Emily
On my laptop, I scroll through the information that I’ve collected today. I have nothing to go on other than Hayden. He’s the only the person who has a shady past and the only person I can think of who would double-cross Miles Media.
But selling shitty stories is a far cry from stealing millions of dollars from a global company. I don’t think he’s capable of something like this.
So why is my gut telling me that he is somehow involved?
I check my phone . . . no messages.
Please call me.
I get a vision of my Jameson all alone in his big apartment, and my heart aches. I’ve decided that I’m going over there tomorrow night and knocking the door down.
I can’t give him the space that he needs . . . I need him.
The door buzzes, and I jump up, excited. Jameson. I run to the telecom to see two police officers on the screen. I push the button. “Hello?”
“Is that Emily Foster?”
“Yes.”
“Can we come up, please?”
“What’s wrong?” I whisper. Oh my God, what’s happened?
“We need to talk to you.”
“Has something happened?” I stammer.
“Let us in, please.”
“Okay.” I push the button with my heart pumping hard.
Moments later they knock on the door, and I open it in a rush. “Hello.”
Two solemn-looking police officers force a smile. “Are you Emily Foster?”
“Yes.” My heart begins to race.
“Can we talk to you for a moment, please?”
I stand back. “Yes, please come in.”
“We would like to talk to Jameson Miles, please.” They look around my apartment and then turn their attention back to me. “Is he here?”
“No, he isn’t.” I feel my heart begin to pump harder in my chest. “What’s this about?”
“He’s wanted for questioning in regards to an assault earlier this evening.”
“What?” I frown.
“Gabriel Ferrara was attacked tonight outside a restaurant by Mr. Miles. A warrant has been issued for his arrest.”
“Is he all right?”
“Mr. Ferrara has significant facial injuries and has been taken to the hospital.”
I put my hand over my mouth in horror.
“What happened?” I ask.
“Mr. Ferrara was getting into a car when Mr. Miles approached him in the dark. A fight broke out, and Mr. Miles assaulted him.”
“Where was this?”
“Out the front of Bryant Park, opposite Lucina’s.”
“Oh my God,” I whisper. “Is Jameson all right?”
“Witnesses say he ran off through the park.”
I close my eyes in relief . . . thank God.
“You have the wrong person,” I stammer. “Jameson would never attack someone. He’s the CEO of a company, not a pub brawler.” That’s a complete lie; I know Jameson would love to beat Ferrara to a pulp . . . “I don’t know where he is,” I assert with renewed determination.
“Can we search your apartment?” the policeman asks.
“Of course. He’s not here, though.” I stand back to allow them access.
The police search the apartment and come back to me in the living area. They hand me a business card. “As soon as you hear from him, you need to call us. If you don’t, you may be charged with obstruction of justice. Hiding a person of interest from authorities is a very serious offense.”
“Okay.” I storm to the door and open it in a rush. “Good night.” The officers leave, and I close the door behind them with a slam.
I put my two hands over my mouth in horror and dial the number.
Jameson’s phone rings out . . . he wouldn’t answer my call anyway. “Damn it.”
In a panic, I call Tristan.
“Hello.”
“Tristan,” I stammer. “Do you know where Jameson is?”
“What’s wrong?” he says.
“The police were just here, and Jameson apparently assaulted Ferrara. They’ve issued a warrant for his arrest. Do you know where he is?”
“What?”
“He’s not answering my calls, and witnesses said he ran off across the park.”
“What the fuck?”
“What do I do?”
“I’ll try calling him and call you back.”
“Okay.” I hang up and begin to pace . . . where are you?
Moments later Tristan calls back. “He’s not answering. I’ll come over.”
“Thank you.”
An hour later Tristan and I walk through Bryant Park. We haven’t talked other than about finding Jameson. He’s angry with me about Jake and obviously doesn’t want to discuss it.
I’m angry with me.
It’s one o’clock in the morning, and now I’m getting frantic. My eyes roam over the park in the darkness. “Where could he be?” I whisper.
“I don’t know. Try calling him again,” he says.
I dial his number and keep walking through the darkened park when we hear something.
Tristan’s eyes widen, and he holds up his hand. “Shh, listen.”
From the darkness, we can hear a faint ringtone. It goes silent, and I redial his number.
We both look around frantically, and then we see the white glow as the screen lights up. “Here.” I run over to the side and see a phone lying in the grass. My eyes widen in horror as Tristan picks it up. He swipes it on and puts in the code, and the screen lights up.
His eyes rise to meet mine. “It’s Jameson’s phone.”
We both look up across the darkened park as a sense of fear sweeps through me. “What the hell has happened to him?” I whisper.
It’s four o’clock in the morning, and Tristan and I are frantic. We’ve walked for hours. Alan, Elliot, and Christopher are all out looking for Jameson.
“He’s probably just hiding out from the police somewhere. He’ll be fine,” Tristan tries to comfort me. I’m in full-blown tears now; there’s no hiding my distress.
