Page 160 of Be With Me
I scratched my thumb over the scruff on my jaw. It was getting long. “Have you heard from Mia?”
There was a pause. Then a suspicious, “Why?”
She didn’t know about me and Mia. And maybe Mia would be pissed I outed us, but her safety was my priority. And really, I was done hiding how I felt about her. All the fears that had felt so heavy back in that hotel room now seemed irrelevant.
I needed her safe. I needed her with me.
And if I had to beg her to forgive me for the stupid shit I’d said, I’d get on my fucking knees and beg.
“Mia and I have been seeing each other. We had a fight two days ago, and I haven’t heard from her since. I’m getting worried.”
Nina groaned. “Of course you decide to tell me this today, when I’d be an asshole if I jumped down your throat. Look, if you had a fight, she probably just doesn’t want to talk to you.”
“Our fight wouldn’t make her keep her phone off for an entire day. Including the burner I gave her. Has she called you?”
“No.” A hint of concern slipped into Nina’s tone. “That’s weird. She never goes dark like that.”
“I’m going to look for her. Any chance she’s somewhere besides her apartment or the studio?”
“It’s Saturday,” Nina said, thinking. “She usually visits her dad and stepmom in the morning. Maybe she’s still there? I can send you the address.”
“I have it.”
“Rom, wait—if she didn’t tell us about you, she definitely didn’t tell her family. You can’t just show up there.”
“I don’t care. I need to know she’s okay.”
She let out a surprised breath. “You actually sound worried.”
“Iamworried.” I clenched my fist. “She means a lot to me.”
A pause. “Excuse me?”
“I’m losing my goddamn mind over here, Nina. I’m not messing around. If you know where she is, you need to tell me.”
“Jesus. Okay. I mean, I don’t understand any of this, because why the hell did Mia not sayanythingto us, but I can hear that you’re serious. I swear I haven’t heard from her. I’ll call Fabi and Zo and check if they have.”
“Keep me posted,” I said and hung up.
* * *
The concierge at Mia’s building wasn’t cooperative—until I stepped around the desk and pressed a gun to his throat.
That changed his mind.
According to him, she hadn’t come home last night.
Back on the road, I strangled the steering wheel as I sped toward her studio.
It was past eight p.m., and most of the shops in SoHo were closed. I turned onto Broderick Lane.
The blinds were pulled shut over the windows, but the light in her studio was on.
I didn’t bother looking for parking. I just drove onto the curb, left the car running, and jumped out. She didn’t have employees or anyone else who used that space. It had to be her.
Had she decided to drown herself in her work to get our last meeting off her mind?
I hoped that was all this was, even as guilt stabbed through me. I had a lot to apologize for.
