Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
Elliot
Absolute fucking chaos.
That’s how my week has been.
Everything that can go wrong has, and I’m already preparing for everything else to go to shit too.
“What do you mean they’re missing?” I growl, staring right at Jonathan.
“I, uh…”
“Elliot,” Peter says. “He already explained himself.”
“Well, it doesn’t make sense.” I pound my fist on the table. “How do blueprints just go missing?”
“Well, sir, there was an issue in the IT department, and we lost some files,” Jim says. “An email went out on Monday.”
“An email?” I glare. “Tons of important paperwork, paperwork that could make or break my company, just goes missing and I get an email?”
My team stares at me like they’re going to flee because I’m about to explode. I just might. This very well could be the straw that breaks the camel’s back.
“Who is the head of the IT department?” I ask when no one says anything.
“That would be Scott Sullivan, sir,” Peter answers. “But he isn’t here today.”
“Good! Tell him not to come back!”
“This isn’t his fault.” Peter shakes his head. “I understand you’re stressed out, but there isn’t anything anyone could have done to prevent this.”
I think on that for a moment, but honestly I don’t care.
“What is the current process for saving files?” I ask, looking around the room. “Well?” I bark when no one answers quickly enough.
“Everything is saved on the computer hard drive and on a cloud,” Jonathan answers.
“Just one?” I ask.
“Yes, sir.” Peter nods.
“Make it three moving forward.”
“That’ll cost—”
“I don’t care what it’ll cost!” I shout, cutting off Peter. “I want this done immediately. I don’t care how it gets done or how much it will cost. Get. It. Done.” I punctuate each word with a slap to the table and then I storm out of the room, loosening my tie as I make my way to my office.
I slam the door once inside and go to my coffee station that now doubles as a bar and pour myself a glass of whiskey.
Staring at it, I decide the bottle is better, so I take it with me to my desk, sit, and take a mouthful.
I hiss as it burns going down, but fix it with another. Then another and another.
This is bullshit. This whole week has been bullshit.
Seraphine hasn’t spoken a word to me. She hasn’t answered my calls or opened her door when I banged on it.
The men at the front desk assure me she is alive, as they’ve seen her coming and going.
I demanded they tell her to call me when they see her.
They say they did but she only laughed at them and kept walking.
Her friend has been there a lot but there haven’t been any men, which gives me a small semblance of comfort. Though, the staff could be lying to me.
I camped outside of her building in my car one night, but she never came out. And everyone I work with has turned into a goddamn imbecile, so if I want to keep my company running, I apparently need to be here every day.
Ian, of all people, made the mistake of asking where Seraphine was on Monday when he noticed she hadn’t been in all day.
I nearly knocked him out. No one has said a word about her since.
It’s almost like she never existed at all.
Only I know that’s bullshit too. I feel her everywhere.
See her everywhere. She is fucking everywhere and there is nothing I can do about it.
She’s upset with me, I understand that, but does she have to be so childish that she can’t talk about it?
I take another swig of whiskey, frowning when nothing comes out. I find the bottle empty. I drop it to the desk and run my hands through my hair, swinging my chair around to face the windows. Typical cloudy Seattle day.
I do nothing for the rest of the afternoon, hardly able to tolerate being in my own skin. When three o’clock hits, I grab my things and barge out my door.
“I’m going home,” I bark at Michelle.
“Of course, sir. Have a good night,” she calls after me.
Good night? That’s laughable.
Once I’m in my car, I don’t head home like I wanted to. Instead, I head toward my favorite bar. The one I found Seraphine in all those weeks ago.
“Afternoon, Mr. Caldwell. What can I get you?” the bartender asks when I take a seat.
It isn’t too busy right now, but the after-work crowd will start piling in around five. It gets really busy around seven. Hopefully I’ll be black out drunk by then.
“Whiskey.”
It’s in front of me in less than a minute.
I grab some bills from my wallet, maybe a couple hundred, and hand it to the bartender. He raises a brow at me, knowing I don’t pay for drinks when I’m here.
“Your tip for the night. Keep ‘em coming.” I down the drink in one go and put the glass down with a loud clack.
He gives me a knowing nod then refills my glass.
We continue this until I don’t know where I am.
“For as long as I’ve known you, this is the last phone call I ever expected to get,” Jack hisses at me as we walk out of the police station.
“Well, surprise,” I mutter, the sun hitting me right in the eyes and blinding me.
Of course, today, of all days, it chooses to be fucking sunny.
We reach Jack’s BMW and he opens the passenger door, gesturing for me to get in. I do, but only because I want to go home and shower, and I don’t want him to yell at me anymore. My fucking head hurts.
Time moves both slowly and quickly, and before I know it, Jack is slamming on the breaks and barking, “Your home. Get out.”
I blink my eyes open, and it takes a moment for everything to come into view. My house is in front of me, but I don’t remember getting here. Jack curses under his breath as he gets out of the car, storms around it and yanks open my door.
“Let’s go. Out.”
With a huff, I get out of the car, swaying on my feet as my stomach rolls and my vision goes dark.
“This is going to be a PR nightmare. You better hope Riley and Stacia answer their phones before this gets out.”
“Yeah, whatever,” I mutter, digging in my pocket for my keys. I find them but it takes way too long to get into my house. Jack is long gone by the time I stumble inside.
Peeling out of my clothes, I make my way up to my room and hop in the shower.
I stay until the hot water makes me nauseous, then turn the water cold to help wake me up.
It doesn’t work, so I get out, pop some aspirin and put on clothes to head downstairs.
There is nothing to eat in the fridge, so I grab a couple bottles of water then go to the couch and lie down.
I order food as I wait. Pizza because I need something greasy.
Pepperoni, sausage, onions, peppers, and extra cheese.
I doze off, only waking up when there’s a knock on my door. Carefully, I make my way to it and give the delivery girl a hefty tip.
“This is a mistake,” she says, holding the hundred dollar bill out to me.
“No, it’s not.”
“But…”
“Just don’t spend it on drugs,” I say, then close the door on her and go back to the couch.
I eat half the pizza, going through a stack of napkins because it’s dripping with grease.
I guzzle a bottle of water, then lay back down and flip through the channels on my TV.
Eventually, I fall asleep again. And that’s how I spend my entire weekend. On the couch, ordering and eating greasy food. When Monday comes, I don’t want to get up. So, I don’t. I stay on my couch, not moving. Until I get a phone call from the manager at Seraphine’s building.