Page 78 of The Woman

On edge is a raindrop compared to the ocean, a paper cut compared to a deep wound.

When the woman you’ve become obsessed with, who has caused you to develop new and all-consuming feelings for, is taken from you, you’re a little more than on edge.

I try to adjust my expression. “It was just a tough day.”

“Ah.” He nods, lifting his beer to his lips. “Gramps still giving you a hard time? Is that why you wanted the name and address of those guys? You trying to impress him?”

I take a healthy swallow of my Old Fashioned before I lie, “Yes.”

“Honestly, I think he’s already happy with you. You told me he handed over that Anderson guy’s stuff, right? He’s no small fish, and I doubt your grandpa would have done that if you didn’t already impress him.”

I nod absently, feeling bad for misleading Edison and not telling him what’s going on. But it’s for his own good. He deserves to live the normal life with, eventually, a normal woman like he wants. That’s just not the life for me.

I force myself to give him my focus for a while and actually pay attention when he tells me about his work and apartment renovations, only making quick, discreet looks around us every few minutes.

We end up finishing our drinks and ordering some more with still no sign of Jonah. The anxious energy swarming through me intensifies with every passing minute. I feel like I’m wasting time sitting here, but I have no other leads at this moment – no other places to check.

I’m almost ready to call it a night when into the VIP area walks Jonah and a few other men, loud and obnoxious. My grip on my glass tightens to a point where it might actually break. I watch as the other men take their seats, but he heads in the direction of the men’s room. Perfect.

Excusing myself, I follow Jonah down the darkened hallway and through the door, then lean against the door with my arms crossed, waiting for him to come out of the stall.

It doesn’t take long for him to emerge, but with the way my jaw is aching from the pressure of clenching it as I wait, it feels like it was far too long.

He looks at me with surprise in his beady eyes when he first notices my looming figure, but it quickly changes to indifference, and he casually washes his hands as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.

As if he hasn’t possibly destroyed Avery’s unique and alluring personality.

As if he hasn’t caused my heart to constrict so unbearably tight at the thought of not seeing that defiant glint in her eyes that I adore so much.

“You know, one way to see who a man really is is to watch how he reacts when circumstances don’t especially go his way.”

His weasel-like face appears puzzled as he dries his hands on one of the rolled-up towels. I have to tamp down the version of me who wants to escape and attack him, wiping that look off his face. We are businessmen, and it will do me no good to deal with this with violence. I wouldn’t want to draw more attention when I may still be able to get her out quietly.

“Your son hasn’t earned the right to choose a woman yet, so you throw tantrums and try to ruin others’ lives.”

Even as I say it, I know it’s irrational to expect anyone to keep quiet about it. But he could have fucking ignored it and minded his own business.

“I’m not sure what you’re referring to, but I don’t have time for this,” he mutters. “I have clients out there waiting for me.”

He tries to pull the door open, but I press my palm to it, holding it closed.

“Who did you call, and where can I find them?”

His face gives the perfect impression of a confused person. “What are you talking about?”

I breathe in deeply through my nose, trying hard to remain calm, and repeat, “Tell me who the fuck you called and where I’ll be able to find them.”

“I think you need to go home and get that woman of yours to give you a blow-job. You’re obviously delusional.”

I reach up and grab his shirt, bringing him closer to me, ready to explode and lay him out. Consequences be damned. He doesn’t get to talk about her like that.

But then his words actually trickle in, repeating in my mind. “I think you need to go home and get that woman of yours to give you a blow-job.” I take in the look on his face and the way he reacted.

He doesn’t know she was taken away. If he were the one to report her, he would have boasted about it and no doubt told everyone within his vicinity how a Carsen picked a WOUN. He would have made sure I was held accountable for it as well.

“You didn’t call anyone,” I say, half as a statement and half as a question, still trying to accept that it wasn’t him.

He looks to the side, a flash of guilt on his face. I tighten my grip on his shirt, giving him a shake, and his eyes fly back to me, his hands lifting in capitulation.

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