Page 74 of The Write Off

What if Bryce wasn’t bluffing? What if he fires Logan because of me? What if he loses everything he’s worked so hard for and it’s my fault?

The tears come then, hot droplets cooling instantly as they run down my cold cheeks.

With blurry eyes, I tap out a quick text to Logan. Then I turn off my phone, crawl under the covers and turn my head into my pillow; I let the sobs come.

Chapter 37

Logan

“Logan!”

I turn at Betty’s greeting, seeing her and Josh exiting the stairwell. They look like they’re about to go for a run.

“Have you talked to Rilla?” I turn back to the elevator and hit the “up” button again. Then once more just to be sure. I don’t have the energy to be social at the moment. After finally getting a response from Rilla, I attempted to call her, only to have it go directly to voicemail. “She said she wasn’t feeling well and now I can’t get a hold of her.”

“She’s never sick,” Josh replies. The elevator arrives and they follow me in, their concern apparent. “When did you hear from her last?”

“She was supposed to stop by my office after her meeting with the publisher. She never showed up and now she’s not answering her phone.”

I told myself that she really wasn’t feeling well. Maybe she was coming down with something and wanted to be on her own. But the abrupt change from her correspondence from before her meeting gave me pause. She’d been so eager to try the new gastro pub near the office and we were planning to go right from work.

Something wasn’t right.

The elevator doors open and I make it to her door first, knocking loudly.

Nothing.

“I’m going to grab the spare key,” Betty says, jogging down the hall to her apartment. She returns a moment later, key in hand, and I’m grateful I don’t have to rip the door off its hinges. I consider myself a reasonable person, but, at this moment, I feel more desperate than I ever have.

The moment Betty unlocks the door, I hurriedly open it stepping into the dark and silent apartment.

“Rilla?” I call tentatively. Betty flicks the switch on the wall and the room floods with light.

“Rill?” Josh says a little louder. When she doesn’t respond I stride down the hall, the knot of fear in my stomach expanding.

Her bedroom is dark, but I can make out her curled-up form on the bed. I go to her, sitting on the bed and run my hand over her hair.

“Rilla?”

She sniffs, pushing herself up to sit. “Ever hear of breaking and entering? You’re taking your Pretty Boy Stalker role too far.” She’s trying to sound flippant, but her voice trembles. I fumble for the lamp I know is on her bedside table and turn it on.

We both squint at the newfound brightness, but the moment I’m able to focus it’s evident to me from her puffy, red-rimmed eyes that she’s been crying.

“What happened?”

She wipes at her face with the back of her hands before meeting my eyes. I’ve never seen her look so utterly defeated. “Bryce happened.”

My stomach sinks as a dozen different scenarios rush through my mind.

That worthless piece of shit.

“I need someone to tell me who the fuck Bryce is and then I need you to tell me where to find him,” Josh says from the bedroom doorway.

I say nothing, afraid of what will come out of my mouth if I do. I take her hands in mine, which are freezing despite the fact she’s still wearing her coat, and I wait for her to continue.

“He made a pass at me.” She stares down at our joined hands. “I told him I wasn’t interested. He basically told me to get interested.”

I force myself to unclench my jaw, because if I don’t, I won’t be able to make myself speak. “Did he touch you?”

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