Then, to top it off, I had to spend my entire evening floating in between various charity events that the company has been a part of, further stretching my day out.
Now, finally, I’m sitting in the back of my limousine sipping whiskey.
I stare out the window watching the city lights and the buildings whiz by as we drive, trying to clear my head. Although I’m completely exhausted and usually pretty good at winding down after a long day, I can’t seem to get one thing off my mind.
Mira.
Obviously I know that I shouldn’t be thinking about her, especially after what we’ve decided, but I just can’t get her out of my head.
I hate the way we left things and although I know it’s for the best, it certainly doesn’t make the situation any easier—for either of us, I’m sure.
I sigh and set down my glass, lowering the window a bit to let some air in and close my eyes, letting the cool night air sweep over my face. It certainly perks me up a bit, but does nothing to still the thoughts creeping through my mind, and I decide that enough is enough.
Checking on her quickly won’t hurt anything, right? I’m not breaking any rules by doing that. I’m just making sure she’s okay.
Once I know she is, I’ll be on my way. No harm done.
I lean forward in my seat and knock on the tinted glass barrier, and I hear the familiar beep of the backseat speaker before the driver’s voice rings through it.
“Yes, Mr. Westbrook? Are we making an additional stop before I take you home?”
I press and hold the button next to it and speak, my voice tired.
“Yes, actually,” I say, “I’ll need you to bring me by Miss Wilder’s penthouse, please.”
I release the button and sit back in my seat, and no sooner does my back hit the leather, the speaker beeps again.
“Of course, Mr. Westbrook.”
I feel the car slow down and make a turn—changing our route to get to her penthouse—and I smile.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to seeing Mira, at least a little bit. Just because we agreed that we can’t take things between us any further doesn’t mean that we have to stop speaking or communicating entirely. I’m simply checking in on her, making sure she’s all right and settling in to her new office.
It’s what family would do…ugh.
That’s what I’m going to keep telling myself, anyway.
After a few moments, I feel the car slow down and come to a stop, and the beep comes through the speaker again.
“Mr. Westbrook. We’ve arrived at Miss Wilder’s penthouse, sir.”
I press my finger down onto the switch for the passenger side window and look outside, my gaze sliding up the building to where Mira’s penthouse is.
I’m confused when I look up to see the place completely dark.
I wonder what she’s doing. Maybe she’s already asleep?
I frown just as my door opens, my limo driver standing there, ushering me out.
“Thank you,” I mutter under my breath. “Wait just a moment, please.”
He nods in acknowledgement, and I step outside, walking up the walkway to her door, and the doorman greets me with a smile.
“Evening, sir,” he chimes, “Can I help you?”
“Yes, in fact,” I say sincerely. “Can you tell me if Mira—if Miss Wilder is home?”
He shakes his head firmly, giving me an apologetic smile.