“Then get the paperwork drawn up,” he says simply. “Cover yourself.”
“Oh great!” My head whips in the direction of Sofia, whose glaring at us. “Good one,” she snaps.
Wynter is already halfway across the casino floor, pushing through the crowd, her face pale.
“Shit,” I breathe. “How much did she hear?”
“All of it,” Sofia bites out.
I rush after her, ignoring the way Sofia berates us both for being idiots.
I push straight out onto the street. The chaos of London has never seemed so loud as it does right now. People shove past me and traffic idles along the busy roads. There are too many faces passing me in a blur.
And none of them are hers.
“Wynter!” I shout, scanning the crowds, my heartbeat kicking hard against my ribs. There’s nothing. No sign of her. No flash of her hair. No glimpse of that fucking jumper she’s been wearing.
My chest tightens.
Think.Where would she go?The park.She liked it there before, said it was quiet and away from everything.
I start moving, fast, weaving through people, barely registering the horns blaring or the curses thrown my way as I shove past.
I call her and it rings. Then cuts to voicemail.
“Fuck,” I mutter, already redialling.
I try over and over, until eventually, she turns her phone off completely and it goes straight to voicemail.
My pace quickens, breaking into a jog now, my eyes scanning every corner, every bench, every shadow like she might just appear if I look hard enough.
She heard everything.Every fucking word.I stop, slowly turning to scan the area. “Fuck,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair.
I’m about to call Lucy, bracing myself for the fallout, when my phone rings.
It’s Dale.
“What?” I snap.
“She’s here,” he says quietly, “at the apartment.”
Relief hits me so hard, it nearly knocks the air out of me. “She okay?”
“She . . . seems it.”
“I’m on my way.”
I push through the apartment door minutes later, my breaths still uneven.
Music blasts through the space at a level that surely tests the sound system to full capacity.
Dale is leaning against the wall with his arms folded, watching something with clear amusement.
“What’s going on?” I ask, frowning.
“She’s decorating,” he says, shrugging.
I follow his gaze.