Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Pushing my longing for my Scottish island aside, I stepped up to the restaurant. I could see staff inside. I took off my ball cap and knocked on the glass front door.
Laurent was still the maître d’. A tall, handsome Frenchman in his forties, Laurent was fun-loving with a wicked sense of humor. But he could turn on the cliché pompous Frenchman schtick for the clientele in an instant. Right now, he was shooting me an imperious look as he took his time approaching the front door. As always, he was impeccably dressed in an exquisitely fitted three-piece suit.
As he neared, I took off my sunglasses. “Laurent, it’s me!” I called out, not wanting to say my name aloud.
Recognition crossed his expression and he unlocked the door, letting me in. “Tierney, what are you doing here?” He bent down to brush barely there kisses to both my cheeks.
“Hey, how are you?” It was lovely to see him, but I was impatient for my best friend. “I’m here to see London, of course.”
Laurent’s brows drew together. “London? But … surely you know London does not work here anymore?”
With that, it was as if the rug had been ripped out from under me. I reached for Laurent instinctively and he placed a steadying hand around my biceps.
“Tierney, are you all right? Do you need to sit down?”
Call it jet lag on top of shock. I blew out a breath, trying to remain calm so I could get some answers. “What happened? Why doesn’t London work here?”
He scowled, releasing me. “I have my suspicions. London quit two months ago. Said she was reevaluating her life.”
“What?” Two months! “She didn’t tell me. Is she … is she still living with Nick?”
“Who knows.”
What did he mean? Laurent and the staff here were London’s friends. They didn’t only work together, they socialized together because they were the only people who shared the same crappy schedule. “You haven’t spoken to her lately?”
He tsked and shook his head. “London pushed us”—he gestured to the restaurant—“all away these last few months. I tried to talk to her. So did Cynthia.” Cynthia was his girlfriend and the restaurant’s sommelier. She and London were good friends. At least, I thought they were. “But she stopped answering our calls and texts. When she quit, that was the last we heard of her.”
“That doesn’t make sense.” My unease grew by the minute. “Did you notice anything off about her behavior?”
“Oui.” Laurent nodded, anger flashing in his dark eyes. “Little bumps and bruises she tried to hide. Cynthia tried to get her to open up … but she was completely shut down. Sorry.” He shrugged unhappily. “We did try, but she didn’t want to talk.”
I felt sick to my stomach. “Are you saying Nick is abusing her?”
“I don’t want to say anything without facts.”
And they’d left her to it? I glowered at him. “You suspect it and you let her leave? You didn’t do anything?”
“Do what? You cannot help someone who does not want to be helped.”
Like hell!
Throwing him a look of disgust, I stormed out of the restaurant, shoving my hat and sunglasses back on.
It took me fifteen minutes to find a cab, and I cursed myself for not jumping on the subway. By the time we reached Nick’s apartment building in Soho, I’d had to talk myself down several times from a ledge that might lead me to murdering Nick!
Nick’s building, unsurprisingly, had every amenity possible beneath the apartments. It also had twenty-four-seven doorman service, a receptionist, and key card security. Nick had a private elevator to the penthouse on this side of the building, which meant I couldn’t go up. The doorman let me in, and I asked the guy at reception to call Nick’s apartment, hoping the asshole was at work and London would be home.
My wish came true, and London agreed to let me up. I was vibrating with anxiety when the receptionist swiped a key card over the pad on the wall beside the private elevator.
As the elevator rose, I did a little meditative breathing to slow my pulse. It helped. A little. The doors opened, revealing Nick’s large, stylish home. It was an open-plan concept with floor-to-ceiling windows along two walls overlooking the city.
I’d seen his home before. Therefore, my attention wasn’t on the expensive furnishings and one-of-a-kind artwork I’d always thought were pretentious.
I was looking at my best friend who stood before me.
Her pretty face was gaunt, her cropped T-shirt and cardigan drooping on her small shoulders, her baggy jeans barely clinging to her slim hips. It wasn’t only the weight loss that shocked me.
It was the way she stood almost hunched into herself, a hand wrapped around her opposite wrist, knuckles white with nervousness. It was the hollowness in her stunning turquoise eyes.
She forced a wide smile and reached for me. “What are you doing here?”