Fiddlesticks. The man worked for one of the biggest companies that stocked Starling fashions. Where the heck was Laken?
Isley didn’t reveal his panic and guided David into the office. “Can I get you a coffee? Tea? Soft drink?”
Say yes. Say yes.
“A black coffee would be great.”
“Give me a minute.” Isley barely waited the second it took to receive a nod before darting out of the office and closing the door behind him, hustling to Charlotte’s desk and ringing Laken’s mobile. It went directly to voice message, prompting Isley to leave one.
“Laken, where are you?” he hissed in exasperation. “David Sinclair is here for a meeting. I’ll go through the file with him until you get here, but please ring my mobile to let me know you’re on your way so I can tell him how long you’re gonna be.”
Next, he went to get a coffee from the PA’s coffee lounge on the next floor because he really didn’t want to go back in and start up the machine in Laken’s office like a dork and give the game away that there was a problem.
Returning with the coffee minutes later, the silent phone in his slacks pocket taunted him. He put on his sunniest smile as he handed David his drink. “It looks like Laken has been delayed, but I can go through the information we have on your current order status.”
A wrinkle appeared between David’s brows, but aside from that his expression was unreadable. “That’s fine, I hope there isn’t a problem?”
Sweating bullets, Isley projected as much calm as he could muster around the ball of anxiety forming in his gut and took his seat after picking up his iPad.
“No problem, I have everything you need.” He took a deep breath and clicked into the file section, pulling up Hayward’s order information. He plastered on a confident smile he wasn’t feeling and met David’s gaze directly. “Where do you want to start? I have all the store inventory to be shipped, if you want to begin with that?”
Chapter Ten
Laken
Dragged from a restless sleep, Laken's body ached in funny places as he blearily blinked his bedroom into focus.
Fuck, how did I get here? What time is it?
He had no recollection of coming to bed. His last memory was clutching a whiskey bottle, drowning his sorrows. Crapola, who had put him to bed? That question was chased by a more important one. Had he let anything slip out? Popi had been coaxing him for weeks, trying to pry out what was up with him. Fuck’d if he could—or would—say. Being vulnerable was not Laken’s go to state. Hell, it was the last place he liked to be.
The lack of clothing, the surrounding scent, and softness of warm, cotton sheets beneath him said someone had helped him to bed. He had most definitely not been in any fit state, he knew that by how shit he was feeling. He was more wrung out than a dish cloth.
Rubbing wearily at his gritty eyes, he licked his dry lips, working to swallow past the godawful taste in his mouth. It waslike he’d bitten an animal that had spent some time digging in shit. How did he know this? Desperate times when homeless!
Seconds ticked by as it slowly dawned on him how light it was in the room. Whoever had put him to bed hadn’t bothered to shut the curtains. One squint at the sun ripped a groan from his dry throat while he rolled to sit and try to get his few remaining brain cells to fire. He quickly wished he hadn’t when the room tilted weirdly before righting itself, making his stomach rock and roll and the dryness in his mouth get taken care of as it watered unpleasantly, nausea swimming inside his guts.
Another groan of distress came while he ran shaky hands through his hair, which hurt somehow, along with his dick. What the fuck had he done to himself? Unfortunately, the hammering at his temples made it impossible to find an answer. And if that wasn’t enough, it registered there was another noise competing with it—his phone. The annoying chime didn’t let up, coming from the direction of his beside cabinet, and it was fucking unrelenting. Someone wanted to die because it was making the hammer at his temples increase its tempo to match.
A rasped curse cut through chirpy chimes as he reached for the offending phone. With no consideration to how he might look, he pressed to accept the video call with death on his mind. One groggy eyed look at Rue’s shocked expression said he’d made a massive mistake, and he internally cursed his shitty luck for not checking who the caller was. He didn’t look too closely at his image on the screen. He really didn’t want to make the headache worse.
Licking his lips, he scowled at his misfortune, laying the blame squarely at the tiny feet of the menace persecuting him into madness.Paris… the least said about that the better when it brought with it what he’d found on his return.
“Holy fuck, are you home with a hangover when you’re supposed to be at work?”
That is exactly what the fuck I’m doing.
Rue’s high-pitched squeal caused Laken to wince and grunt in distress because, fuck, if his luck couldn’t get any worse, it had to be Rue, his youngest brother and the one he was closest to, who caught him out. Hell, he’d have preferred Jupiter, or one of his other brothers. They would at least see the humor in this situation and wouldn’t ask too many questions—maybe. With how his luck was recently, he couldn’t be sure about anything any more.
He reached for the glass of water he noticed on the bedside table, needing a distraction and something to take away the taste that reminded him he’d drank way more than was sensible. Something he hadn’t done in years. Although the thumping in his head and the nausea greasing his guts weren’t going away anytime soon. Downing the water like the glass might be snatched right out of his hand, he hoped it would also help with all manner of his ailments, including the rather obvious heat of embarrassment perfusing his cheeks. Which wasn’t helped by the wide-eyed man gawping on the screen, appearing like he didn’t recognize him. Of late, Laken didn’t recognize himself either.
For years, he’d perfected the image he wanted to portray and distance himself from his shady past. One he never wanted to touch his adopted family. Now, that felt like it was slipping away from him with his perfectly tailored world unravelling around him. The letter he’d received in the post was the first of three, each holding a thinly veiled threat. He was sure the next one would bring what the blackmailer actually wanted. He could only think it would be money. What else could they want? While he waited for the other shoe to drop, it made life feel like water flowing through his fingers with no way to stop it. For that very reason, he had taken to spending a lot of time since he’d gotten back home from Paris ignoring the shit happening in his life. Hecould get a black belt in avoidance, he had become that talented at it.
He didn’t want to deal with it when he’d have to admit what the fuck was happening to him and just no, he wasn’t ready for that—if he ever would be.
“Have you taken some vacation time? Cause I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to be at work.”
“Not when I can’t fucking concentrate,” Laken snarled, forgetting himself in his misery. Placing the glass down with a clatter, his hands trembled so badly he barely got it to sit right. “He’s everywhere I fucking turn, I can’t escape!”