33. Chapter 33
LONDYN
THE CLACK OF COMPUTER KEYS is gentle background music in the quiet office. It's just me and Maria today, along with our boss. My fingers hover over the keyboard as I try to focus on the expense report that's due next week, but my mind keeps wandering off-stage.
It's been four days since Sean and I, well, since the weekend when everything was beautiful and terrifying and perfect and broken.
Four days of avoiding his gaze, along with quick hellos and quicker goodbyes as I slipped in and out of my apartment for work.
Four days of longing for someone I know I can't keep.
Mike returned Tuesday, looking refreshed and happy.
He had hickeys scattered across his neck that were barely hidden under his shirt collar.
When I first noticed, I had to bite back a grin; it's sweet really, all that evidence of his wife's love and their passionate reunion.
It's physical proof that he belongs to someone and someone belongs to him.
But his return also brought plenty of side looks. His eyes are constantly shifting between Sean and me, searching for clues in our body language and in the words we don't say. He knows something has changed. There's an undercurrent flowing between me and Sean that wasn't there when he left.
If only Mike understood how the undercurrent is dragging me down.
I fidget in my chair, adjusting my position for the fifth time in six minutes.
My body feels different since this weekend.
It's more sensitive and 'awake.' Besides just enjoying the intimacy, I experienced the thrill of performing again.
I let someone see me, actually see me, and the rush of it brought new life, like I've finally expelled years of stale air and can breathe again.
All morning, I've been sneaking glances at the security camera mounted in the corner of the office. Sean isn't behind it of course, only the building's security team, but I can't stop myself from fantasizing.
I miss his eyes on me, and I know it's my fault that they're gone.
I lean back in my chair just as Josh saunters in. It's already noon, but sometimes I split my day between home and office. He could've gotten lonely or bored and decided to finish the day here.
Maria waves and I give him a polite smile. Then I pretend to go back to work. My fingers only rest on the keyboard, unmoving, because I'm flashing back to my performances for Sean.
They were fun, but it's not like I can actually go back to performing. The sadness I felt leaving Hollywood six years ago is right back on the surface, and I'm once again weighed down by how much I've lost. The void is now a world-devouring emptiness since I gave myself a taste of that old life.
I'm mourning a career I was forced to walk away from and a passion that defined me.
Soon, I'll be mourning Sean too.
Only two more weeks until this additional month of security is up. Then I'll tell him he needs to go because it's unfair to expect anything else. What can I possibly offer? A relationship where he has to move at a snail's pace? Where sex might suddenly send me into a buried-alive panic attack?
That's not fair to him, and I won't string him along.
I certainly can't have him as my bodyguard if he's not getting paid. He has his own life. A career, plans, dreams that have nothing to do with babysitting a broken actress.
For once, I'm actually praying to be stalked.
I've been at the office every day this week, partly to escape the tension in the apartment and partly because Mike and Sean thought my stalkers might reappear finally.
Mike and Sean are waiting outside right now, scanning the streets for suspicious men in navy baseball caps.
I click the save button on my spreadsheet. If Sean and Mike can find them, figure out what they want, and get evidence of their threat, this will all wrap up nicely before their contracts end.
Movement of someone approaching my cubicle catches my eye, and I tense immediately, my pulse spiking before I glance up.
It's only the new-ish guy, Josh. Tall, lanky, harmless Josh with his perpetually wrinkled shirts and collection of Star Wars ties. Today's tie features tiny Chewbaccas.
"Hey," he says, stopping at a respectful distance from my desk. "Sorry to bug you, but do you have any staples? I ran out and the supply closet is empty."
I exhale slowly, willing my heart rate to settle. It's just Josh. "Sure, no problem." My hand shakes a little from the receding adrenaline as I pull open my drawer to retrieve a box. "Here you go."
"Awesome. Thanks." Josh takes the small box and smiles. "How's the Wilson account? I heard Sandra might be handling the billing from now on."
