Page 18 of A Bossy Proposal

Tomorrow is another day.

And tomorrow I will have a fresh new start.

Chapter 7

West

The sound of my phone ringing pierces through the darkness of my bedroom, jolting me awake. I fumble for it on the nightstand, squinting at the bright screen. It’s the office security.

What the hell?

“Hello?” My voice is thick with sleep.

“Mr. Davenport, the silent alarm was triggered at the office.” The guard’s voice is tense.

I sit up, rubbing my eyes. “And you’re calling me because...?”

“We tried your brother first, but he has been drinking. He told us to call you.”

I groan. Of course he did. “Did you call the police?”

“No, your brother specifically said you needed to go.”

Realization dawns on me.The files.The ones that could bring our father down. Some of them are in my office. East knows it.

Is someone trying to get their hands on them?

I throw off the covers, already reaching for a T-shirt and sweatpants. “I’m on my way.”

As I rush to dress, I curse my brother.

He is usually the one in control, the one getting the late-night calls. But now, when it matters most, he’s too drunk to deal with it.

I grab my car keys and head for the door, my mind racing. Who could be after those files? And what will happen if they find them?

My car, a sleek, black Aston Martin, purrs to life as I start the engine.

Time is crucial and I don’t have the time to be gentle as I slam my foot to the floor. The engine roars as I speed from my home towards the office.

My heart hammers against my ribs. Its frantic drumbeat is the opposite of the smooth hum of the engine.

When I pull into my space in the underground garage, the security guard comes to meet me at the car. His face is pale in the harsh fluorescent light.

“Mr. Davenport,” he breathes. His eyes narrow against the bright light. “I’ve been to the room and…” He swallows.

I slam the car door. “Tell me.”

I barely remember riding the elevator up to the top level. And now, as I approach my office, my heart pounds in my ears.

If the guard is correct, the person is still inside.

He lifts his gun as he pushes the door open with no sound. And I brace myself for what I might find inside.

He steps one foot and the other, with his gun held high. I follow him, but it appears the office is empty.

My desk is tidy.

The filing cabinets closed.

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