“Of course. Besides, I have a meeting I need to prepare for.” He stands to go but turns back, squinting his eyes— his voice darkening slightly. “Have you seen Easton? He was supposed to give me his report at ten, and he didn’t bother to show.”
The way his lip curls at the mention of his son has me tensing and grinding my molars together so I don’t bite his head off.
“He’s working on something for me today. It’s time-sensitive, so you will have to excuse his absence.”
Vincent grunts but makes no move to leave as if he’s waiting for me to elaborate.
“I’ll get him to send you his report via email this afternoon. I can send Isaac up if you have more questions.” I turn back to my computer, ending the conversation, but I don’t miss how his jaw tightens at the dismissal before he shows himself out.
His role in my father’s company is how Easton and I became friends. But the ease in which he dismisses his son frankly pisses me off.
Easton may not hold the same business degree I do, but he’s no less smart and determined.
Half an hour later, my phone buzzes on the desk.
“Do you have something?” I answer without preamble.
“Maybe. A security camera across the street from the park caught the girl getting into a taxi. It took a while, but Aiden was able to get the driver’s info. It didn’t take much for him to remember the address he dropped her at,” Easton says, his voice a little distorted from the wind.
“How did you get security camera footage?” I ask.
“My fucking charm,” he says, his words rumbling from his throat, but Easton’s way of getting information usually involves everythingbutcharm. “The apartmentcomplex is just outside of the city, and the landlord confirmed there’s a girl matching her description renting an apartment on the third floor. She pays cash, so there’s nothing to track her,” he says, and I can hear his annoyance growing. “I’m checking it out now. I’ll take care of it.”
I don’t know how far East would take things, but for some reason, the thought of her being harmed makes me uneasy. “Wait. I’m coming to you.”
Easton hesitates for a moment before responding. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. We still don’t know who she is or who sent her. She might not be alone.”
“Send me the address. I’m leaving now.”
The last thing I hear is his frustrated sigh before I hang up, not giving him a chance to argue.
My phone pings with the address as I walk through my office door, closing it behind me.
On my way out, I pass Lauren’s desk and tell her I’ll be out of the office for the rest of the day and to reschedule any meetings I have today.
Easton drove me straight to the office after this morning in the park, so I text Isaac and tell him to meet me out front. Within five minutes, I’m on my way to the address Easton sent through.
It’s not far away, but with the city traffic, it takes longer to get there.
When we arrive, Easton is leaning against the hood of his ‘67 Ford Mustang GT, arms crossed over his chest, and wearing his signature do-not-fuck-with-me expression.
Isaac pulls up in front of him, on the opposite side of the street to the apartment building. Before he can even shut the engine off, I open the back door. “You can head back,” I say as I’m getting out.
Isaac gives me a strange look in the rearview mirror and opens his mouth to say something, but decides against it, and I narrow my eyes at him. As I’m about to ask him about it, Easton raps on the window.
“I’ll take it from here, Isaac,” Easton says when he lowers the window.
“Got it,” Isaac says immediately.
“What was that about?” I ask when I get out of the car. Easton ignores me, turning to walk across the street.
I shoot a glare at his back, but my brows pull together when I take in the building. It’s old and clearly in desperate need of some maintenance. A few sketchy-looking guys are lingering around, eyeing us, and more specifically, Easton’s muscle car.
East straightens to his full height and squares his shoulders, flexing his muscles. He has half a foot or more on each of them, and his hard stare bores into them as we make our way up to the decrepit apartment complex, like he’s daring any one of them to just fucking try it.
A lady is exiting the building as we approach, and Easton grabs the door, stopping it from closing behind her.
We take the stairs up to the third floor. Because, of fucking course, the lift doesn’t work. Stopping in front of apartment three-thirteen, Easton pulls a key out of his pocket. I raise my eyebrows at him, and he shrugs.