Filthy Rich, Wild with Lust

Chapter 66

But no sign comes...

I rest my head on his chest and cry.

Juliet

“Come on, Bazza.” I stand at the door with the leash. I slept like a log, didn’t even hear Henley leave this morning. He must have had an early meeting or something. He left much earlier than usual. I walk out the front door and stretch on my veranda. Carol sees me and comes walking across the road.

“Morning, Carol.” I smile.

“Good morning, dear. Is everything all right with Henley?”

“Yeah.” I frown.

“I was up getting a glass of water, and when I saw him speed down the street at three this morning, I got a little worried.”

“What?”

“Yes, he went somewhere in a hurry in the middle of the night.”

“Oh.”

What the f**k?

“I’ll check on him. Thanks, Carol.” I go to walk back inside, and Barry pulls his leash in the other direction. “Let me get my phone.”

“I’ll watch him. You go get your phone,” Carol says.

I run inside and grab my phone off the charger and quickly call Henley. It goes straight to voice mail.

“Hello, you’ve reached Henley James. Leave a message.”

Hmm, he’s either on the phone or it’s turned off.

I glance at the time: 6:30 a.m.

Why would his phone be turned off at this hour of the day? I walk out front again.

“Any news?” Carol asks.

“He’s not answering,” I reply, distracted. “Maybe he had an early Zoom meeting or something.”

“Yes, of course. That would be it,” Carol agrees. “Can’t be easy running a multinational company with all those different time zones.”

“Yeah,” I reply, but I get the feeling something is off. He didn’t mention an early meeting last night. Maybe he just forgot. “Thanks, Carol. I’ll go for my run and try him again later.”

“Let me know if everything is okay, won’t you?”

I smile. Forever the neighborhood busybody. “For sure.” I begin to walk up the road with Barry. “Come on, Baz. Let’s go.”

It’s 10:00 a.m., and I am getting worried.

Henley still hasn’t turned his phone on. Something is off here.

I call his office.

“Hello, Henley James Engineering. Monica speaking.”

“Hi, Monica, it’s Juliet. Can I speak to Henley, please?”

“He’s not in today, Juliet.”

I frown, taken aback. He distinctly said he was working today. “Can I speak to Jenny, please?”

“Sure, I’ll transfer you now. Have a good day.”

I wait.

“Hello, Jenny speaking.”

“Hi, Jenny, sorry to bother you.”

“Hi, Juliet. What’s up?” Her tone is abrasive.

“Sorry to bother you, but have you heard from Henley today?” I ask.

“He emailed this morning to say he had external meetings all day and that he wouldn’t be in to the office.”

“Oh, yes. I completely forgot about that.” I hold on the line while I think. She obviously doesn’t know anything either. “Okay, thank you. I just couldn’t reach him. I’m sure he will call me back soon.”

“He’s a very busy man, Juliet.”

“I know,” I reply through gritted teeth. Don’t mess with me today, Jenny.

I am not in the mood.

“Thanks, Jenny.”

Thanks for nothing, b***h.

I do some cleaning and vacuum the floor. And then I prep my dinners for the week. I’m working afternoon shifts and want to try and be organized and healthy.

Where could he possibly be?

His father.

Oh f**k, I hadn’t even thought of that. s**t, s**t, s**t.

I scramble through Google to look for the nursing home’s phone number, and I call.

“Hello. San Sebastian Nursing Home.”

“Hello, can I be put through to the level-two nurses’station, please?”

“Transferring you now.”

“Hello, level two. Christine speaking.”

I wince. I don’t really know Christine. I’ve never worked with her before. “Hi, Christine, it’s Juliet Drinkwater calling. We’ve never actually met, but I’ve seen your name on the roster. I do one shift a week.”

“Yes, hello, Juliet. I’ve seen your name on the roster too. How are you?”

“Good.” I pause. I know she can’t tell me anything.

“This is a random question, but I was wondering how Bernard James from room 206 is?”

“Oh... um.” She pauses.

“Off the record, of course,” I say. “He’s actually my boyfriend’s father, and I can’t get ahold of my boyfriend and am getting worried. His name is Henley James. Have you seen him?”

“Oh...,” she replies. “You might want to come down here.”

“What’s happening?”

“Mr. James’s room is being cleaned out.”

