Page 23 of Taste Of You

A sudden huff from beside me pulls my attention away from the gin bottles. Ana is there and so is Jessica, and they are both wearing matching angry expressions.

“What?” I hiss out, not liking the looks they give me. “Something wrong?”

“I’m disappointed, Jet.” Ana shakes her head, pursing her lips. “Had I known you would hurt her, I would never have pushed.”

“Watch it. I’m not in the mood for another sermon.” And I’m not. Ever since that night, she’s been on my case. They both have.

A dirty look. Muttering under their breaths as I pass by. Even Ben is mad at me.

It’s almost as if the fuckers forget they work for me.

“I don’t care,” Jessica interjects. Her tone holds just a hint of anger, but her eyes, those hazel orbs, look at me with pity. She knows that her words hurt me. “You didn’t see her rush out with tears in her eyes. The way she hunched her shoulders—withdrew into herself while hiding from you. That girl left heartbroken, Jet. Camille isn’t coming back.”

“She has to.” That sounds weak even to me.

“No, she doesn’t. I’m sorry, but I think you lost her.” Ana steps closer and pushes my vibrating phone within my line of sight. Millie’s name is flashing across the screen. I’m almost afraid to look. “You aren’t ready for her, boss. Leave her alone to move on. Let someone who sees her with loving eyes come in and sweep her off her feet.”

The fuck I will.

“Watch the bar. It’s slow tonight, but if it picks up, call someone to come in.” Dropping my tablet on the counter, I hit save and leave it for later. “I’m out. Call me only if the place begins to burn. I have a girl to see.”

The phone beeps, and I swipe a finger across my screen. Just as I thought.

Busy. I’ll let you know if I can come in tomorrow. ~Millie

I ignore their matching grins as I head to the back, grab my keys, and walk out. If their goal is to push, then they succeeded. Just the thought of my Millie with someone else while they try to win her over boils my blood.

Burns me. Causes my heart to clench as every muscle in my body coils in preparation—I’m now in motherfucking attack mode.

She’s mine. Even if she’s angry with me and hurt, I own her. Will make it up to her.

I’ll fix this. Us.

Within minutes, I’m at her building and punching in the code she used last time.

Is it creepy that I made it my mission to memorize it? Probably?

Do I care? Not one bit.

I take the stairs two at a time, foregoing the elevator, and I am at her door within minutes. Her floor seems empty, not a sound coming from inside the four units. My ear presses to her door and nothing, not so much as the faint sound of a television, telling me she’s in.

Loudly, I knock on her door hoping she’s just asleep and hears me. “Millie, open up. We need to talk,” I call out, my fist banging on the wooden structure. “Come on, babe. Let me in.”

Nothing. Not so much as a peep.

I knock again and a door opens, just not the one I am expecting. A man pops his head out—he’s older, probably around his sixties, and wears an annoyed expression. He looks me up and down, assessing me before nodding to himself.

“She’s not here. Left early yesterday and hasn’t come back.” Somewhere behind him is a feminine voice yelling for him to hurry up and come back. “Little one fell, and she went to the hospital. Hopefully it’s nothing serious and she comes back soon.”

Hospital? Fell?

My chest feels tight and my hands clench. Fear seeps deep into my bones.

Why wouldn’t she tell me? Does she hate me so much that she can’t reach out to me?

Let me be there for her? Care for her?

Mount Sinai isn’t too far from here, and she must be there. In my head, I am already calculating the fastest route to her by car, and what part of the hospital she could be in.

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