I Flipping Love You (Shacking Up #3)(79)

“But I gave him what he needed to do it, which is just as bad.” And I’ve lied by omission, which is almost worse than lying outright. My phone buzzes with messages from Pierce. I don’t look at them. I’m pretty sure I know what they’ll say. He woke up to an empty bed.

Marley sighs. “Does he even know where you are?”

“He was asleep when I left.”

“What if he’s not involved? What if this is all on Lawson?”

“What if he is involved? What if he’s known this whole time and he’s been stringing me along, keeping me occupied while he and Lawson make deals with the Mills family.”

She sighs, her eyes sad. “Maybe you’re trying to make him into the bad guy so you can feel justified in walking away.”

“What about all these connections? It can’t be coincidental.”

“I think you need to ask yourself if you’re forcing them to be there because you’re afraid to tell him the truth. You have to talk to him, Rian.”

She could be right, but she could be wrong. Either way, there’s a real possibility I’m going to lose something important at the end of all of this. I hope it’s not my heart.





CHAPTER 27

EMPTY BED





PIERCE


I nuzzle into a pillow that smells like Rian, and slide my palm along the mattress in search of the real thing. Except all I get are ten-thousand-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets under my palm. I crack a lid, close it because it’s too bright beyond the back of my eyelid, and wait a few more seconds before I open it again.

In the space where Rian’s body should be are rumpled sheets, cool to the touch. I assume she woke up and decided to let me sleep. If she’s hungry, we can do breakfast, then each other. Then we’ll figure out what to do with our day. I’m voting for Naked Monday, but I’ll give her a say. Except when I get to the kitchen, she isn’t there; she’s also not in the living room.

I rub the back of my neck to ease the hot feeling as I wander through the penthouse. The coffee cups on the counter are clean and unused. I backtrack to my bedroom and glance around the vacant space, noting the absence of her clothes, which most certainly had been strewn all over the floor last night. That prickling sensation on my neck becomes a sinking feeling as I call Rian’s name but get no response. Her heels aren’t by the door and her overnight bag is gone.

Maybe there was an emergency. Maybe an impromptu showing came up and she needed to go and didn’t want to wake me. But I’d like to think she would’ve left a note.

I check my phone for a message, but there’s nothing, so I fire one off, asking where she disappeared to. I worry last night was too much for her. I’d considered telling her how I felt about her, especially since she’d opened up to me. But in the end, I’d held back, aware a declaration like that might make Rian skittish. Getting close to her hasn’t been easy, and I’ve been trying my hardest not to push for more than I feel she’s willing to give.

While I wait for a response, I put the coffee on, but even after it’s finished brewing I still haven’t heard back from her, so I leave her a voicemail and head to my office. Since I’m in Manhattan, it makes sense to clock a few hours of work and see if there’s been any progress on revising the patent so the knockoff blow-up dolls are no longer a concern.

On my desk is a Moorehead magazine from a couple of weeks ago. I don’t generally put much stock in the articles, since the Mooreheads tend to spew a lot of biased garbage, but I still get a copy every week, mostly so I can keep tabs on my sister’s ex-husband’s family dealings. It’s lying open rather than stacked neatly on the corner of my desk, as I would’ve left it. An article about my sister’s fiancé and his family fills the page. I’m sure the Mills Hotel empire is getting ready to put up another five-star resort somewhere in the near future. They have projects all over the world. I assume Moorehead is covering this simply because it gives her ex-husband a reason to dig into Amalie’s life.

I spend a couple hours reviewing emails and paperwork that have been forwarded to me as a courtesy, more than anything else. What I really need to do is revisit the discussion with my father about my future at the firm.

I mentioned it the last time I was in Manhattan to feel him out, but I don’t want to push too much when the patent issue is still unresolved. We’re close to putting it to bed, but it’s been tricky since my dad would like to avoid court and drawing more attention to the problem than necessary. Which means settling. And settling costs money.

Regardless, I don’t want to put this off any longer.

I call his office, but discover he’s out of town with my mother for the week. I suppose it says something about where I’m at mentally when I don’t even know what’s going on with my parents.

After two more hours of silence from Rian, in which I review my personal finances and determine that without my trust, walking away from the firm will be exceedingly difficult on my bank account, I decide to head back to the Hamptons. All this ruminating is getting me nowhere, and I need to find out what’s going on. I try Rian’s apartment first, but neither car is in the driveway and no one answers the door.

By the time I arrive at the Paulson renovation it’s well into the afternoon. Worry dissolves into anger when I find Rian’s car in the driveway. I don’t knock before I open the door and walk inside her half-finished reno—one I’ve put a lot of hours into personally.