Page 93 of Promise Me Forever

Ireally need to get a new secretary. The current temp is driving me nuts. It’s not only that she isn’t Amelia—that’s hardly her fault—it’s that she’s fucking terrible at her job. She’s constantly messing up my schedule, she can’t spell for shit, and she can’t even work the stupid espresso machine. I told her I didn’t want to be disturbed today, but here she is, knocking on the door and walking in anyway.

“Miss Daniels, what part of ‘do not disturb’ are you struggling with?”

I’m being a dick, and I know I am. The poor woman looks terrified. I take a deep, calming breath and try again. “Miss Daniels, is there a problem?”

“There is, sir, yes. I have a man outside to see you. He’s very insistent, and he seems very upset, and… and I don’t know how to make him go away.”

I can’t help thinking that Amelia would have known. I nod curtly. “I see. And what would his name be, this insistent guest?”

“Oh! Yes, right—that would be Chad. Chad Poindexter. He said to tell you it was about Amelia? Isn’t that your former secretary? The one who left?”

Bristling, I manage to keep my face neutral. She hasn’t damn well left, at least not officially. And what the fuck is Chad doing here? Are they back together? If he’s come to gloat, he might find that he leaves my office through my eighteenth-floor window.

“Show him through, Miss Daniels.”

She sags with relief, and I straighten my tie as Chad walks into my office. He looks disheveled and distressed, but he still takes in the large room, the expensive furnishings, the stunning view. If I had to guess, this is exactly the kind of office he wants for himself. I wonder if he knows I’d give it all up in a heartbeat if it meant getting Amelia back.

“Chad,” I say coldly. “What can I do for you?”

As he gets closer, I see more clearly exactly how bad he looks. There’s a wild cast in his eyes, his jacket is badly creased, and he smells of stale sweat. Much as I can’t stand the man, he’s typically well-groomed.

“I need your help,” he says simply, dragging his hands through his hair.

“And why, exactly, would I be willing to help you, Chad?”

He meets my eyes, and his face crumples. “Because they’ve taken Amelia.”

I jump to my feet, sending my chair spinning away behind me, and close the distance between us. I grab him around the throat and force him back to the wall, holding him up against it as he whimpers and slaps at my hand. “What the fuck are you talking about?” I snarl. “Who’s taken Amelia?”

I realize he can’t talk and snatch away my fingers. He slides down the wall but manages to stay on his feet, rubbing at his neck and glaring at me. “A guy named Declan Boyle and someone else he works with. His cousin, I think. They have her, and they want half a million dollars to get her back.”

I step away from him as my brain kicks in. They want half a million. That means she’s still alive and their motive is strictlyfinancial. And that’s good news because fuck knows money means nothing to me compared to my girl.

“How long have they had her?”

“Uh, a little over a day.”

“How long is a little over a day, Chad?” My tone is dripping with venom.

He checks his watch. “Twenty-six hours.”

Twenty-six hours. Twenty-six fucking hours? My fury threatens to swallow me whole, but I push it down. Killing Chad won’t do Amelia any good right now. I don’t ask why he took so long to come to me for help. I already know—pride. He was too arrogant to admit he needed me, and because of his ego, she’s been alone and suffering God knows what for twenty-six fucking hours.

I stride back over to my desk, and he limps behind me, still caressing his throat, the fucking coward. Sitting down, I rub the bridge of my nose. “Sit the fuck down,” I command, and he slumps into the chair opposite me. His tan face, fake white smile, and flashy shoes tell a story of success that he doesn’t come close to living up to. “Now tell me what the fuck is going on. Leave nothing out. And I warn you, do not mess with me right now or I will kill you. That is not a bluff or a threat—it’s a statement of fact.”

Whatever he sees in my eyes makes him gulp, and he nods. “Yeah, okay. You know I run an investment firm? We specialize in finding innovative new start-ups across the States, businesses run by the brightest and the best who?—”

“Chad,” I interrupt, exasperated by this dickwad’s ego. “Do I look like I’m in the mood for a sales pitch? I don’t give a damn about your shitty company.” I slam my fist down on my desk so hard he jumps. “I only care about Amelia.”

“I took their money, and they want it back,” he says, the words all running together. “She’s collateral.”

“You took their money as in stole it?”

“No! Of course not. They invested it. But, as I’m sure you know and as I tell all my clients, investments can go down as well as up and?—”

“Spare me. How quickly did this Boyle guy’s investment go down?”

Chad glances past me at the window, his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath his collar. “Um, well, there were adverse conditions and the market was volatile and?—”

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