“I have to go,” he interrupted. “Thanks for the heads-up, Jonesy.”
He jammed the disconnect button and quickly brought up Emma’s number, his nerves rising as he listened to the dial tone. Only one ring, and then her phone switched over to voice mail.
“Hi, you’ve reached Emma Lee. Leave a message.”
Shit.
He pressed redial, praying that something might have changed in the three seconds since the first call, but no luck. Then he shot off a quick text and stared at the screen, willing words to appear. They didn’t.
Okay. No need to freak out yet. If he left now, he could still catch her at the hotel even if she had decided to head to the airport. Though if it were up to Dean, he’d advise her to let that son of a bitch Lorenzo rot in jail.
Curiosity got the best of him as he hurried out of his office, and he quickly launched the Internet browser on his phone as he headed outside to the parking lot behind the DreamMakers building. New York was three hours ahead, so chances were, Lorenzo’s antics might have already made the news there, if they were serious enough.
And….yup. It was serious enough.
He shook his head in disbelief after he clicked on the “fashion” icon on the lifestyles page. The first article on the list featured a truly unfortunate mug shot of none other than Lorenzo Fuoco.
Lorenzo’s picture had been on the Fire and Ice website, but this shot in no way resembled the suave, dark-haired man from the glamour pose Dean had seen. It was even worse than one of those ambush celebrity shots, the no-make-up, wild-hair photographs the paparazzi liked to snap of people stumbling out of nightclubs at four a.m. Lorenzo’s eyes were bloodshot, his skin pasty, and his hair a tangled mess, and the insolent smirk on his face made Dean’s blood boil. Even in a police mug shot, the asshole looked like…well, an asshole.
He skimmed the article, realizing exactly why Emma had been so upset. Lorenzo had been hauled in by the NYPD for driving under the influence. He had been twice over the legal drinking limit, coked-up out of his mind, and he’d assaulted the arresting officer.
Fuck. What was the matter with people?
Cursing in disgust, Dean tried calling Emma again, got her voice mail, and then started the car. Screw this. He wasn’t letting her go to New York—and not because he was acting on some selfish urge to keep her with him. This was for her. She didn’t deserve the stress and anxiety Lorenzo caused her. And she certainly didn’t deserve to be stuck in a business relationship with a man who was determined to destroy that business with cocaine and whiskey. A man who Dean now knew had been taking advantage of her since day one.
Fifteen minutes later, he killed the engine in front of Emma’s hotel and dove into the lobby, his boots thudding against the gleaming marble floor. He’d visited her suite enough times he already knew all the desk clerks by name, and he gave a quick wave to the man on duty as he sprinted toward the elevator.
“You just missed her!” Frank’s cheerful voice called from behind the counter.
Dean halted in midstep, his heart sinking to the pit of his stomach. “Emma?” he said, then felt stupid for asking, because who the hell else was the man talking about?
“She left about five minutes ago,” the clerk confirmed with a nod.
Dean strode over, hoping the panic in his eyes didn’t show. “Did she say where she was going?”
“No, but she had a suitcase with her. She hopped into one of the cabs at the taxi stand outside.”
“But she didn’t check out, right?”
Frank shook his head. “She still has the suite until the New Year. Looked to me like she was taking a short trip, and she didn’t say anything about not coming back.”
Relief swamped Dean’s gut. Okay. That was promising, at least. Emma was probably catching a flight to New York to deal with this latest Lorenzo crap, and then she’d come back.
But…fuck, what if she didn’t come back? What if Lorenzo’s arrest required she stay in New York? For work, or to hold the idiot’s hand during his trial, or…
Dean breathed through his nose, willing his panic away. No. He wasn’t going to be separated from her again, not after last night. Not after she’d said she loved him, and slept in his arms, and told him she wanted to try again.
Said that she was his girl.
“Thanks, Frank. I’ll give her a call and see where she’s at.” But when he drew his phone from his pocket on the way to the entrance, it wasn’t Emma’s number he dialed.
“Parker,” he barked when his friend picked up. “I need time off.”
The other man sounded confused. “Where are you? And since when?”
“Since right now.” He set his jaw. “I’m flying to New York.”
Silence.
And then, “Um, okay. How long will you be gone?”
“I don’t know.” Dean exhaled another breath. “Maybe a day. Maybe a week. Maybe indefinitely.”