Page 278 of By His Rule

I want Lorelei to call me. Return one of the many messages I’ve sent her. Hell, even a work email would be something at this point.

Reaching for the television remote, I turn on the game and attempt to push my concerns about Lorelei aside.

It’s pointless. No matter how hard I focus on the game, she never leaves my head.

I had tickets for this game. I also had flights and a hotel for two booked.

Wishful thinking? Maybe.

Probably.

But I couldn’t help myself. Watching Kieran play with her by my side has become one of my new favorite things to do.

Hell, who am I kidding? Doing anything with her by my side is my favorite thing to do.

Unable to stop myself, I unlock my cell and open up Instagram.

I might have an account, but I hardly ever post on it.

Our marketing team insisted we all have profiles, but it’s not really my thing. The few posts I do have are courtesy of a previous assistant who turned out to love social media more than getting paid to be an assistant. It was about all she was good for before her inevitable departure.

I hit the search bar, ready to type in Lorelei’s name, but it soon becomes apparent that it’s not necessary.

It’s the only option from my previous searches.

I shake my head at my own patheticness and tap on it, opening up her profile.

Honestly, I wasn’t expecting much, but I’m still disappointed when I discover that she hasn’t posted since a night out with Tatum a few weeks before she started at Callahan Enterprises.

Despite having looked at them all a million times in the past week alone, I scroll through past photos of Lorelei in the hope it’s enough to get my fix when I already know it won’t be.

I pause when I find a photograph of her with her brothers.

She might have given me a little more detail about them, but I still have very little knowledge about her life before Chicago.

Opening the post, I tap on Wilder’s tag and go to his account.

His first post stops me dead in my tracks.

He’s in a hospital bed.

“Shit,” I hiss, sitting up straight, my eyes dropping to the content of the photo that was posted yesterday. “She’s in California. She’s gone home.”

I’m at my front door with my shoes on before I realize I’ve made a decision, and only ten minutes later, I’m in my car and heading toward her apartment again.

I need their address.

Sure, Tate will have it, but she’s made it more than obvious that she won’t be telling me shit about Lorelei’s location.

If I want to find her, then I need to do it alone.

It only takes me five minutes to hack into her iPad to find her contacts, and thankfully, she has Wilder and Hendrix listed with the same address.

And then it takes me another hour to pack a small bag and be at the airport for a flight that leaves in just over thirty minutes.

There is one seat left. An economy seat.

If I hadn’t already told her how I felt, then this should confirm it.

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