His Missing Wife by Jaime Hendricks (nice books to read .TXT) 📕

His entire life was collapsing around him. “This is my project!”

“Is it more important than your missing wife?”

Bitch. Nothing was more important than his missing wife. Rosita had him by the balls and she knew it. Optics were everything. Perception became reality. No, it wasn’t more important than Tessa, but he couldn’t lose his job and his wife at the same time. What purpose would he have to get out of bed?

“I’m going to make sure they find out what really happened to Tessa.” He said it as a mild threat to her, and he hoped it landed. When she didn’t say anything, James disconnected the line without saying goodbye.

Rosita had to be involved, somehow. A woman scorned by him, for a relationship and a job. He just had to prove it.

21

Tessa

Early Friday evening, I smooth down the front of my black dress. It’s sleeveless and has a turtleneck, and I bought it today at one of the local stores down the block. For whatever reason, the rings on my neck are getting darker, probably in that worse-before-it-gets-better phase that unfortunately I know so well. It looks worse than it feels. James had asked me to be ready early. I tug my denim jacket on over my dress and exit my room.

When I step off the elevator, James is waiting in the lobby holding a dozen roses. There are four each of red, pink, and white. They’re wrapped beautifully, stuffed with baby’s breath and long greens, laid out in gold lace with a huge red bow bundling it all together. They clearly didn’t come from a checkout line in a grocery store.

I smile a goofy grin. “Hi.”

He holds them out for me. “For you. Although their beauty no longer compares in present company.”

Heat rushes to my face. What is it about this guy? He knows everything right to say, and how to make me feel like the only woman in the room. In the world. He’s dressed more casually than the night before, in slacks and a button down but no tie. He must’ve gone up and changed after work.

“Thank you,” I say. “These really are gorgeous.”

He leans forward and kisses my temple. “You’re worth it.”

Such a departure from the other things I’d been worth. A six pack. McDonald’s. Jewelry that left green stains on my skin and was probably stolen to boot.

“How did you sleep?” he asks.

I raise my eyebrows. “Really well! I was actually woken up by a phone call. Your bartender friend already relayed my information to Michael at Jupiter’s. They’re closed on Mondays, so I’m going over there Monday afternoon to meet with him to go over some ideas.”

It took me by surprise, how it happened so fast. Michael said he knew James and trusted his referral, and wanted to speak to me as soon as possible, because he was ready to proceed with a renovation. He said the restaurant slowed down between Memorial Day and Labor Day, since most of the people who usually frequented ended up going to the beach. He planned to close for most of June and then have limited open days until mid-July. He’d already chosen an architect and a construction company for structural renovation, but agreed that he needed more of a theme and flow when it came to design and wanted to see what I had to offer.

“Where are we off to?” I ask, cradling my beautiful flowers in the crook of my left arm.

“Have you ever been to the city?”

“Which city?”

He laughs. “The city. New York.”

“Only on television.”

“Well, then you’ll love the night I have planned. Shall we go?”

His left arm bends out and I hook my right arm into his.

My face likely resembles Jack Dawson’s the first time he took in the sight of the Titanic as we approach the city from the main highway. The traffic is brutal—I’ve never seen anything like this before. Where are all the cars coming from, and can the city really accommodate all this? I grew up in western Virginia, which not many people know. Traffic only happened when too many cows blocked the road. No, it wasn’t quite that bad. The trailer parks were in the middle of nowhere, yes, but even we had gas stations and convenience stores, not just errant farm animals.

When we finally get into the actual city, the traffic is worse. James says thankfully we’re on the “west side” because that’s where our plans are. He finds a garage (holy shit, it’s so expensive!) and I leave my beautiful roses on his back seat as we walk out onto the block.

“Good, we’re close,” he says, then takes my hand. I don’t even flinch.

Here I am. I made it to New York City. It’s loud, it stinks, and the colors and the lights are overwhelming. People are everywhere. Everywhere! Some are rushing, still in work attire, bopping and weaving between the drones of people who stop to stare up at the tall buildings. Some are obviously tourists, posing for pictures with giant M&Ms or other mascots. A group of hippie-looking men with long locks are smoking pot, right there on the street, right in front of a patrol cop. Or maybe it’s a parking cop. Still, clearly not afraid of the men in blue.

We have a quick dinner in a small, crowded Italian restaurant. James tells me it was where he’d go with his parents and his brother when they were younger. Dinner and a Rangers game for the family, every fall, until they left for college.

Sounds lovely. James never opened up to me about his brother, and I don’t want to press, just in case it’s a horror story. His eyes mist over as he mentions Tommy, and I just want to change the subject, so I offer it up. “I’m the youngest of five. ‘Tessa’ means ‘fifth child.’”

“Oh. Wow. Big family.”

Shit. Why did I do this again? “Yeah, sorta. We all kind of went our separate ways.”

“You don’t talk to