I nod, giving him a polite smile. Some days he's a little chatty. "Yeah, that's what I heard too. Should make things easier."
"Tell me about it. Last month's invoicing was a nightmare." He tucks the staples into his shirt pocket, right behind the coffee stain. "Well, thanks. Are you going to be in-office for the meeting tomorrow? Or virtual?"
"I'll be here. You?"
He laughs. "Well, I might stay at home. Those meetings are so boring. Getting to wear pajama bottoms helps me deal."
I laugh as Josh walks away. He has a point.
I turn back to my computer. That was interesting. I was tense, yes, but not panicked. Not frozen in place or desperately searching for exits. I was simply participating in a normal workplace conversation with a male coworker and everything was fine.
I guess that's called progress.
I spend the next few hours buried in numbers and it's actually comforting. Expense reports don't trigger flashbacks. Spreadsheets don't care about my past. There's safety in the monotony of bookkeeping that I've come to appreciate, even though it's so different from my true life's calling.
I pull out my phone and glance at the time: 5:00 PM exactly. But I still have some work to finish that's important, so I send Sean a message.
Me: Working late.
His reply is simple and professional.
Sean: Copy that.
No 'beautiful.' No warmth. Just acknowledgement.
I miss the way he called me beautiful and how it made my heart flutter.
Everything about Sean makes my heart flutter, especially that handsome smirk and the restraint in his eyes when he wants to touch me but waits for permission.
Yet… I was the one who pushed that all away because the stakes felt too high.
After three more hours of work, I'm finally at a good stopping point with my deadline. It's now 8:00 PM, and I send Sean another message.
Me: Heading down in five.
It feels good that I got so much work done, but as I take a moment to stretch my shoulders, that bubble of anxiety begins to expand in my chest again. Time to go home, and there's always a vulnerability with transitions. But…
I glance at the clock again. This late in the evening, Lower Manhattan is pretty dead since it's mostly filled with office buildings and nine to five workers.
It's almost a concrete ghost town. There shouldn't be crowds or busy streets, which means less male gazes. That's a small, unexpected relief.
I gather my things, shutting down my computer and tucking my laptop into my large purse. The weather has started to cool since it's nearly fall, so I shrug on a light jacket. My steps toward the elevator are slow as I do my usual scan of my surroundings. The hallway is empty.
I press the elevator button and it's ready for me. The doors slide open with a soft chime. I step inside and hit the button for the lobby. Just as the doors begin to close, a voice calls out.
"Hold up!"
A hand appears between the closing doors, triggering the sensors. The doors slide back open to reveal Josh. He's gulping air and his Chewbacca tie is off-center.
My body tenses automatically, but I manage a small smile as he steps into the elevator beside me. Was he still in the office when I left? I didn't notice him, but he must've been working late too.
"Mind if I ride down with you?" he asks, adjusting his tie.
I glance at the closing doors. I could jam my arm between them and hope I don't get dismembered, but instead, I decide to challenge myself. I hate being alone in elevators with men, but it's only a few minutes. And it's only Josh, who I've known for five months.
I'm going to push through my anxiety. 'Step outside my comfort zone in a controlled way,' as my therapist used to tell me.
"Um, sure," I say, pressing myself against the wall for maximum space.
"Thanks for the staples earlier," he says as the doors fully close. He stuffs his hands in his jacket pockets. "Saved me from having to use paper clips. Ugh."
"No problem." My voice sounds almost natural, the tension gradually easing from my shoulders as Josh stays far away on the other side of the elevator. I'm glad he's doing that.
"Any fun plans tonight?" he asks, checking his watch. "Shit. I didn't even realize the time. I was supposed to make dinner for my girlfriend. Whoops. Guess I'm bringing home apology flowers."
I give him a tiny smile. "Oh, I'm sure she'll forgive you if you also bring home takeout." I'm surprised at how okay this feels, just two coworkers making casual chit-chat on their way out of the office. Nothing at all to worry about. "No plans for me. Just a quiet night in."
