Page 87 of Fool's Gold

The dude jams on the brakes, and he’s barely pulled to the curb before I’m out of the car and hustling toward the front door. The doorman gawks at me, working his jaw, trying to figure out the best way to greet me.

I push past him. “Did Marcus come this way? With a woman?”

“He did, Miss Stone,” the doorman stammers. “But he—”

I press the elevator button, and the door slides open. In the next beat, I’m inside, the box slowly bringing me to the top floors. I have to hurry. There’s no time to waste worrying about what to do or say. I’ll figure it out when I get there.

The reflection in the stainless steel shows a pale face, bright red cheeks, and wild eyes. It also gives me a great view of the killer heels I’ve been wearing, high enough for my toes to go numb and the pain to encompass my ankles as well. Those spikes will slide really nicely into someone’s eye sockets.

So I have at least one weapon on me.

The elevator dings, doors opening, and I’m in the hall as fast as my wrecked feet will carry me. Marcus’s door is open.

An inch of space shows the glow of lights from the inside. My mouth goes dry, my tongue gliding over my teeth, which somehow feel gritty.

Screw caution.

Time rides me hard as I stomp into the house and slam the door open, hoping to catch them in the act. Wouldn’t it be something to see the look of surprise on Celeste’s face?

The hallway is empty, and the apartment is dead inside. No one’s in the living room, and the bedrooms appear untouched.

Wherever Marcus is, he’s definitely not in the house. And I’m not sure he’s been sleeping here, either. Both bedrooms are made up, their sheets clean, the edges crisp.

They must have come here, though. The door wouldn’t be open if they hadn’t made a pit stop. So, where did they go for their next step?

I grind my molars, frustration a constant low burn in my blood. I tap the side of my head. “Think, Em. For god’s sake, think.”

I’m not the person you turn to in a crisis. I’m the kind who checks out and needs a stronger heart to take the lead. There’s no one else here. My parents are dead, and Marcus will be, too, if I fail.

The only place I haven’t checked is his office at the apartment. I mean, hell, the man only had to rip my throat out once and warn me not to go in there for me to get the message. Boys’ zone only, like the workaholic version of a man cave.

I hesitate half a second at the door before steeling my nerves and pushing inside.

The difference between this space and the one Marcus used at the house is startling.

There are no photographs on the walls. There are no shelves, either, only a few prints that look as though an interior designer plucked them from a warehouse somewhere.

His desk is a solid sheet of glass with a laptop to one side and a stack of scripts to the other. It’s such a sterile enviroment, all clean lines and angles and nothing homey about it. It’s one way to get work done, I guess.

I’m about to leave when a folded sheet of paper in the center of the desk snags my attention. And on closer inspection, it’s got my name written on it.

My brows draw low enough for my lashes to press against skin they shouldn’t be able to touch.

I tear into the note, unfolding the edges and scanning.

Em,

I knew you’d find your way in here eventually. No matter what happens to me, live. That’s what I need you to do. Live, for me and for yourself.

I love you.

I always have, and I will until my dying breath, whether it’s sooner or later. If we can’t be together in this life, then by fucking god, I will find you in the next, and I’ll love you there.

Yours, Marcus.

I crumble the note in my hands, reeling from those three words. He loves me. The man actually loves me. I keep the secret smile to myself because a part of me knows it. I’ve known it the entire time.

“Hell no.”

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