Page 39 of The Voicemail

I remember while I brush my teeth. I remember while I answer emails. I remember when he walks into the kitchen in the morning with damp hair and rolled sleeves, looking like something I want to sink my teeth into.

Then, one morning, Mr. Bellamy emails me before I’ve even had breakfast. The first message is polite. The second isn’t. The gist is that he thinks I’m going to miss tonight’s gallery opening. Never mind that I’ve been working on it relentlessly, even from Alex’s apartment. He’s somehow gotten it into his head that I’m not coming, and now he’s blowing up my inbox.

I read the last email twice while my coffee goes cold beside my laptop. Then I make the mistake of muttering, “Unbelievable.”

Alex looks up from the other side of the kitchen.

“What’s unbelievable?” he asks.

I glare at him, silently begging him to mind his own business. “It’s nothing.”

“I very much doubt that.”

“There’s an event at the gallery. Mr. Bellamy keeps emailing me like I’m not going to be there tonight.”

“That’s because you aren’t going tonight.”

I look up at him in shock. He didn’t. He couldn’t have.

“What the hell did you do?” I hiss.

“I made a phone call. I don’t think a public event is a good idea for you right now.”

I close my laptop carefully before I’m tempted to slam it. “You had no right to do that!”

“I had every right. Your stalker is still at large.”

“That doesn’t mean I can just stop working.” The words come out louder than I mean them to, and I don’t care. “And it certainly doesn’t mean you get to control my schedule.”

“It means you don’t go to a crowded gallery event with multiple entrances, temporary staff, hired servers, and guests no one has fully vetted,” he counters calmly. “I know how these things go, Elena. The risk is unacceptable.”

I shake my head and open the laptop again, too furious to argue. The guest list is already a mess. Mr. Bellamy has forwarded me four names that should’ve been added two days ago, Claire has somehow seated Mrs. Hensley beside a woman she publicly hates, and the caterer still has the old floor plan.

If I don’t go, the whole night is going to fall apart, and Mr. Bellamy will fire me for sure.

“I’m going,” I say, not looking at him.

Alex sets his coffee down. “No, you’re not.”

“You know,” I say, “for someone who keeps insisting I’m not a prisoner, you have a real talent for making decisions about where I’m allowed to go.”

His jaw tightens. “I’m trying to keep you alive.”

“At what cost? What’s the point of being alive if I lose everything that matters to me? I worked hard for this job, and I’m not going to let a deranged man take it away from me. Whether that man is my stalker or you.”

“Funny,” he says, flat. “You may not like it, but all I care about is keeping you safe.”

“If I stay here tonight,” I start carefully, “then tomorrow it’ll be another reason I shouldn’t go. Then another. And then another. I’m not going to live like that.”

“I can make Bellamy understand,” he says.

“I don’t want you to make Bellamy understand. I want to go to this event and do my job. Help me do it safely or watch me do it without you.”

The ultimatum does it for him, and he helps me do it safely. I have to forward the guest list to Luca, and, naturally, Alex insists on attending with me. He doesn’t speak to me for the rest of the day, probably irritated that I’ve outmaneuvered him.

Later in the afternoon, he says very little while I get ready. That’s probably for the best, because I’m already tense. The dress I choose is blue, fitted at the waist, and simple enough for work without making me look like I gave up.

When I step out of the bathroom after finishing my hair and makeup, Alex is waiting near the bedroom door. His eyes move over me only once, clearly impressed. I feel it everywhere, goosebumps rising along my arms.