“This is all my fault,” I whisper as we walk. “If I didn’t go to that setup, none of this would have happened.”
“What do you mean, setup?”
“Jake told me that he had information on a story that Ferrara was publishing the next day about Jameson and that he would tell me out of work. I didn’t want to worry Jameson, so I lied and went to meet him. He just wanted to get me alone, and he kissed me. I slapped him across the face and left, and then the next day . . .” I shrug. “You saw the pictures.”
He frowns. “So you weren’t seeing Jake?”
“No,” I snap. “I’m in love with fucking Jameson, you idiot.” I sob. “And he won’t let me explain.”
“Fucking hell, what a mess.” His phone rings, and he quickly answers. “Hello.”
He listens. “Yes.” He listens some more. “Is he all right?” He gasps. He puts his hand over his chest. “Thank God.”
“What?” I mouth.
“Thank you. I’m on my way.” He hangs up.
“What?” I whisper.
“Jameson is in the hospital.”
“What happened?”
“He was hit by a car.”
My hands fly over my mouth in horror.
“He’s okay-just a concussion.”
“Oh, thank God.”
“I’m going to go get him.”
“I’m coming,” I demand.
“Em . . .” He pauses. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. The paps will be everywhere after this Ferrara bullshit, and Jameson doesn’t need more publicity. Who knows what reporters are at the hospital? Jameson specifically wants you kept out of the spotlight. Let me talk to him, and I’ll call you when we get home.”
Hope blooms in my chest. Is he trying to protect me?
“But I didn’t do anything wrong, Tristan. I want to see him.”
Empathy wins, and he takes me in his arms. “Let me get him home safely, and I’ll call you.” He pulls back and holds me by the arms as he studies me. “I promise I’ll call you. I’ll drop you home and then sort him out, and then I’ll call you. You have my word.” His eyes search mine.
“Okay.”
We walk for a moment in silence.
“I’m going to find out who stole the money if it’s the last thing I do,” I whisper.
“Emily, that’s a bad idea. Leave it to the detectives. You’re tired and emotional. Let’s get you home.”
I nod, knowing that he is right about everything and hating it even more.
Jameson
I watch the nurse take my pulse as she holds my hand, and I inhale deeply. She’s older and motherly, the kind you want looking after you.
“How’s the headache?” she asks.
“Still there.”
She smiles and gets her flashlight and shines it in my eyes to inspect my pupils. “You have a serious concussion. You’re very lucky to be alive, young man.”
I hear chatter from outside, and Tristan appears at the door. “Hey.”
“Hi.” I smirk at the worry on his face.
He rushes to my side. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“He is not fine,” the nurse interrupts. “He got hit by a car. He could have been killed. As it is, he has a very serious concussion.”
Tristan drags his hand down his face. “Jesus.”
“He’s staying in for the night, and as long as all his preliminary tests come back clear in the morning, he can go home.”
“Okay . . . thanks.” Tristan slumps into a seat beside the bed.
“I’ll be back in an hour with some pain medication.” She smiles.
“I don’t need it,” I reply.
“I’ll be back anyway.”
I roll my eyes, and she leaves us alone. “Sorry,” I whisper.
“Fucking hell, Jay, we’ve been out of our head with worry. Searching for you all night.”
I puff air into my cheeks.
“The police came to Emily’s, and then she called me, and then we found your phone in Bryant Park.”
“Emily?” I frown. “Why did you involve her?”
“She’s frantic, Jameson. She wanted to help find you.”
I roll my eyes. “I seriously doubt that.”
“You know, I don’t think she is on with that fuckwit Jake. This was a misunderstanding.”
“Shut up,” I dismiss him.
“No. You shut up. Why won’t you even talk to her?”
“Because she lied to me. Straight to my face about seeing another man.”
He watches me.
“And I don’t need that fucking shit in my life. I have enough going on, if you didn’t notice.”
“She wants to see you.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t want to see her,” I snap.
“Then you need to end it with her; she’s frantic.”
I screw up my face in annoyance. “Just fucking go home. I’ll get Alan to pick me up tomorrow.”
“Why won’t you even talk about this?”
“Because this is none of your business. Emily and I are over. It was over the moment she started lying to me.”
The nurse reappears. “I’m tired,” I announce.
She smiles. “Yes, okay.” She turns her attention to Tristan. “We will call you in the morning when he’s ready for release.”
“Yeah, okay,” Tristan replies. His eyes hold mine, and I know that he knows I’m not tired at all.
The nurse goes into the bathroom.
“And what am I supposed to tell Emily? She’s waiting for my call,” he whispers angrily.
“I don’t give a fuck what you tell her-she’s not my problem.”
He drags his hand down his face. “You’re a selfish son of a bitch sometimes.”
“And your point is?”
He stares at me for an extended time. “See you tomorrow.”