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I bet this would be absolutely stunning on.
I shouldn’t keep it, though, right? I’m certainly not going to meet him at his penthouse for dinner after standing him up tonight.
And for him to call it a date—utter madness.
Then again, it’s not like there’s a return address…
I take the beautiful dress and hang it up in my closet, then I go back to the kitchen and finally feed Marie.
I try not to think about Calvin, try not to feel bad for things I know reasonably I shouldn’t feel bad for…
And hey, I almost do.
___
Monday morning means heading to the office for a meeting, so I grab my sketches, kiss Marie, and make sure the apartment is locked up securely before I head out.
I’m more watchful of my surroundings than I ordinarily would be in broad daylight, and I find myself watching for Calvin’s limo even though it’s probably absurd; it’s Monday morning, I’m sure he’s at work—not out stalking me.
The meeting runs a little long and I’m starving, so I stop for a slice of pizza on the way home.
I’m anxious about being alone in the hall as I get my door unlocked and haul all my crap inside, but I feel better once all the locks are engaged.
I scarf down the pizza, my head full of new ideas for the project I’ll be starting after I finish my current one. I’m eager to dig into it and bring to life the author’s ideas, so I put off cleaning up until later and go to my drawing table to get to work.
The day gets away from me, and before I know it, it’s 4:32.
I’m thirsty, so I go out to the kitchen for a cold bottle of water.
On my way to the fridge, I notice Marie didn’t eat her breakfast.
A frown flickers across my face. Thatisher least favorite flavor in the variety pack. Maybe she wasn’t in the mood for it. Sometimes she won’t finish the tilapia, but it doesn’t look like she even touched it.
“Marie,” I call out, looking around for her. “Are you being a diva today?”
She’s a diva most days, but typically a diva with an appetite.
She must be asleep or hiding because she doesn’t bother to come out at the sound of my voice.
That’s odd.
Marie might have a snooty little attitude, but she loves me. It’s not like her to completely ignore me, but as I make my way through the small apartment, she doesn’t emerge from any of her usual hiding places.
“Marie,” I call out, my panic beginning to grow. I displace pillows and look under my bed. I check behind the toilet in the bathroom and open all the cupboards.
I can’t find her anywhere.
My skin heats as I try to remember the last time I saw her. I know I saw her this morning before I left.
Did she get out when I opened the door?
Oh my god, if she got out, I might never find her.
I’m near tears searching every nook and cranny one more time in hopes that she’ll magically appear when I hear my phone vibrate on the kitchen counter.
I’m not really worried about a missed text or phone call, but I absently grab it before heading back into the bedroom to check my closet again and behind my door.
Then I freeze. There’s a text from an unknown number that reads, “Have you misplaced your kitty?”
