He said he'd protect himself. He said he's suspicious and needs to be careful, and he's accused me of being dangerous more than once, even before finding what appeared to him to be the perfect proof for his suspicions.
I try to call him one more time, but this time the phone doesn't even ring. He has either run out of battery or turned off his phone.
A part of me hopes that it's the latter, because the first option would give me too much reason to worry.
"Fuck," I hiss, audible to no one but myself.
What am I supposed to do? How long does he intend to keep me waiting?
Then I remember. There's actually something that I can do, something that he won’t know about, but something that will ease my mind tremendously.
I turn around, hurrying upstairs to my bedroom and searching for my purse, frantically rummaging through it until I find what I'm looking for. The card is crumpled because of my hurried attempt to hide it from him when I shoved it into my purse.
I turn it around and dial the number that's written on the back, certain that this call won't be rejected like the previous ones have been before. Yet the phone rings for what feels like an eternity before I hear a click sound and someone breathing on the other end.
"Stewart here," a voice greets me.
I furrow my eyebrows, unsure what to think of him introducing himself with his first name.
"Stewart, it's Ann," I say. "Ann Porter. You approached me at the-"
"Yes, Ann," he cuts me off. "Of course, I know who you are, don't be silly. I've been waiting for your call. Got something to tell me after all, do you?"
"No, actually I don't," I tell him, and nothing has ever felt better. "I just called to tell you that I don’t, and I wanted to make sure that you won't approach me again or try any devious methods to get to me."
"Devious methods?" he repeats, letting out a disgusting chuckle. "What kind of movie are you living in?"
"I'm just letting you know that whatever you're trying to do won't work," I insist. "You're digging for dirt where there is none. I have nothing to tell you because there is nothing to tell."
"Did he threaten you, is that it?"
I scoff, knitting my eyebrows. "What a vile idea. This is sick."
"Is it?" he probes. "Based on Mr. King's history, I'd say it's safe to assume-"
"Have you actually ever checked his history?" I ask. "Because if you did, you'd know that whatever you heard about him is simply not true. You're just trying to dig up dirt based on old rumors. I can tell you as a fellow journalist that you're pathetic at your job."
I hear Stewart chuckling at the other end, and even though I can't see him, I can imagine the kind of face he's making right now.
"This is a mistake," he tells me. "You're making a giant mistake, little girl."
"No, that's where you're wrong," I reply. "You're the one who's making the big mistake here."
I hear him getting ready to argue with me about my conclusion, but I've said everything I needed to say and end the call.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Jared
This has undeniably been the longest night of my life. I didn't even know where I was going when I left the building.
Luckily, a man of my standing doesn't need to bother himself with such mundane details. I didn't want to bother my driver for the night because it would mean dragging staff into this fucking mess when I wasn't ready for it yet.
So I called a cab and asked that I be driven around town in endless circles, blocking any attempts by the driver to start a conversation with me.
"I need time to think," I told him. "Alone."
"Got ya’, buddy," he said, winking at me through the rear view mirror. In any other situation I would have reminded him that I'm not his buddy, but I refrained from doing so last night because it would have prolonged my interaction with him. I gave him money up front, probably a lot more than he would have earned all night without having to spend most of it with me as his customer. It bought me the time and space I needed.
I watched the city pass by, observing the bustling night life in one area while staring into almost complete darkness in another. Cities have always fascinated me for that very reason. They have a distinct way of combining lively energy and dark contemplation in a confined space, co-existing and breathing the same air as the other.
Going to a bar would have been the obvious choice, but I didn't want to be among people. I didn't want to risk sitting at the bar, sipping on a lonely Scotch and having to worry about being roped into a dumb conversation I didn't want to have, or be seen by someone who could inflict further damage than what has already been done.
I needed to be out of my house, surrounded by life as it went on without the devastation caused by the woman who almost made me believe there could be such a thing as a second chance for me. A woman who betrayed my trust just as Elsa did all those years ago.
Maybe all of them were right. Maybe the devil did find a host in me. Maybe I don't deserve better than this. Darkness attracts darkness.
I should have known.
That's what infuriates me the most. I should have fucking known!
I was skeptical from the get-go. I had a bad feeling about her right from the start, and I was proven right.
My thoughts whirl around the same circle of thoughts again and again, bouncing against my skull as I try to let go of them. I can't get rid of them, I can't even think clearly for hours.
I let myself be chauffeured around town until dawn announced the beginning of a new day.
The first of many days that I will have to spend without her.
Without my Button.
I don't dwell on the thought, though, and tell the driver to take me to my office when he infers that he'd like to call it a night. I leave him with a generous tip, and he throws me a look that is a little too friendly for my taste. Too much sympathy, too much pity. I hate being looked at like this. I hate being pitied.
It's still way too early for anyone but the cleaning ladies to be around when I march into my office as if it was the most natural thing to do at this ungodly hour.
I sit at my desk, checking my phone that has been turned to silent for the entire night. There are calls and text messages from her, all trying to convince me that I'm wrong, that whatever I’m thinking right now is not the truth.
Unfortunately, it is.
I turn off my phone and begin pacing up and down the length of my office like a caged lion, before I decide that a lack of sleep is as equally mind-numbing as rage or intoxication.
I lay down on the couch in my office and doze off within a few moments.
My sleep is cut short when a familiar voice cuts right into a vivid nightmare that tortured me during my short rest.
"Jared, you idiot!"
I frown in surprise at the sight of my assistant Silas standing before me, his hands on his hips and head tilted to the side as he tried to mimic my position.
I hurry to sit up straight, fixing my hair in a futile attempt to appear proper.
"What the hell, man," Silas hisses at me, shaking his head. "What the fucking hell?"