My eyes widen. There’s only one reason someone cleans out a room.

No.

“He died?” I gasp.

“You didn’t hear it from me.”

My heart stops.

No.

“I’m on my way.” I hang up, grab my keys, and run for the door.

I walk down the corridor with a deep sense of dread. I have no idea what I’m about to walk into.

Only that Henley hasn’t called to tell me and his phone is now turned off.

Henley being Henley, I’m assuming he wants to deal with this alone.

Tough titties. He’s got me now.

I get to the door and stand outside as I peer in through the glass window.

Henley is methodically taking clothes out of the closet, folding them, and putting them into a box.

He’s emotionless, collected.

His silhouette blurs as the lump in my throat closes over.

I knock softly, and he glances up and sees me. Before he stops himself, I see a fleeting flash of anger across his face. “Come in,” he calls in a clipped tone. He continues to fold the clothes without looking up.

He’s on autopilot. Cleaning is his way of controlling the situation.

I brace myself; I don’t even know if I’ve done the right thing by coming. I just knew I didn’t want him to be alone while doing this. I open the door, walk in, and close it behind me. “Hi,” I say softly.

“You’ve heard the news, no doubt,” he snaps as he angrily flicks a pair of pants.

I stay silent as I watch him.

“You can go home. I’m fine.” He flicks the pants again as if to get something off them.

My heart breaks.

“It’s for the best, anyway.” He keeps folding the clothes. “He had no quality of life for a long time.”

I go to sit on the bed.

“Don’t sit there,” he barks.

I quickly stand back up.

“I want to...” He opens and closes his hands by his sides, highly agitated. “I need to change the linens.”

He’s skating along the edge of sanity.

I stand still, unsure what to do. “What happened?” I whisper.

“He’s dead. But you already know that.” He flicks the pants again.

“How did he die?” I ask a little stronger.

“He had an aneurysm.”

My heart is racing as I watch him. He’s like a bomb about to explode.

“I’m so sorry, Henley.”

“Don’t be.” He flicks the pants again without even looking at me. “I just need to clean out this room, and then I can move on.”

“Come here.” I go to hug him.

He pulls away from me. “Don’t. The last thing in the world that I want is to hug it out. Go home, Juliet,” he snaps in frustration.

God, how do I deal with this?

“Okay, I will,” I whisper. “Can I help a little before I go?”

“No.” He flicks a T-shirt in the air. “I’ve got it.”

Maybe coming here wasn’t the right thing to do.

“I’ll clean the bathroom,” I offer.

“No, Juliet,” he yells. “How many times do I have to tell you? Go the f**k home.”

He’s angry.

My eyes well with tears for him. He is feeling so out of control in the situation. I don’t blame him. I’m feeling pretty out of control here myself.

“I’m not going anywhere, Henley,” I fire back. “If you think I’m leaving you alone right now, you are sadly mistaken.”

His furious eyes rise to meet mine. “Leave or I’m calling security.”

What the hell?

“Hen.”

“I mean it. I’m fine. I want to do this alone.” He flicks a T-shirt. “I’ll come over later when I’ve dealt with all of this.”

“Do you promise?”

“Yep.” He puts a pile of T-shirts into a suitcase.

I watch him for a moment, unsure whether to leave. He wants to do this alone; I think I need to respect his wishes and give him some space.

“Okay.” I walk over to him. “Can I have a kiss goodbye?”

He pecks me quickly on the cheek.

“You’ll be over later?” I ask.

“Yes.” Without making eye contact, he goes back to folding.

“I’ll cook us dinner.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

He’s coming over afterward. I feel a little better, but I really don’t want to leave him here. “I love you.”

“You too,” he says, distracted.

With one last long look at my dear heartbroken man, I walk out the door. This is a complete nightmare.

I peek into the oven and then at the clock: 7:46 p.m.

Where is he?

He hasn’t returned from the nursing home—hasn’t been home at all—and I’m trying so hard to give him some space, but I’m really worried about him. It’s a fine line between caring and smothering. I’m going to call him; I dial his number and wait as it rings.

“Hello, you’ve reached Henley James. Leave a message.”

My stomach drops. f**k.

Why did I leave him at the nursing home? What on earth was I thinking?

I should have been there to support him. I should have stayed.