Page 66 of When We Break

“I’ll buy you more.”

I shake my head and walk toward the stairs. “I have more up in my bag.”

I’m a mess as I climb the stairs, and I wrinkle my nose at how sticky and dirty I feel. Honestly, I could use another quick shower just to rinse off, so I do that.

And when I emerge from the bathroom in clean clothes and feeling refreshed, Beck is waiting for me with a glass of water.

“I was messy,” I inform him.

“Not sorry,” he replies with a chuckle and kisses my forehead. “Come on, let’s go finish that movie.”

“Or that scene in my book.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “Do you just want me to be permanently inside you all weekend, Irish?”

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.” I bat my eyelashes at him and take a sip of the cool water. “Besides, you know you like the book.”

“Come on, then. Let’s go see what kind of trouble Dom and Val get into.”

ChapterFifteen

LEWIS A.K.A. THE ARSEHOLE

Where is my tiny dancer?

Since I’ve been back in New York City, I’ve discovered that not only did she leave her dance company but she also no longer lives in her apartment.

That’s unacceptable.

That apartment is in the most secure building in the city, and I should know. I bought the fucking building as soon as I met her. I need her to be safe, especially when I’m out of the country for months at a time. What was she thinking, moving without giving me the courtesy of finding a new home for her?

Scratch that. She should be living inmyhome.

Inourhome.

Our bed.

I’ve never had a problem finding her before. An easy Google search usually tells me when her next performance will be, and even what her rehearsal schedule is.

My beautiful girl is a public figure, someone who others admire.

And she’s all mine.

It didn’t bother me when she said she needed to take a step back from us. I know that her career is important to her, and with my own schedule so busy with travel, it made sense to take a break. Of course, I had to go see her before I left the country.

My tiny dancer is gorgeous when she sleeps.

But now, when I google her, I find nothing recent. There’s no mention of her in recent or upcoming performances.

“Where did you go, my love?”

I don’t prefer to ask for help, but it seems this time, I don’t have a choice. I’ll call her former dance partner, Mikhail.

I never liked him. The way he looked at my girl sets my teeth on edge, but he’s her friend, after all, and I have to be tolerant of certain things.

Of course, once she’s truly mine, he’ll be out of the picture.

The phone doesn’t ring or go to voicemail.

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