Chapter 26
26
COLE
Where the fuck is she ? I’ve been calling Layla’s cell for over an hour now. After I got rid of Christa, I paced around my living room like a caged lion, trying to disperse at least some of the rage I was feeling. How fucking dare she try to pull that shit on me. I immediately called downstairs and ripped a strip off Trevor, who is on duty tonight. He won’t be making that mistake again.
I look at my watch for the umpteenth time. It’s almost ten thirty. Something’s wrong. There’s no way Layla should be this late unless something has happened with Bea. Fuck, I hope the old lady is okay.
I dial Layla’s number again and it goes straight to voicemail. “Baby, it’s me again. I’m starting to worry. Give me a call and let me know you’re okay. Bye.”
As soon as I disconnect, I send off another text.
Me: Layla, what’s going on? I’m worried. Call me?
By eleven o’clock, I can’t take it anymore. I’m slowly going out of my mind as I try to figure out why she hasn’t called or texted, and none of the scenarios I come up with are good.
If Bea was hospitalized, Layla would likely have brought Aria back to her place. She sure as hell would have called to let me know if she was staying there.
What if Aria’s bitch of a mother came back and something happened. She’s a junkie who hates Layla, there’s no telling what she might do.
What if Layla was in a car accident and she’s hurt and can’t call.
Fuck!
I grab my keys. I’m just about to leave to drive over to Bea’s house to see what the fuck is going on when my phone rings.
“Layla.” I answer without looking at my phone.
“Uh, no, this is Trevor. I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Hendrix. Security was just making their rounds and there appears to be a problem with your car.”
“What?”
“Uh, yeah. I’m told there doesn’t appear to be any damage that they can see, but it’s covered in—um—women’s lingerie. I’m just about to go through the video feed to see what happened.”
I see fucking red. Christa . That bitch, I’ll ruin her. “No need, I think I know who’s responsible.” I hang up and storm out the door.
When the elevator doors open to the parking garage, I see one of the security guards standing next to my car, taking photos. What the actual fuck? There are women’s undergarments everywhere. On the roof, the hood, the trunk. They are wrapped around my mirrors, windshield wipers, stuffed into the wheel wells, and there is even a lacy black bra hanging out of the tail pipe.
“Looks like you pissed off someone with extremely good taste in lingerie,” the guard says as he chuckles. “At least it doesn’t look like she did any real damage.”
I step closer. I struggle to draw a breath. My heart feels like it’s going to pound right out of my fucking chest. And my thoughts? They’re balancing on a jagged knife’s edge, somewhere between fear and panic.
I recognize that lingerie, or at least some of it. I pick up a pair of black panties and pull out my phone. I pull up the picture Layla sent me the day I had these delivered. My heart fucking stops—dead. These are the same panties.
The guard’s movements snap me back to my harsh reality. I blink, and focus on dragging air into my reluctant lungs, willing my racing pulse to slow as my survival instincts kick in. “Get me the fucking footage,” I growl. I have no idea what the fuck is going on here, but I’m going to get to the bottom of it right fucking now.
I spend the next ten minutes divesting my car of silk and lace. When that is done, I storm into reception. This is definitely not Trevor’s night. I almost feel sorry for the kid, but fuck it. I’m not in the mood to be forgiving right now.
“Show me the footage, and I want a timestamp to go with that.” The kid pales as he jumps to his feet and ushers me into the security room behind the desk.
“Um…so she came out of the elevator at nine forty-seven. I don’t know how she got in. I didn’t see her come in through the front door. She looks a little deranged, and she doesn’t have any shoes on…” He rambles on as he taps a couple of keys on the computer and the screen comes to life.
Layla stomps out of the elevator and then screeches to a halt as she stares daggers at my car. Just as Trevor said, she looks more than a little deranged. She is wearing the same baggy, oversized sweats she was wearing the night I met her, and her feet are bare. Jesus. What the fuck happened to her?
Then I watch in shock as she dumps the contents of the Agent Provocateur bag onto my car and then proceeds to absolutely lose her shit. By the time she is done, she is sobbing and screaming what looks a lot like Fuck you, over and over again. Then she notices the security camera and bolts back into the elevator.
My eyes dart to Trevor who is shaking his head, trying to figure it all out. “Fast-forward, but keep the footage on the screen.” He does as I ask, and sure enough, about thirty minutes later, Layla emerges from the elevator once more. Only this time, she is fully dressed and is dragging a suitcase behind her. I don’t miss the tears that are still streaming down her face.
“Is that Ms. Bancroft?” Trevor asks. “Um, are you going to want to press charges?”
“It is, and no. Delete the footage and forget you ever saw this. It’s a personal matter. No harm was done.” I bark out the orders as my mind whirls, trying to figure this out.
