31. “What Else Is There?” - Röyksopp #2
“Meaning you can’t get into it?”
“Meaning I’m not supposed to be able to get into it,” she corrects.
“Oh, god.” I rest my forehead on my crossed arms. “You’re doing illegal things again, aren’t you?”
“It’s not illegal until I gain access to their servers.”
I squeeze the bridge of my nose. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that you fully anticipate doing that at some point.”
A malicious grin creeps over Maisie’s face, the screen casting it in a blueish glow. “That would be correct.”
“Lord save us all. If this hits the press—”
“Don’t worry,” she says. Her fingers haven’t missed a beat yet. “I know how to cover my tracks.”
“It’s the fact that you’re leaving tracks that worries me.” I unlock my phone, but there is no text from Henry yet.
“Hey,” she says, “you want to know, don’t you?”
“Yes, I definitely do.” And I might know of a better way to get that information too, one that doesn’t require illegal means. I pull up Henry’s contact listing on my phone and press the call button.
“What are you doing?” Maisie’s fingers halt on the keyboard. There’s panic lacing her voice.
“Relax,” I say. “I’m just going to ask Henry where the money comes from. That way, I’ll save your keyboard from burning up and you from going to jail again.”
“Oh my god, please don’t let me go back there.” She clasps her hands in front of her. “It was so dirty and smelly. No amount of antiseptic could have made it tolerable.”
“You’re not going to jail, Maisie.” I point to my phone, which is still ringing. “Hello, whole point?”
She sighs dramatically and leans back in her chair. “I don’t think I could survive another prison stint. The first one almost did me in.”
I’m about to fire back another retort, but Henry’s voicemail kicks in.
“Hey, it’s Henry. I’m probably too busy having fun to answer, but drop your info, and I’ll get back to you.
Maybe.” I can practically hear him winking through the line.
He better not be out having fun, or we will be having words when I finally get ahold of him.
“Hey, it’s me,” I say when the beep indicates the start of the recording.
“Maisie and I are going through those financial papers, and I have some questions about WJCS Enterprise. I thought it might be faster to just ask you. It’s not a big deal”—Maisie’s horrified look says otherwise—“so just get back to me when you can. Talk soon. Bye.” I end the call, already regretting my decision to not say “I love you.”
“So I should keep working?” she asks.
“Yeah, at least until he calls me back.”
Which shouldn’t take long. He didn’t say he wouldn’t be reachable. He would have told me if he’d be in meetings all day and unable to talk.
Images of him in the back of an ambulance flash through my mind. God, please let him be all right. He has to be okay. He probably just walked away from his phone for a bit and missed my call and text message.
It’s nothing to worry about.
Seven hours later, “not worried” isn’t how I would describe myself. I pace the living room and check my phone for what must be the thousandth time this hour. I’ve called Henry repeatedly since that first call and sent him a handful of messages, and all of them have gone unacknowledged.
Maisie left the suite hours ago. She still hadn’t managed to track down the source of WJCS Enterprise’s profits but decided that her own suite would be more conducive to her search than being around my apparent “lack of common sense and ability to sit still.”
There’s a brisk knock on the door, and my heart jumps into my throat. But when it opens, it’s only a smiling woman in a server’s uniform. “I’ve got your dinner ready. Would you like for me to set it up over there?” She gestures to the dining table.
My heart takes a high dive back down to my toes. Henry’s not here, but hey, at least the dinner he ordered is. I smile at her and nod. “That would be wonderful. Thank you.”
She sets up an exquisite meal, complete with a bottle of DRC La Tache Grand Cru and a cream puff tower drizzled in chocolate sauce. “There you are,” she says, wiping her hands on her apron.
After I thank her, she leaves me with my dinner for two. The only thing missing is my companion. I snap a picture of the spread and send it to Henry.
Me: Good thing I’m hungry.
It’s nothing but a bald-faced lie. I couldn’t eat if you bribed me with cookie-dough-stuffed cookies. This entire meal is going to go to waste, unless by some miracle Henry walks through those doors in the next few minutes with a ravenous appetite.
No longer to my surprise, he doesn’t. Not that hour, the next, or the next. I’ve fallen asleep on the sofa when the buzzing of my phone wakes me up. It’s been attached to my side all day long, something that hasn’t ever happened before.
I unlock the screen, then flinch when the light hits my eyes.
Henry: I’m so sorry, babe. I’ve been swamped all day. I love you, and I’ll see you tomorrow. xx
That’s it. No explanation, aside from a vague “swamped.” No mention of my nearly nude selfie. I check the time. It’s just after midnight. He waited fifteen hours to reply to my first message.
I fall asleep wondering if I’m the biggest idiot in the world.