Chapter 50
DEXTER
The bed is warm, too comfortable to move. I stretch, one hand reaching for her. I’m still half-asleep, already planning what I’ll say. Maybe slip in a few sleepy kisses, before checking her flight time, making sure there are no delays, and letting her know that—
My hand finds nothing but cool sheets.
I blink, still halfway in that dream, but her side of the bed is cold. Empty.
Her name slips out automatically. “Holly?”
No answer. I sit up fast, grab my phone and check the time. 8:09 a.m. My throat goes dry. That’s when I see her messages, and my mouth turns to ash.
“Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.”
I dial her number.
The call doesn’t go through. Bad reception at the airport, probably.
I scramble to get out of bed, already pulling on clothes and grabbing my keys. I’d meant to stay awake, and to take her myself. Somehow, I fell asleep. I trusted she’d wake me—but not like this. Not with a goddamn flood of airport texts.
I bolt out the door, everything I need for the presentation in my grip, tie and jacket hooked over one arm to throw on later. Something at my feet stops me.
There’s a note on my doormat.
I crouch, pick it up. Her messy scrawl is staring back at me.
Didn’t want to wake you.
Kenzie is picking me up.
You’ve got a big day. Go win it!
–Holly
I jam the note into my pocket next to the envelope I have to give her and hit the stairs. I’m in too much of a hurry to wait for the elevator.
A Yellow Cab skids to the curb the second my hand goes up. The driver barely has time to register me before I’m in the back seat, door slamming shut. I bark out directions, and let him do what he does best. The sun is on its way up and traffic thickens by the second.
Only one thing matters now. Getting to JFK before she boards that plane.
Traffic locks up just shy of the terminal, close enough to see it. Horns are blaring, and we’re barely creeping. Shit. I should have taken my bike. I pass cash forward, open the door before the cab fully stops, and then I’m out, running.
I’m almost there when my phone rings. No caller ID.
I answer without slowing. “Holly? What the fuck?”
“Nope, sorry, boss, just meself,” Keith says. “It’s five past nine. Where are ya? Mitch Underwood is already here, brought the whole bloody Macro crowd with him. They’re not messin’ about. Everyone’s settin’ up in the Swan conference room. What’s your ETA?”
“I’m not headed to Swan.” My breath comes hard as I run.
“What do ya mean?”
“I’m almost at the terminal.”
A pause. “You’re tryin’ to stop her?”
“I can’t let her get on that plane, Keith. Not like this.”
“Her flight’s at nine-thirty, yeah? She’s already through security. I don’t think you’re gonna make it, me lad.”
“I have to try.”
“Now I’ve seen everythin’. You’ve never once changed your work schedule for a woman. This is it then. The mighty Dexter Thorne, finally met his match. Hell’s frozen over.”
“Not now, Keith. We’ll talk later.”
I end the call before he can say anything else.
By the time I reach the terminal, I’m sweating, heart pounding, lungs screaming.
“Excuse me. Excuse me.” Breathing heavy, I shove through the crowd, and check the board. Her flight is already boarding.
I push forward anyway, refusing to believe I’ve lost her.
People are everywhere, in the way, slowing me down, and I shove past without apologizing. Straight into the hard stop of security: No ticket, no entry.
My shoulders drop.
Goddamnit.
I move away from security and stop at the glass. Out there, a plane is already moving. Already taxiing down the runway, gathering speed.
She’s gone.
I stand there, breathless, hand pressed to the window, watching her flight disappear into the sky. I don’t move until it’s a speck, swallowed by clouds.
When it’s out of sight, I sit down on a bench behind me, jaw locked, chest hollow, my eyes stuck on nothing but clouds. That envelope is still in my pocket, folded, creased, and digging into my ribs.
My chest aches. It feels tight, compressed. My ribs don’t have room to move. Maybe it’s a heart attack. I try to breathe, in, out, in, out. Doesn’t change a damn thing.
My phone buzzes again.
I answer without thinking. “Yeah.”
“Did ya stop her?” Keith asks.
“No.” My voice is flat. “She’s gone.”
“Ah, Jesus. I’m sorry, man.”
I nod, even though he can’t see it.
“I know it’s a crap moment, but… we need ya here,” Keith urges. “Macro’s still goin’. They came loaded.”
I barely register what he’s saying. I’m still staring after her.
“Dexter? Ya still there?” Keith’s voice sharpens, more anxious now.
What the hell am I doing? I snap back.
“Yeah.”
I check the time. 9:37 a.m. Our pitch slot is at 10:30, after Macro’s.
“Swan hasn’t made a call yet,” Keith presses.
“Reed’s ready. I’m ready. But without ya?
You’re the one who reads and shifts the room.
You walk in, they’ll tip. This isn’t about charts or talkin’ points.
It’s about who they trust to lead the damn thing.
Swan’s not goin’ to sign unless you’re in that room. ”
If I leave now, I’ll walk in just in time. But if I don’t, we lose this.
I close my eyes.
She’s the only thing that matters. The only thing that’s ever really mattered.
And she told me to go win it.
All right, then. Watch me.