.
The place is empty. It’s always fucking empty these days. I shove some clothes into a small suitcase, impatiently jabbing my finger on the down button waiting for the elevator to arrive.
“Now, sir?” Antonio holds open the door for me, taking my suitcase to put it in the trunk.
“JFK. But I have a stop to make first.”
“Yes, sir.”
At the airport, I check my suitcase, and head straight through to the gate. They’re already boarding.
“Mr. Brooks Westerhaven.” The flight attendant follows me to my seat, smiling down at me. “Champagne, coffee, or liquor before we take off.”
“Nothing. Thanks.”
She leaves, helping other passengers as I stare out the window. It’s just under a three-hour flight. It’s going to feel like an age. I drum my fingers on the arm of the chair. Three hours can’t pass soon enough.
I peer out the window as the town car pulls up in front of the run-down brick apartment building where I made the biggest mistake of my life and left Ani less than a month ago. I grab my suitcase off the driver and check my phone, heading up the stairs. Still no response from my missed calls to Ani. I hope everything is okay. There’s no intercom, so I walk in, up the stairs and find her apartment number. Blowing out a breath, I pocket my phone and lift my hand to knock on the door.
A woman who isnotAni answers the door of the fourth-floor walkup that Christine was certain was Ani’s home here in Chicago.
“Uh, yes?” Her eyes dip to take in my form and my suitcase. Fuck. She quit her job. She better not have moved.
