What I want most is Bristol.
I was an asshole last night. It made me feel like I was on fire to watch her flirt with that prick Greg. It made me feel like my stomach was sinking into the ground. Abandoned, all over again. Foolish, all over again. Pathetic.
I want her for sex. That’s all. I want her for what we agreed on. I want her where she’s supposed to be.
I want her here, where I can see her.
And every minute she’s not here, the bruising fear grows. A creeping, anxious feeling. She left. She’s gone. She’s never coming back.
It’ll stop when she shows up at the door.
She’s usually here by now with my coffee and a determined smile.
“Bristol,” I shout toward the door. I hope it’ll work like magic. Say her name once, and she’ll be here.
Instead, there’s a whispered conversation outside. Then one of the analysts steps in.
“Bristol won’t be here today, Mr. Leblanc. She called in. Something about a storm and a roof problem.”
“Aroofproblem?”
“That’s what she said, yes.”
The analyst is bracing herself like I’m going to lose my mind. I might, but not here.
I might, because Bristol is obviously lying. She didn’t like how the dinner went, and she didn’t like being blackmailed. She did what women always do, which is leave.
Well, fuck that. I’m not going to allow her to leave. And if she’s going to try, she’s not going to do it with some bullshit excuse about a roof.
I stand up, and the analyst’s eyes get huge. “Mr. Leblanc?”
Keys. Wallet. “Cancel all the meetings on my schedule.”
“But—” She probably doesn’t know how to cancel my meetings. This woman doesn’t have access to my calendar. I don’t care. “You’re leaving?”
“Yes.”
The analyst follows me out of my office and watches me go. They’re all silent by the time I reach the elevators. I can feel them staring. I can feel their shock.
Me, leaving the office on a Friday morning.
Me, canceling a day’s worth of meetings.
It’s never happened before.
I find Bristol’s address from the man I paid to get information on her. Five minutes, and I’m on my way.
I drive through neighborhoods that are progressively shittier until my phone notifies me that I’m within a quarter mile of her address. The block is made up of convenience stores with dirty awnings and, finally, Bristol’s apartment complex.
I park my car in front of a broken VISITOR PARKING sign and scan the addresses on the buildings. Bristol’s is at the back of a courtyard. Building C.
The courtyard is as busted up as the front door of the building, which is dented to shit. There’s no doorman. It’s not even locked. Inside a decrepit room that can be charitably called the lobby, the elevator’sout of order.The sight of the chain across the doors and the dangling sign sets my teeth on edge. After her days working as a temp, Bristol doesn’t even get a few moments to relax in the elevator.
I take the stairs. Three floors up. My heart rate is fast and pissed and scared when I get to the landing. I know her apartment will be empty. She’ll be gone, gone, gone.
The door creaks when I pull it open and reveal Bristol’s hallway.
It’s a disaster. Garbage bags are piled in the hallway, and one of the doors is open.