Page 33 of David's Proposal

I remember my mother, so I shove my hand into my pocket, and check my phone.

One unread text message awaits me.

Terry: Let me know when you get home.

I don’t open it, although I should, or she’ll get worried.

On second thought, I'm doing that––reading it––before sending her a message.

Me: On my way. Thank you for the groceries. Talk to you tomorrow.

I press send, and drop my hand next to me, still clutching the phone before the music and the wine make me drift off to sleep.

DAVID

Earlier

“Bad news?”James asks, handing me my drink and walking around his desk before sliding into his chair.

He wears suit pants, a tailored dress shirt, Italian shoes, and a silver tie. His suit jacket is draped over the back of his chair.

My hand is tight around my cell phone as he looks at me, waiting for an answer.

He flicks his finger to my phone.

“Oh… No. Everything’s fine,” I say.

No, it’s fucking not.

I glance at the text message the driver sent me and slide my phone back inside my jacket.

Joel: She wasn’t home. Left the package. Talked to her mother.

“David?”

Elbows propped on his desk and his drink sitting in front of him, James looks at me.

“Yeah… Everything is fine.”

“Is that work–related?” he asks neutrally.

“No. I had my driver deliver a package. It’s someone I know,” I say coldly before bringing my drink to my lips.

The first sip of scotch coats my mouth nicely before rolling down my throat.

I’m still thinking about the driver’s message while James’ stare is trained on my face.

He usually doesn’t put stock into someone’s words.Words are misleading.

Actions, on the other hand, never are.

And I’m acting strangely right now.Honestly, I didn’t expect hernotto be home.

It’s not like it has never been a possibility.

It’s just that I find it strange.

Where is she?

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