Chapter 40 - Out of Control
Monday morning, there was no coffee on my desk.
I stopped.
Looked at the empty space beside my keyboard.
Then looked toward Adrian's office.
Dark.
I checked the time.
7:31.
Okay.
He was late.
Which was unusual.
But not impossible.
Actually, it was almost impossible.
Still.
I put my bag down and sat.
Maybe he'd worked late last night again.
He'd done that before.
Stayed up until some completely unreasonable hour working, then showed up late the next morning with my coffee and the deeply offensive expectation that I should be grateful he'd arrived at all.
I opened my laptop.
Answered an email.
Checked the time.
7:39.
Looked toward his office.
Still dark.
I answered another email.
7:46.
Dark.
"Are you waiting for something?"
I looked up.
Maya was standing beside my desk.
"No."
She looked at me.
Then at Adrian's office.
Then at the empty space beside my keyboard.
"Your coffee?"
"No."
"You've looked at his office six times."
"I have not."
"Seven."
"I was looking at the clock."
"The clock is the other direction."
I looked at her.
"Do you have work?"
"Probably."
"Go find it."
She smiled and walked away.
I looked at the clock again.
7:51.
Where the hell was he?
I picked up my phone.
Put it down.
No.
He was fourteen minutes later than usual.
Normal people were fourteen minutes late sometimes.
Adrian Vale was apparently not normal people, but that wasn't the point.
I opened a drawing.
Looked at absolutely none of it.
7:56.
I looked toward his office again.
Dark.
Something uncomfortable started moving through my stomach.
Friday night, he'd been fine.
More than fine.
Annoyingly fine.
Insanely handsome vampire fine.
I immediately stopped that thought.
7:58.
I picked up my phone.
Called him.
It rang.
And rang.
And rang.
Voicemail.
I frowned.
Adrian always answered my calls.
Almost always.
I opened our messages.
Sent.
I stared at the screen.
Nothing.
Eight o'clock came.
His office stayed dark.
8:03.
Nothing.
8:07.
Nothing.
I called again.
Voicemail.
Okay.
Now I was worried.
"Angel?"
I looked up.
Maya wasn't smiling anymore.
"He's not answering."
"Adrian?"
I nodded.
Her eyes went toward his office.
"Maybe he took the day off."
"Without telling anyone?"
"He owns the company. Technically I think he's allowed."
"He would've told me."
The words came out before I thought about them.
Maya looked at me.
I ignored that.
"Or maybe he had somewhere to be," she said. "A meeting. A site. Something."
Possible.
Completely possible.
Except-
"He would've told me."
This time I heard it.
So did Maya.
Neither of us commented.
Nearby, Emma had stopped looking at her screen.
She was looking at me.
I turned away.
Maybe Maya was right.
Maybe Adrian had a meeting.
Maybe something had come up.
Maybe he had decided to take Monday off.
Maybe-
My phone stayed silent.
No.
Something was wrong.
I stood.
"Where are you going?" Maya asked.
"Claire."
Claire was in her office when I got there.
She looked up from her computer.
"Morning."
"Have you heard from Adrian?"
Her eyebrows pulled together.
"Today?"
"Yes."
"No."
My stomach dropped a little further.
"He didn't tell you he wasn't coming in?"
"No." She glanced toward the clock. "He's not here?"
"No."
That got her attention.
I pulled out my phone again.
Nothing.
"I called twice. I texted him."
"Maybe he's driving."
"Maybe."
I didn't believe it.
Claire studied my face.
I already knew what I was going to do.
"I'm heading out for an hour."
Claire's expression changed slightly.
Not surprise.
Understanding.
"Okay."
I turned toward the door.
"And Angelica?"
I looked back.
"Yes?"
"Let me know when you find him."
I nodded.
She knew exactly where I was going.
Of course she did.
Apparently everybody knew everything about my life now.
I grabbed my bag.
Maya intercepted me halfway to the elevator.
"Where are you going?"
"I'll be back."
"That wasn't my question."
"I know."
Her eyes searched my face.
Then she glanced toward Emma.
Emma was pretending very badly not to watch us.
Maya looked back at me.
"Text me."
"I will."
The elevator doors opened.
I stepped inside.
By the time they closed, I was already pulling up Adrian's address.
As though I needed it.
I knew exactly where I was going.
I knocked.
Nothing.
I knocked again.
Still nothing.
I waited a few seconds.
Then knocked harder.
Nothing.
My stomach tightened.
I pressed the doorbell.
Once.
Waited.
Nothing.
I pressed it again.
And waited.
For several seconds, nothing happened.
Then-
movement.
Slow.
A lock turned.
Another.
The door opened approximately six inches.
And Adrian appeared.
Every bit of irritation I'd brought with me disappeared.
"Oh my God."
He looked awful.
His hair was a complete mess.
Not the slightly disordered version that somehow made him look better.
Actually messy.
His face was pale.