“Um, I not sure I’m allowed to do that,” Trevor says meekly. “I’ll check with my manager in the morning…”
“Just fucking delete it,” I growl. “I’ll deal with Barry if there’s a problem.” I spread my legs and cross my arms over my chest. I’m not going anywhere until that footage is gone. The kid looks like he’s going to crap his pants, but eventually he does what I ask. When the footage is gone, I reach into my pocket and then hand him a stack of bills. “Thanks, Trevor. I hope this makes up for the shit I’ve put you through this evening.”
He looks at the money in my hand. “That’s not necessary, Mr. Hendrix. I should never have let her…the first one…up. I’m not sure I could have done anything about Ms. Bancroft.”
I drop the bills onto the keyboard in front of him. “Whatever. Just take the money, kid.”
I’m almost back to my apartment when it hits me like a fucking hammer to the head. Christa. She had to have seen or run into Christa somewhere between my door and the lobby. The timing puts them both in the building at the same time.
Fuck!
What did that bitch say to her? And more importantly, where did Layla go? She had a suitcase with her, she could be anywhere. Panic sets in. I have to find her. When I get back inside, I check my phone. Nothing. I dial her again. Voicemail picks up.
“Layla, listen to me. It’s not what you think. Nothing happened. Christa showed up. I didn’t even let her in. I told her to fuck off and slammed the door in her face. Call me. Please.”
I disconnect and crush my phone in my grip as I try to figure out where she might be. It’s almost midnight. I can’t start calling people at this hour. Hopefully she’s just gone to a hotel to escape all this for the night. With any luck, she will have calmed down by tomorrow. Then I can assure her this is all just a horrible misunderstanding, and we can get back on track.
I check my phone for what seems like the millionth time since I went to bed at some time after three. All I see is 5:36 a.m. No missed calls, no text messages. Not that I would have missed them anyway; I haven’t slept a wink since my head hit the pillow.
I pull on a pair of shorts and yank on a t-shirt before shoving my feet into a pair of sneakers. I need to do something to clear my head. Lying here isn’t doing me any good.
The air smells fresh and crisp and a light mist hangs in the air as my feet pound the pavement. The longer I run, the madder I get. My breaths form puffs in the air, reminding me of a fire-breathing dragon, which is exactly what I feel like. I need to figure this out and fast. The only way I’m going to be able to do that is by talking to the last person I want to talk to…Christa. But I’m not sure I can do that without strangling her.
A car horn blares next to me. I manage to dodge the bumper which almost grazes my calf. “Sorry,” I shout as the driver lays on the horn again. “Fuck off,” I growl as I keep running. My legs are burning, and my lungs are shredded by the time I make my way back home.
After a quick shower, I head into the office and get to work on damage control. The first thing I do is call Carmichael Law. I have no doubt Layla is going to refuse my call, but at least I’ll know she is alive and well.
“Carmichael Law, Janey speaking,” a female voice answers. Where the hell is Devon?
“Hello, can you please connect me with Layla Bancroft.”
“I’m sorry, sir. Layla is out of the office, and she won’t be checking her messages.” My anger surges but I tamp it down.
“Can I speak to Devon, please.” I know the guy likes me. If anyone knows where Layla is, he will.
“I’m sorry sir, Devon is also away. I’m Layla’s assistant, can I ask who’s calling?”
“This is Cole Hendrix. Layla’s boyfriend,” I growl. “How about one of her partners, I don’t care which one.”
“Um, I’m sorry, Mr. Hendrix. They are all unavailable for the next few days. They are away for Ms. Devereaux’s wedding in France.” I can hear the question in her voice. If you’re her boyfriend, shouldn’t you know about this. Shouldn’t you be there. Yes, I fucking should.
“Thanks.” I hang up. Now I’m pissed off for a whole different reason. When the fuck was she planning to tell me that she was going to fucking France? Our conversation from the other day comes flooding back.
I need to talk to you about something anyway. Please tell me you are free this weekend?
My schedule is wide open.
Good, keep it that way.
Was she planning to ask me to go with her? Fuck. She’s in fucking France. How can I fix this when she’s in fucking France? Maybe some time apart is good. It will give me a chance to deal with Christa and figure out how to fix this.
No. Time apart is exactly what we don’t need right now. What I need is to find out where the fuck she is.
I’m just about to call Janey back when Chris barges into my office. He freezes when he sees the look on my face. I’m sure it’s fifty fucking shades of red and I look like I’m about to have a heart attack, and that can’t be helped, because I’m pretty sure I might actually be about to have a fucking heart attack.