"Sometimes those are the best. Sarah and I used to go out almost every night, but lately we're happier staying in. The restaurants can get so crowded."
I nod, actually enjoying this mundane interaction. I smile softly to myself as the elevator display counts down the floors. Five. Four. Three.
Josh shifts suddenly, moving closer in one big side-step, and something hard presses into my side, just below my ribs.
The change is instant: his posture straightens and his friendly smile hardens into a concrete line. His eyes are no longer those of harmless, goofy Josh from work.
His voice is pure male dominance. "Get into the black vehicle outside, Elle. Scream and I shoot you."
I suck in air through my teeth.
He called me Elle. Not Londyn.
Elle.
My body forgets how to function and my mind goes blank.
I lose awareness of everything around me except the pressure of a gun barrel against my ribs.
The weapon is concealed beneath his jacket, pressed firmly enough that I can feel its shape.
The oxygen in my lungs feels borrowed as I exhale tiny, frightened puffs.
And my heart thumps painfully, like it knows it's trapped and has given up fighting.
The elevator slows and descends into what feels like molasses. Time stretches, pulling apart in strange, uneven segments. The soft ping announcing our arrival echoes in my skull, too loud and too far away.
Should I run?
No, he'll shoot me. I just know he will.
The doors open with excruciating slowness, revealing the lobby in bright snapshots: the security desk to the left, the glass entrance doors straight ahead, the polished floor reflecting fluorescent lights in abstract patterns.
Josh. Josh from accounting with his nerdy ties and his green coffee mug that reads "Calm You Shall Keep And Carry On You Must." Josh, who asks about my weekend and complains about the broken vending machine. Josh, who apparently knows my stage name.
How did he slip so completely under my radar?
But Sean and Mike are outside. They'll notice something is wrong. They'll help me. They have to.
They'll stop this.
But what if they don't? What if they're looking the other way, scanning for other threats while I'm being led away at gunpoint?
I try to slip my hand into my purse to get my phone and use the panic button, or at least grab my taser, but Josh grips my elbow, his fingers digging into my skin. The gun remains pressed against my side, hidden from view by his jacket.
"Smile," he hisses. "Look normal."
My face must be failing to comply because his fingers tighten, twisting the skin of my arm. We pass the security desk, and I try to catch the guard's eye, willing him to look up, to notice the terror that must be radiating from me in waves. But he's absorbed in his phone.
"Have a nice day," he mumbles as we pass, not even glancing up.
No!
The glass doors loom ahead. Once we're outside, anything could happen.
My mind races through possibilities as Josh propels me forward.
If I scream now, will the gun go off? Will the bullet tear through my side before anyone can react?
Will Sean get to me in time, or will he just find my body sprawled across the polished lobby floor, bleeding out?
I think, oddly, that Sean would probably kill Josh if that happened. He'd murder my kidnapper in public without hesitation. But I'd be dead. I'd miss the satisfaction of watching that.
My brain is spiraling, mixing dark humor with even darker panic.
The glass lobby doors slide open and suddenly we're outside.
The sidewalk doesn't have the normal crowds, just like I expected, but there are groups of people milling around.
They're all heading home, heading to dinner, heading somewhere that isn't here, where I'm being forced toward a black sedan parked at the curb.
My eyes dart around frantically, searching for a flash of blue hair in the night or Mike's solid frame.
Any sign that my protection is nearby. The groups of people seem to move in triple slow motion, bodies inching along like caterpillars, none of them noticing that I'm being abducted in plain sight.
Please let someone notice. Please.
I can't find any blue hair, which makes me wonder if Sean can even see me. But he and Mike are like ghosts sometimes. They have to be watching from somewhere.
Where are they?
Josh opens the back door of the sedan and shoves me inside, closing it quickly behind me.
As I'm adjusting to this leathery confined space, I realize someone is next to me. I glance over.
And then my reality implodes.
The Director.
The Director is sitting next to me.