Page 34 of Jack Frost, CEO

I find her name on the intercom and lay on the buzzer. Nothing happens. I continue to press the buzzer incessantly but can’t tell if it’s working. Taking a chance, I push on the door, and it gives without much resistance.

I check my phone for her apartment number and head up the stairs, trying desperately to ignore the faint smell of urine that permeates the hallway. When I make it to her door, I pound my fist against it, loud and long.

“Maisie! Are you there? Maisie, please open the door! Maisie!” I press my palm to the dingy wood, leaning my head against my hand as I plead with her to open up.

“Are you looking for the sweet little piece that lives there?”

I turn toward the voice coming from behind me and find the occupant from across the hall eyeing me from his threshold. Wearing a stained and dirty wife beater and tartan pajama pants that have seen better days while the stench drifting off him is enough to make me vomit into my mouth.

“She’s a right sexy piece of work, prancing around in those tight skirts and fuck-me heels, but I haven’t seen her for a couple of weeks now. I think she may still be out of town.”

“Fuck.” I pull out my cell phone and shoot off a text.

“You fucking her?” The waste of oxygen next door looks me up and down.

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve been working on her for months. I’m so close to getting into that tight little snatch. I don’t need some fancy fucker like you traipsing in here and messing things up for—oomph.” Neckbeard doesn’t have time to finish his sentence before my fist breaks his nose. He squeals like a pig. “What-did-ya-do-that-for?”

“If you even think about breathing in Maisie’s direction, your nose will be the least of your worries. Do you hear me? I could buy and sell you before lunch and not even break a sweat. Try. Me.”

Neckbeard slams the door shut, and I return my attention to Maisie’s vacant apartment. I have to search for the superintendent. I can get more information off her rental application. Yeah, he’s technically not supposed to give it to me, but if he doesn’t, I’ll buy the building.

I have her address in Australia by the time I leave the super’s office. I also paid off her lease and had my house manager set up a company to pack her things. Now, armed with an apartment key and an address, I head home to pack. I have a flight to catch.

***

I’m standing in the middle of JFK, glaring at the attendant behind the desk. “What exactly do you mean there are no more flights until after Christmas?”

The customer service rep’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows down his nerves. “I’m so very sorry, but due to so many last-minute flights, there are simply not enough seats.” He swallows again as I lean over the counter and continue to glare at him.

“I have to get to Australia immediately. What do you suggest I do if, as you state, there are no more flights until after Christmas?”

“You could charter a private jet?” the representative stammers.

I slam my hand down on the counter, and more than a few people jump. “You’re a genius!”

I whip out my phone and call the one person I know who can get me to Australia before Christmas.

“Gio, it’s Jack… Yes, yes, hello. Listen. I need to borrow your plane… Yes… No… I need to get to Australia.” Sighing, I lift my eyes to the heavens, asking for intervention. When nothing happens, I go back to the call. “I fucked up… Yes. I know… It was Antony… No, that’s on me… I told you. I fucked up… Why should you lend me your plane? Because she’s mine, Gio. I love her.”

I’m surprised to find that I mean those words. I love her. I’m trying to figure out how or when it happened. But the particulars don’t matter. I can’t imagine waking up and not having her cook in the kitchen, sing Christmas carols, and read a book with a candy cane in her mouth.

“She’s everything, Gio. I may not have made the best decisions lately, but she is the best thing to ever happen to me. I will find her again with or without your help, but it’ll be a hell of a lot quicker if you just give me a hand.”

Something must convince him because he finally relents.

“Gio. I could kiss you, but I don’t know where that mouth has been, so I’ll have to pass… When are we leaving?” I walk toward the lounge, where he directs me to go, and he promises to call me back after he gets in touch with his pilot. So I settle into a chair and wait.

***

Five hours later, I settle into the plush seat while a smiling pilot does his preflight checks, and an air hostess offers me a drink. “Scotch, if you have it. Neat. One finger.”

“Of course, Mr. Foster. Right away.”

As she walks towards the back of the plane, I skim my notifications. Gio’s texted me a few times, and Marcus has been blowing up my phone for an update. When it beeps, I see an email pop up.

I hired a private investigator to look into Maisie a few weeks ago. Everything she told me combined with what I knew about Antony and his family didn’t add up. So, then I had my guy start looking into Antony. I honestly forgot about it.

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