* * *At eleven, Wren finally calls. “I’m sorry it’s so late.”
I don’t know if it’s my state of mind or what my mother said or the conversation I had with Griffin, but I’m hyperalert and she sounds off.
“You don’t usually leave work without saying goodbye.” It comes out sounding more like an accusation than a question. I need to be careful how I tread with Wren on this. I can’t project my own insecurities onto her.
“I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to interrupt your call, and then Dani and I got talking and I lost track of time.”
“Are you on your way over now?”
That off feeling I’ve had all afternoon grows when Wren’s silence stretches out before she finally answers. “I’m already at home.”
“I thought you were going to Dani’s.”
“I was, but we had a change of plans and ended up here.”
“Oh, okay. Want me to come to you tonight, instead?”
“Coming here isn’t really a good idea, is it?”
Normally I’d say she has a point, but my mother clearly knows what’s going on, so I’m not sure we need to hide it any longer. However, Wren might not know this, and it’s definitely not a phone discussion. “I could send a car to pick you up, then.”
“That’s really sweet of you to offer, Linc, but I’m pretty beat and I’m not really feeling one hundred percent.”
“Is everything okay?” It seems like that’s the only question I’m asking lately.
“I’m just feeling under the weather. I’m sure it’s nothing, but I don’t want to pass it along. We have that big meeting early next week, and I don’t want to risk getting you sick. I’m going to take some vitamin C and go to bed. Try to get a solid seven, which definitely hasn’t been happening lately. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?” She yawns.
“Okay. Sure. You’ll spend the night tomorrow, then?” Other than nights like these, when she’s with Dani or her mom, she’s been sleeping in my bed.
“We’ll see how I’m feeling tomorrow. Night, Linc.”
“Night, Wren.”
I’m even more off after she ends the call. She’s noncommittal about tomorrow night, and she didn’t even ask how my conference call went, which is very unlike Wren. She’s usually all about the business and making sure things are going smoothly, so maybe she really isn’t feeling well.
Even still, I can’t settle, so I end up going through more of my father’s files from the penthouse. I stumble on a cellphone bill, but when I call the number associated with the account, it’s been disconnected.
I fall asleep on my desk and wake up to the sound of birds chirping, with a stiff neck, a sore back, and the same bad feeling from the night before.
My morning doesn’t improve when I find Wren’s office empty at work. Her laptop still isn’t on her desk, which I assume means she’s either not here or already in a meeting.
I fire off a message and pop my head into the conference room, but it’s empty as well. Wren still hasn’t messaged back—although, to be fair it’s only been a minute—so I stalk down the hall to my assistant’s desk.
“Good morning.” It comes out more bark-like than actual greeting.
Marjorie startles and knocks her jar of pens over, spilling them across her desk. “Oh! Good morning, Mr. Moorehead. Can I get you a coffee?”
Of course that’s the first question out of her mouth. “I’m fine, thank you,” I grind out with a smile. “I’m actually looking for Wren. Have you seen her this morning?”
“Oh, uh, no, I haven’t. Would you like me to check her office for you?”
I tap on the edge of her desk, unhappy with this information. “I’ve already done that. I’ll check with Lulu.”
“I can call her for you. Right now. Let me call her.” She picks up her phone before I can argue and punches in Lulu’s extension. “Hello, Lulu, it’s Marjorie. Mr. Moorehead is looking for Wren, have you seen her yet this morning?” There’s a brief pause while Lulu asks her something too muffled for me to catch. “Lincoln not Armstrong … ah, okay. I’ll let him know.” She hangs up, that odd smile of hers still stretched across her face. “I’m sorry, Mr. Moorehead, but it seems Wren has called in sick this morning.”
“She never calls in sick.”
“Until this morning, that statement would be correct.” Her eyes light up with some sort of odd excitement, and her smile widens. “Is there something you need help with? I’d be happy to be of assistance.”
I wave her off. “No, no. It’s fine. It can wait until Wren is back.” I turn on my heel, phone already in my hand, thumbs flying across the tiny, stupid screen. I have to delete half the message thanks to autocorrect mistakes. I abandon the message entirely when I reach my office and call her instead.