The stubble he usually kept controlled had grown noticeably heavier, like shaving hadn't even occurred to him for the last couple of days.
His eyes were red.
Glassy.
Tired.
Barely focused.
He stared at me.
"What are you doing here?"
His voice was rough.
Very rough.
"You're sick."
Astounding observation, Angelica.
Adrian closed his eyes for a second.
"Go to work."
I stared at him.
"What?"
"Go back to work."
He started closing the door.
I put my hand against it.
"No."
"Angelica."
"Open the door."
"No."
"You look like you're dying."
"I'm not."
"You look terrible."
"Thank you."
There he was.
Apparently illness couldn't kill sarcasm.
"Move."
"No."
"Adrian."
"Go to work."
"You didn't come to work."
"I noticed."
"You didn't call."
"I was sleeping."
"You didn't answer your phone."
"I was sleeping."
"You didn't answer my text."
His eyes closed again.
"I was sleeping."
Okay.
Reasonable.
Still not leaving.
I pushed gently against the door.
He resisted.
"Angelica."
"Move."
"No."
"Move."
"You have work."
"So do you."
"I'm sick."
"Exactly."
Something shifted in his expression.
Probably the realization that he'd walked directly into that one.
I pushed again.
This time the door moved.
Not because I had suddenly developed superhuman strength.
Because Adrian stepped backward-
and immediately reached for the wall.
My heart dropped.
"Hey."
I was through the door before he could object.
His hand flattened against the wall.
His eyes closed.
"Adrian?"
"I'm fine."
"No, you're fucking not."
"I'm-"
He coughed.
Hard.
Once.
Again.
Then again.
His body folded slightly with it.
I grabbed his arm.
"Okay. Sit down."
"No."
"Adrian."
"I'm fine."
"You are currently using your wall for structural support."
He opened his eyes.
"I was standing."
"Very impressively."
"Go to work."
"No."
"Angelica."
"No."
His eyes narrowed.
Even sick, apparently that still worked.
Unfortunately for him, I'd spent months developing immunity.
"Sit."
"No."
"Sit down."
"I don't need-"
He swayed.
My irritation disappeared.
"Adrian."
I caught him properly this time, one arm going around his waist.
His weight came against me.
A lot more of it than I was prepared for.
"Oh, God."
"I can walk."
"Then WALK."
For one tiny second-
I swear his mouth moved.
Asshole.
I got him to the couch.
"Stay."
He looked up at me.
"I live here."
"Great. Then you should be able to follow instructions."
I put my hand against his forehead.
He was burning.
Adrian's eyes closed at the contact.
And for some reason, that scared me more than everything else.
He didn't complain.
Didn't move my hand.
Didn't tell me he was fine.
He just sat there with his eyes closed while my palm rested against his forehead.
"Do you have a thermometer?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
He took a second to answer.
"Kitchen. Cabinet beside the refrigerator."
"Medicine?"
"Same place."
"When did you last eat?"
Silence.
I removed my hand.
"Adrian."
"I'm not hungry."
"That wasn't my question."
His eyes opened.
He looked at me.
I stared back.
Something almost familiar passed between us.
Apparently he recognized his own bullshit when someone used it against him.
"When?"
"Yesterday."
"What did you eat?"
Another silence.
Oh, for fuck's sake.
"Stay here."
"I wasn't planning a marathon."
"Good."
I went looking for the thermometer.
103.2.
I stared at it.
Then at Adrian.
"No."
He was lying on the couch now, one arm over his eyes.
"No what?"
"No to this."
"Very scientific."
"You have a fever of 103.2."
"I know what a fever is."
"Congratulations."
I found fever reducer in the cabinet, brought him water, and stood over him until he took it.
Then I went into his kitchen.
Opened the refrigerator.
Not empty.
Of course not.
There was actual food.
Unfortunately, none of it looked like something I wanted to force into a man with a 103-degree fever.
I opened another cabinet.
Rice.
Good.
I could work with that.
My phone rang.
Claire.
I answered immediately.
"Hey."
"Did you find him?"
I looked toward the living room.
"Yes."
"And?"
"He's sick."
"How sick?"
"Pretty sick. Fever. He looks awful."
"Does he need a doctor?"
"I don't know yet. I'm keeping an eye on him."
There was a brief pause.
"Okay."
"I'm taking the day off."
"Of course."
"I mean it. I'm not coming back today."
"I understood you the first time."
I leaned against the counter.
"And, Claire?"
"Yes?"
"Don't tell everyone where I am."
A pause.
Then-
"I wasn't going to."
"Thank you."
"Take care of him."
"I will."
I hung up.
Approximately forty seconds later, my phone rang again.
Maya.
Of course.
I answered.
"Hi."
"Where are you?"
"Hello to you too."
"Did you find him?"
I looked toward the couch again.
Adrian hadn't moved.
"Yes."
"And?"
"He's sick."
"How sick?"
"Actually sick."
"Oh."
Maya's voice changed immediately.
"Is he okay?"