with them, I make a beeline for the elevators on the opposite side of this one and head upstairs before anyone spots me.
A glance at my watch shows it's almost ten o'clock. “Fuck,” I gripe to myself, knowing she’s going to be rightfully pissed. I have a feeling any headway I made will now be for nothing.
When the doors slide open, I hurry down the corridor and fumble for a moment as I let myself into the apartment. I pause with the door open, and when a shoe doesn’t nail me in the head, I relax and close the door behind me. The lights are off, but the blinds are all open, illuminating the room enough that I don’t trip and break my neck.
My heart begins to pulse when I don’t find her, knowing that means she must already be in bed. My cock throbs at the thought of all her colorful hair splayed out on the pillow, watching me with those big blue eyes of hers as I drive my dick inside her.
I don’t know if I’m relieved or disappointed when I find the bedroom empty too. The bed is still made from this morning. With a frown, I check the other rooms. Coming up empty, my agitation rapidly grows. Where the fuck is she?
Tearing open the closet door, I suck in a relieved breath when I see the clothes she brought with her hung up beside mine, and a pair of her shoes are sitting on the floor beneath them.
So, she hasn’t left me, that’s something, but it doesn’t tell me where the fuck she is.
Storming out of the apartment and back downstairs, I find Russ at his desk, alone this time, listening to the soft sounds of jazz music.
He startles when I bark his name, looking up at me with wide eyes.
“Mr. Sloan. I didn’t know you were back. What can I help you with, sir?”
“You can tell me where the fuck my wife is for a start,” I snap and watch with growing wariness as his tan skin bleaches white.
“Wife?” he questions in a whispered voice.
“Did I stutter? Yes, my wife. Who, might I add, is not upstairs. Did she tell you where she was going?”
He stares at me open-mouthed, without answering me until I finally snap and bellow his name.
“Where is my wife?” I grit out for the last time.
He lifts a shaky hand and points to the glass doors where the rain is still falling fast outside.
“I…I didn’t know you got married. You didn’t tell us,” he stutters.
“I wasn’t aware that I had to inform you,” I growl, two seconds away from firing him.
“I…she said she was your wife, but I didn’t believe her. She didn’t look like she would be the kind of woman you would marry,” he protests. I fume at his words, reaching over the counter and grabbing him by his collar.
“WHAT DID YOU DO?” I roar in his face.
“I…I sent her away,” he admits.
I shove him away from me and pick up the phone on the desk, pressing one for security.
Two guards arrive a few minutes later. One tall and thin, who looks at Russ with disdain. The other is shorter by nearly a foot and thicker around the middle, the polyester shirt of his uniform stretching to its limits to confine the beer belly within.
“I want him gone. One of you go with him to collect any belongings he has here and then escort him off the premises.”
“What? You can’t do that! It was an honest mistake. You didn’t tell us you were married!” Russ shouts at me indignantly.
“And you could have confirmed that for yourself by calling me, or even Sam,” I point out, my voice lethal.
“I asked her to call you, but she didn’t know your number or even where you worked!” he counters, incensed.
Inwardly I wince, knowing he’s right, but that shouldn’t have stopped him from calling. My numbers are on file for emergencies.
“And as much as it pisses me off, I would have happily conceded that I’m a fucking terrible husband. You could have called, but you didn’t. I can even understand that, but the fact that you’re a prejudiced prick is not something I’m willing to overlook.”
“How dare you,” he snaps, affronted.
“I dare because if I’m right in my assumption, you took one look at her tattoos and hair and made up your mind about what kind of person she is.”
“I did no such thing—”
“You did,” a soft voice says, making the security guards