Dare Me(43)

I chuckle. She’s feisty, which is why I like her. She gets shit done, which is why I keep her employed. “Fine. Let’s do it.” I nod toward my office. After I take a seat at my conference table, Joyce follows me in with her notebook and folder. We very quickly decide on the invitation, the catering menu, and the open bar. I trust her to make these decisions on her own, but she’s more comfortable believing that I’ve made the decisions, so I let her tell me what she thinks, and I agree with her. It’s how we work.

Fifteen minutes later, she smiles, satisfied with my answers, and proceeds to leave. As she reaches my office door, she quickly turns around. “Oh, Mr. Hamilton, I forgot to tell you. Mr. Perez would like you to call him; something about his meeting with Ms. Phillips last week.” She raises her eyebrows and offers me a concerned look before exiting and closing my office door behind her.

I stifle a groan. Mr. Perez is the neediest of all our clients, which is why I assigned Saige to his account. His desires and the level of attention he needs are beyond what I would call normal, and Saige is the only one I know who would make him happy. Annoyed, I make a note to call him later.

I click on the company instant messaging system to send Saige a message to come and see me. But when I see her profile, I find that she is still offline. Frowning, I glance at the clock on my screen. It’s after ten in the morning. She’s always online immediately after she returns with her coffee. I dial her extension from my desk and there’s no answer. Pulling my cellphone from my suit pocket, I dial her mobile, waiting impatiently while the call rings, but again no answer.

“Dammit,” I hiss under my breath. I pound out a quick text message asking her to call me as soon as she can. Without a second thought, I grab my car keys and shut down my computer.

“Joyce! Please clear my calendar this afternoon. I have to take care of some unexpected business, and I’ll be out of the office.”

“Yes, sir,” she answers calmly, clicking away at her computer. “Is everything okay with your mother?” She looks over the rim of her glasses curiously. She’s knows damn well this is about Saige.

Shit. My mother. I still haven’t returned her call from last week, and she’s left me multiple voice messages. I nod once. “Yes. Everything is fine with my mother. This is work related.” I shoot her a stiff smile and leave quickly, anxious to get to Saige’s condo.

Traffic is a bitch, and I’m on edge as I keep glancing between the road and my phone, hoping Saige will respond to my text. Thirty minutes later, I pull up to the curb outside her place. The door to enter her building is propped open again, and I growl in disbelief that the residents here are this careless, but I’m also thankful because it allows me access to the building.

I jog down the hall to her door and knock, shifting from foot to foot while I wait for her or Evelyn to answer. I knock again, growing more impatient with every second that passes. I try calling her again, and again the phone rings with no answer. I run my hands over my face in frustration and lash out, punching the wall next to the door.

Instantly, my hand begins to sting, but the sound of her voice numbs my pain. “What’re you doing?” She gasps as she strides down the hallway toward me. I cradle my right hand in my left and open and close my fingers as I watch the knuckles almost immediately turn from a shade of red to a light purple.

“Punching a wall. What does it look like I’m doing?” I reply with a snarky tone.

“Holt . . .” She pulls my hand into hers.

“Saige . . .” I say, sighing before pulling my hand away. “You didn’t come into the office, and I was worried—”

Her face softens and she speaks quietly. “I had an appointment this morning. I was coming back to change and head in to the office. I made the proper call to my manager, so that they knew where I was . . . I didn’t think I needed to tell you—” She suddenly stops and pulls her bottom lip into her mouth. “I mean, it’s not like we’re . . .” She pauses.

My stomach drops. “We’re what, Saige?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs, pulling her keys from her purse. “I mean, we’re not anything, you know . . .”

I stare at her and see a totally different Saige than the one that walked into Jackson-Hamilton a few months ago. Her confidence is gone. The life in her eyes has faded. She’s not the confident girl that strutted across the bar and asked me for drinks. In a matter of days, the girl I knew has vanished—but I know she’s in there, and I’m dying to peel back the layers and find her . . . if she’ll let me.

“Saige,” I mumble, leaning my shoulder against the wall. “Let me in. Let me help you.” She inhales sharply and closes her eyes as she nods slowly. I pull her into my arms and hold her. “Baby steps,” I whisper.

“Baby steps,” she whispers back.



I fumble around with the Keurig, making two cups of coffee while Saige changes her clothes and meets me back in the living room. I hand her a mug, and she turns it in her hands, blowing at the steam coming off the top. “I don’t want you to think I’m crazy—” she starts before I interrupt her.

“Saige. Stop. I’d never think that, there’s no judgment here.”

She swallows hard and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “I went to see a therapist this morning.” She looks at me as if I’m going to say something, but I don’t. All I can see is the sadness in her eyes. Her chin trembles, and her hands shake as she clears her throat. “I told you before about my dad having passed away.”