The Favor

Dane’s eyes took in the whole team as he spoke. “You’ve had four weeks—four—to generate some fresh ideas. And this is the best you’ve come up with?”

I winced. Okay, so I could admit that the team could have done better, but the scorn dripping from his voice was unnecessary. By the time he’d finished verbally slapping them down, I was surprised they still had the will left to live.

When he returned to his office, he slammed the door shut behind him. If it was any other day of the year, I’d have followed him inside and told him that the asshole-behavior needed to stop. Not that he’d have apologized or admitted to being at fault. But I’d have called him on his shit anyway.

This wasn’t a simple case of him being a prick, though. Something was fucking with his head. Something big. And that same “something” continued to bother him throughout the rest of the workday.

He was just as quiet on the journey home as he had been on the way to o-Verve that morning. At least he hadn’t snapped at me. Yet.

No sooner had we stepped into the house than he disappeared upstairs without a word. All right then.

I spent a little time reading in the library before heading to the kitchen to make dinner. I sent him a quick text to let him know I was making spaghetti, just in case he was hungry.

He didn’t respond to the message. He also didn’t come downstairs to eat.

After dinner, I went to my room and caught up on some work. I then watched the new episode of a series I was somewhat addicted to. When 10 p.m. came crawling around and there was still no sign of Dane, I decided to check on him. I wouldn’t be able to sleep unless I knew he was at least relatively okay.

I tried calling him, but it went to voicemail. I frowned. It was exceedingly rare that Dane didn’t answer his phone. It was like an extension of his freaking hand.

I went to his office, expecting to find him sitting in the dark with only the glow of his computer screen to light the room, but he wasn’t there. I checked the kitchen, thinking he might be having a late dinner. He wasn’t there either. I checked the gym, since it was possible that he’d decided to work his issues out on the punchbag. No sign of him.

My shoulders dropped. Maybe he’d gone to bed. His own bed.

I made my way to his room and knocked on the door. No response. I’d never once stepped inside the room, respecting his boundaries. Peeking through the door didn’t count as entering though, did it?

I twisted the knob and pushed the door so that it slowly swung open. I glanced inside, taking in the very masculine space with its geometric lines, neutral tones, and dark woods, but I didn’t see him anywhere. The bedcovers hadn’t been disturbed.

Sighing, I shoved a hand through my hair, wondering where he could possibly be. Then it came to me. The garden. He’d obviously headed to the garden for some peace and quiet.

It was a little chilly out so, since I was clad in only a thin tee and shorts, I hurried to the little oasis among the trees. But he wasn’t there either. “For fuck’s sake,” I muttered. How hard could it be to find one man in his own home?

Okay, I’d just have to stand in the foyer and yell his name until he answered.

As I was passing the pool on my way back to the house, a cool breeze came along and rustled the cabana curtain. And there he was. I halted with a relieved sigh. Finally.

Even though I knew my presence probably wouldn’t be welcome, I slipped inside the cabana. Lounging on the rattan sofa with a glass in his hand, his eyes met mine. His intense stare was so disturbingly blank it made my skin itch.

I eyed the half-empty bottle of whiskey on the table beside him. Unease fluttered through me. Dane was not a big drinker. He’d have a glass of this or that here and there, but I’d never known him to make off with a bottle.

I opened my mouth, about to say that I’d come to check on him, but then I thought better of it. No grown man wanted to be checked on. And given the mood Dane was in, it would only piss him off.

His unwavering gaze didn’t shift from mine once—not even when he took another swig of whiskey. I genuinely couldn’t get a read on what he was thinking.

I stood there, not knowing what to say or do. Although I felt like an intruder, I didn’t want to leave him alone. He probably wouldn’t welcome company or comfort, but it felt wrong to just head back into the house.