Page 57 of Sweet Nothings

“Have you heard from her?” I ask.

Olivia’s eyebrows arch across her forehead. “Your wife?”

“Yes, Olivia.” I grind my molars. “My wife.”

“No, sir. I haven’t. Would you like me to call down to her office and let her know you would like to speak with her?”

“Yes.” I place my hands on my hips, my face heating with irritation. Or fear. Fuck, it might be both. “I want you to send her call straight to me, and if she’s in a meeting, leave a message telling her to call me immediately.”

“Of course.” Olivia sits back in her chair and picks up the receiver of her desk phone.

I slam my office door, disappointed to not find Laurel sitting at my desk half naked.

I pull out my phone again and call her. She doesn’t pick up.

Walking over to the far window of my office, I stare out at the city. There are plenty of explanations as to why Laurel might not be answering: meeting with a prospective client, sitting in at a hearing downtown, accident on the way into work.

It’s irrational and stupid. Foolish. My throat starts to swell with every passing second. I loosen the tie around my neck. My hands are clammy, and it feels as if my veins have been injected with liquid heat again. It feels like when I wake up from a nightmare. I haven’t had one since Laurel moved in. I wasn’t sure why, but I hoped maybe my subconscious knew she was there, casting out the nightmare.

Although the panic attack I’m suffering from right now feels the same as when I wake up from a nightmare, my fear multiplies, because this time is different. I’m not asleep or caught in a dream state, imagining the guilt and hopelessness. This is real. I’m aware of every beat of my heart and every breath squeezing through my constricted lungs.

The intercom on my phone beeps, letting me know Olivia would like to speak with me. My legs carry me swiftly across my office, eating up the space between me and my desk.

“Yes, Olivia?”

“I called Mrs. Harding’s office.”

“Okay, does she plan on calling me back?”

“I didn’t speak with her,” Olivia explains. “I spoke with her secretary. He told me Mrs. Harding left for the day about an hour ago.”

“An hour ago?” I ask incredulously. I look up at the clock hanging beside the door to my office. “It’s still morning. Did her secretary say why she left?”

“He said she went home sick. He also said she mentioned on her way out that her driver was taking her home.”

I inhale a deep breath and swallow. “Thank you, Olivia.”

“You’re welcome,” she says, softly. I hear the sympathy in her voice. “By the way, Erik Larsson is waiting for you in the conference room.”

“Great,” I grit out. “Tell him I’ll be there in five minutes.”

I hang up and immediately call Ray.

“Yes, sir,” Ray greets in his usual tone.

“Did you take Laurel home earlier?” I ask, cutting to the chase.

“Um, yes, sir. I did.”

My nostrils flare in anger. “Why didn’t you inform me?”

“I apologize, sir. Mrs. Harding was adamant on going to work this morning, but shortly after, she requested I take her home. I asked her if she wanted me to inform you and she said no considering you were in meetings all day.”

“Is something wrong?” I ask, trying to tone down the panic in my voice.

The beeping of the monitor. Her sad, weary eyes. Her last gasping breath. The single tears sliding down her cold cheek.

I force the sickness down my throat.

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