His face goes from amused to concerned. “What’s going on, Cole?” I drop my phone back onto my desk and run my fingers through my hair in frustration. “Christa is what’s going on.” When I drop my hands and finally meet his eyes. I see confusion.
“The overly friendly blonde with the big tits from the other night?”
“Exactly. She got into my fucking building last night. Showed up at my apartment wearing nothing but basically a smile and a pair of heels.”
He grins.
“It’s not funny, asshole. I told her to fuck off and never come back, and then I slammed the door in her face. I don’t know what she did after that, but less than an hour later, Layla vandalized my car and left the fucking country.”
His eyebrows shoot up to his forehead. “No fucking way. Have you talked to her? Layla, I mean.”
“No. She won’t pick up. I’ve left her voicemails and text messages, but I don’t even know if she’s gotten them. Or maybe she’s blocked me. I have no fucking clue.”
“Okay, so what are you going to do about bitch Barbie? You can’t let her get away with this.”
“I don’t plan to. It’s one thing to fuck with me. But when you fuck with my girl, that crosses a very serious line. I need to find out what she told Layla first, before I can take any steps towards fixing this. Problem is, I doubt she’ll take my call either. I wasn’t exactly nice to her last night.”
I’m not the king of New York by any stretch, but I have a lot of sway in the business world. I can ruin a person like Christa, who makes a pretty good living as an influencer. She’s damn good at it, but she relies on people like me and my associates to get the connections she needs to run her business. She’ll absolutely pay for what she’s done, and I can guarantee, this punishment won’t be nearly as enjoyable as some of the others I’ve given her.
Chris chuckles. “I have an idea that just might work. After you left the other night, she came back to our table. Had a drink with Con and me. She gave us her number.”
I roll my eyes.
“Just hear me out. Neither of us touched her. We both knew there had to be a reason you rejected her, and we weren’t going anywhere near her, but I still have her number. I’ll call her and ask her out, only you’ll be the one meeting her. If you keep your back turned until she’s seated, she won’t even know it’s not me. That’s your in. Then you can get to the bottom of this.”
“Do it,” I growl. When he doesn’t move, I add, “Now.”
“Seriously? It’s eight o’clock in the fucking morning. She’s probably not even up yet.”
“Do I look like I fucking care about Christa’s beauty sleep? I hope she is still sleeping. Make the fucking call.” I turn my back and storm over to the window. I inhale and exhale a couple of times. I need to calm down before I have a stroke or something.
“Hey, Christa, this is Chris Hendrix.” I hear Chris’s smooth voice behind me.
“Yeah, sorry to wake you.” I smirk. So not sorry, bitch.
“So, I’ve been thinking about you since the other night. Would you like to meet up for a drink tonight?”
Chris is silent as he listens to whatever she has to say. Come the fuck on…say yes.
“Great. How about I meet you at Pebble Bar on West Forty-ninth at eight. Great. See you then.” He disconnects just as I turn around. “Done. I’m coming with you.”
“No. You don’t want to witness this.”
“Witness what?” Con asks as he walks in behind Chris.
“That Christa chick from the other night fucked up Cole’s chances with his mystery girl, and now she’s left the country and he can’t get a hold of her to explain. Cole’s out for blood,” Chris answers with a smirk.
“What? The blonde chick? What’d she do?” Con asks Chris as he makes himself comfortable in one of my fucking chairs, completely ignoring me.
“She showed up at Cole’s place last night wearing nothing but a smile. He gave her the boot, and then the rest is sketchy, but not long after, his girl went nuts, took it out on his car and fled the country.” Chris fills him in while I stand back and listen. When did my life become a goddamn soap opera?
Con starts laughing. “What the fuck, man?” He finally looks at me for some clarity. I shrug. “It’s pretty much like he said, except she didn’t really take it out on my car, she just tried to dress it up in all the lingerie I bought her. It was a fucking nightmare to make sure I got every piece. Some of that shit is pretty fucking tiny.”
They both start howling. “Fuck off. Don’t you two have better things to do than butt into my life?”
“Nope,” they both answer at the same time.
“So, what’s the plan?” Con gets serious as he rubs his hands together.
“We’re meeting her at Pebble Bar at eight. She thinks she’s meeting me, but Cole is going to be waiting for her. Then we are going to get some answers.”
“I’m going to be getting some answers,” I correct him.
“I’m coming,” Con says. I roll my eyes. “Look, you might need backup in case she tries to pull some more shady shit or run away. We’ve got your back, man.”
“Yeah, you might need us. We’ll let you handle it, but if things go sideways, we’ll be there in case you need witnesses. All for one and one for all—just like it’s always been,” Chris adds.
What can I say. “Okay, but I’m running the show, got it?” They both nod.