The Truth

To Gina, I say, “Good luck. You deserve better than what I’ve seen tonight.”

But none of that is my highest priority. No, that’s Tiffany.

Without waiting for a response, I turn and hurry out of the restaurant, going after her. I’m no more than a minute or two behind, but when I slam my way through the front door, I can immediately tell that she’s gone.

Turning to the valet, I grab him by the lapels, lifting him up onto his tiptoes even though he’s bigger and younger than me. “Where’d she go?”

Luckily, the valet keeps his brains about him and points toward the taxi stand that’s at the curb. “I put her in a taxi. I didn’t hear the address.”

“Fuck!” I shout, dropping the man back to his feet in favor of pulling at my hair. I’m tempted to try and quiz the driver that’s there, figure out who took her. But I seriously doubt he’d tell me, anyway.

Adding salt to the wound, the valet offers, “She was crying pretty hard. I don’t know if that might help you figure out where she’d go.”

Focus, Stryker. Calm the fuck down and focus.

The order does help clear my head, a plan—or at least the first step of one—becoming obvious. “Thanks. I need my car. Now.”

I give the guy my ticket, and when he pulls up with my car, I throw a fifty his way as an apology and basically yank him out of the driver seat so I can climb in. Closing the door, I pull away, driving faster than I ever have before.

Along the way, I flagellate myself for causing this. I knew the age difference between Tiffany and me would cause gossip and judgment, but I was shocked by Paul’s words. I reverted to one of the first lessons I learned in business—be active, not reactive. When something throws you, take a moment to pause, consider, and then act decisively with the goal in mind. That split second of thought has saved me many times—in boardrooms, in negotiations, and in life in general.

This time, though, it blew up in my face. Paul started on sure ground, complimenting Fox and me. And he was equally flattering about Tiffany before his chatter turned ugly.

I was surprised and should’ve stopped him sooner, but I felt like he was finally showing his true colors and I need to know exactly who I’m considering adding to the Fox Industries roster. I was handing him enough rope to hang himself with, mentally determining whether I could step away from our acquisition option for TRE altogether.

And while I was processing business data, the one thing that matters more to me than work crumbled into ruins.

No, Tiffany doesn’t crumble. She explodes like a nuclear warhead—loud, impactful, and gloriously beautiful in its destructive force. Even in the middle of her rage, she was eloquent and clear, her strength radiating out through the entire restaurant. She knows who she is, knows her worth, and will not let anyone piss on that. Despite her temper and outburst, tonight was likely the most outward sign of the equality in our relationship. She’s not pandering to me as the older man or CEO. She’ll tell me off just as readily as anyone else.

I need that. Brave, bold, mouthy, unafraid, confident, strong, smart, kind, caring . . . I need it all. I need Tiffany.

I pull up to her apartment, praying she’s here. The elevator takes forever, and I sprint from there to her door and bang hard on its surface, but there’s no answer. I bang again, harder, and adding a yell through the door. “Tiffany! Open the door. We need to talk.”

There’s no reply from inside, but from across the hallway a neighbor’s door opens and a woman looks out warily from behind the chain lock. “She’s not here.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, feeling worry gnaw at my gut. Where else could she be?

The neighbor lifts a brow like ‘what did I say?’, still looking like she’s got 9-1 dialed on her phone behind the door, with her thumb hovering over the 1 button again. “I’ve been stalking my peephole, watching for my food delivery for the last thirty minutes, and haven’t seen her come home.”

She’s watching me carefully to see how I’ll take that news, and I take a deep breath, calming myself before I get hauled off by the cops. “If you see her, please call me. It’s urgent.”

I pull a business card from my wallet and hand it to her. She holds back until the card reaches the crack in her door, then takes it, looking at it critically as she reads my name. She glances back up at me. “I’ll tell her you stopped by, Daniel Stryker.”

“No, don’t.”

Her eyes narrow sharply, and any hope I had of the neighbor telling me if Tiffany comes home evaporates into thin air. Fuck.