Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 88501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
“I’ll think of a way to talk to him about it.”
Even if I had to tie him down and threaten him with sexy torture, I would get the truth out of him at last.
18
PIERCE SUTTON
Something was wrong.
I hadn’t heard anything from Simon since Wednesday night, after he’d returned home from the office party. When my parents flew to Boston on Thursday, I’d thought to text Simon and tell him that he was now off the hook, but that had struck me as an insensitive dick move considering how determined he was that we actually date. So, in the end, I’d sent nothing.
On Friday, I’d gotten up the courage to text him, wanting to schedule a time to have drinks and dinner. We could talk like adults. I could convince him that we didn’t have a romantic future together.
Except he wasn’t answering my texts or calls. By late afternoon on Saturday, all my texts had gone unread, and now all my calls were going straight to voicemail. I’d called Rome and asked if he’d talked to Simon recently, and he’d admitted to seeing him on Thursday. Everything had seemed fine to him. I hadn’t wanted to press it on Saturday. It was Valentine’s Day, and it felt stupid to step on that obvious land mine. Demanding to see or talk to him that day might have given him the wrong impression and gotten his hopes up.
He hadn’t performed with the orchestra over the weekend, but I’d learned from another member of the orchestra that Simon had been scheduled to have this performance off so he had time to work on his concerto.
It was now Monday, and I’d heard nothing from him, despite my efforts. I couldn’t stand by for another second. There was no way he would do something drastic, but I couldn’t relax until I saw him with my own eyes. After lunch, I had Marie clear off my schedule yet again, and I drove straight to Simon’s condo. If he refused to let me in, I planned to call the police and demand they conduct a welfare check.
Thankfully, it didn’t come to that. After less than a minute of pounding on the door, it cracked partially open to reveal Simon in a ratty, oversized T-shirt. His hair was a greasy mess, and his face was frighteningly pale, with dark circles under his eyes, which made them look even bigger than normal.
“Pierce? What are you doing here?” he demanded, his voice rough as if he were sick.
“I’ve been trying to reach you for days, but you haven’t returned any of my calls or texts. What the hell is going on?”
“Huh? Oh…nothing. I’m working.” He paused and blinked against the rare show of sunlight breaking through the near-constant gray skies that blanketed the city. “What day is it?”
“Monday.”
He grunted, but I couldn’t tell if the information surprised him. He slowly turned his gaze to me. “Was there something else you wanted?”
For a breath, I could only stare at him in shock. After weeks of clinging to me and doing anything to get my attention, he was ready to toss me aside. None of this was making any sense.
“Yes,” I hissed at him, placing my hand on the door to keep it open. “What’s going on? Are you sick? You look like death warmed over. I’m coming in.”
That got Simon to wake up quickly. Life sparked in his eyes, and he straightened from his slouch. “No! You can’t! I’m fine. I’m just working. Go away.” He shoved on the door with both hands to shut me out, but he didn’t have a chance. I was bigger and stronger than he was. Nothing was keeping me from going into that house.
Putting my shoulder against the wood, I pushed with all I had, forcing Simon back. His sock-covered feet slid across the floor, and he had no choice but to retreat, allowing me to pass. Otherwise, I was willing to chuck him over my shoulder as I strode inside.
This was my first time in his house, and I was not prepared for it.
The condo was a rental with wood floors, tall windows, and white walls. There were no furnishings. None had been provided when Simon moved in, and he’d never added any.
In what I guessed was the living room, I found a twin-sized mattress on the floor and a twisted mound of blankets as though he’d built himself a nest. Scattered around the floor were music sheets with notes scribbled on them, along with two violins, a flute, and even a small keyboard balanced on some books.
And the walls were covered from floor to ceiling with acoustic foam. Windows, walls, everywhere I looked, there was foam used to dampen outside noises.
This made no sense. The condo had no place for him to rest and relax. There was only work as far as the eye could see. Even as he slept at night, his violin and sheet music were at his fingertips. How was he living like this and none of us knew it?