Page 76 of The Billionaire's Runaway Bride

Until she wants to contact me or changes her mind, my hands are tied. If I went after Jeremy, it could endanger or anger Lauren. I didn’t like being told no, though, and I never limited myself to think something was impossible or out of my reach. So, I began to look into Jeremy and build a potential case against him. If and when Lauren calls me, I would have a plan in place. I would strike swiftly, clearing out Jeremy’s power over her, and if I had to take action against the Hendricksons, I would. Financially, I already have. I cut ties with Jamie’s vineyards. There has to be more ways to avenge her.

My lawyer and his employees are thorough, weeding through everything they can find on the trio of people who tried to ruin the beautiful person Lauren is. Any scandal they’ve hidden will come to light. Any skeletons they are ashamed to reveal will be shared with the public. Any crimes they’ve bribed their way out of, any former charges that should be investigated again, all of it.

I’ve got my eye on them, and my anger won’t fade overnight. I want to be prepared. Because if Lauren comes to me, I will deliver on my promise to have her back.

“What took you so long?” Dalton asks when I finally find him at the bar he picked.

I shrug, putting my phone in my pocket. “Checking emails.”

He smirks. “You’re becoming a workaholic.”

Technically, reading through the email listing what the PI would look into wasn’t “work” in the sense it wasn’t related to TMW, but I didn’t feel the need to update him on that.

“It’s weird, seeing you like this,” he comments when a couple more friends show up. I’m distracted, greeting them and suffering through minimal small talk. When a few women come up and start blatantly flirting with us, I experience zero interest. I don’t have any desire to chat them up or even try to pay attention.

All I want is Lauren, and she’s the only one I can’t have.

“See,” Dalton says once he joins me. I move over to sit while my friends hit on the girls, who are eating up all the flirtatious attention.

“This is what I’m talking about,” he adds.

I finish my beer, wishing I could just get drunk and at least have the buzz of alcohol to numb me and help me ignore this emptiness I can’t shake. “What?”

“You.” He gestures at me. “You’re weird now. Working too much. Long days and hardly going out. When I do finally get you to come out—and I think you only agreed so I would stop bugging you about it—you’re not interested in anything.” After an obvious glance at the women, he clarifies, “Not interested in anyone.”

“Because I’m not.”

Everything I used to do seems so trivial now. Before I flew out to Colorado, this was my life and I loved it. The exciting rush of the city that never sleeps. The countless options of nightlife. The abundance of women. Parties hold no appeal. Only work drives me, and as Dalton correctly points out, it’s all I do now.

“Because of her?”

I start to nod, but stop myself from completing the action, shrugging instead. “Don’t worry about it,” I say before I order another round.

***

A few days later, he does it again, badgering me to go out when I stay at the office working too late. Once more, I meet him at a bar and shut down his attempts at getting me to talk about Lauren. I drink more than I should, knowing I can’t head into the offices early the next morning because of scheduled maintenance on the network in my building.

With the ease of alcohol manipulating my common sense, I trudge home alone and give in.

I lie in bed, thinking about her as I always do. But this time, I act on it. I grab my phone and type out a message, desperate to contact her.

Caleb: I miss you sweetheart. Please remember I’ll be here for you no matter what.

I pass out after I spend the last of my energy tapping on the letters, and in my dreams, I am running, both to her and away from the mountain. It messes with my mind, and slightly hungover in the morning, I remember my message.

She didn’t reply. She couldn’t have because my text is still waiting to be sent.

I sigh and delete it. I have to respect her wishes.

While I have my phone in hand though, I try to appease the strange homesickness that won’t let me be. I miss not only Lauren, but where I met her. The Goldfinch. Marian. I’ve slacked in staying in touch with her, and with that regret flogging me as I get up to make coffee, I call her.

“Caleb?” She giggles. “Well, hello there, Mr. New York. Too busy to check in?”

She says it so kindly, teasing, that I know she’s not being mean.

“Yeah. Drowning myself in work, actually.”

She sighs, and the sound is at odds with the noise in the background on her end. “I’m not surprised. It helps with the pain.”

---