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Not even the human who turned my world upside down.
Three thousand miles of distance might not be enough to cool my longing for her, but it’s a start. In a week, the Moon Co. office closes for Thanksgiving.
Distance and time. That’s what I need to forget her.
ChapterTwenty-Three
Madi
I’m humming in the limo on the way to work. Even the sight of the Maserati parked in front of the fire hydrant doesn’t phase me although I wish I were a meter maid, so I could ticket it myself.
But when I walk through the doors, the security guard does a double take.
”You’re here? Top floor is closed. We just got word. Special deep cleaning.”
I open my mouth. Close it. “Oh, yes, of course.” I act like I know all about it. “When will it be back open?”
“Should be a few more hours. Until then we have a temporary office for you to work in. Mr. Blackthroat specified this before he flew out.”
“He left?”
I’m his assistant. His only assistant. I should be the first to know. Instead I’m the last.
“Headed out to California last night. He told us he’d be back after Thanksgiving.”
“Right.” Next week is Thanksgiving. The offices are closed.
The security guard ushers me to my temporary office. I keep a smile pasted to my face and thank her. For the rest of the day, I’m going to have to pretend my boss didn’t just ditch me.
I was wondering if we could bridge the gap between a workplace fling and something real.
Today, I got my answer.
My new temporary office is quiet. The only sound is my typing. The phone blares, making me jump in my seat. I grab it, hoping it’s Brick.
It’s not. It’s Billy, ordering me to send over a report. “ASAP. Mr. Blackthroat’s orders.” He sounds smug. Does he know what’s going on? I bite back my snarl. “It’s on its way.” I’d already compiled it the way Brick likes. Billy doesn’t give me the satisfaction of surprise at my speed and efficiency. He just hangs up.
Aubrey’s idea of a tell-all memoir is sounding more appealing by the second.
I open a document to start compiling a timeline of all Brick’s HR violations then delete it.
This isn’t me. I’m discreet. I don’t want to drag Blackthroat’s name through the mud. I don’t want a lawsuit or a payoff.
I want Brick to come back and tell me why he left so abruptly. And in the meantime, I want to do my job.
At ten, I take a break for coffee. I’m in line at the shop when my work cell rings. The number reads BLOCKED. Weird. I don’t often get spam calls on this phone. At the last second, I realize it might be Brick and answer, but I’m too late. The call goes to voicemail.
I wait but there’s no voice message. No growling voice making impossible demands. I hit redial, but nothing happens. While I’m trying to retrace the call, it comes through again, and I can’t switch over fast enough to catch it before it goes to voicemail.
But once again, there’s no voicemail.
I dial IT and describe the situation. “Is there any way to see who’s calling?”
“We’ll look into it,” the tech person says, and after a few minutes, she rattles off a number. I try to dial it from my work phone, but it’s not until I use my personal cell that the numbers go through.
Adalwulf Associates, the caller ID reads. I almost hang up when someone picks up. Before I say anything, the person on the other end of the line greets me, “Ms. Evans.”
A frisson of awareness prickles down my spine. I rise from my seat and face the far wall, where the vast windows give me a perfect view of the Adalwulf building.
