Chapter 30
*Natalie*
I feel unsettled, a knot in my stomach.
We haven’t seen or talked with Sophie since we left Alexander’s last night.
And I am seriously worried about her…
I wonder if she’s ok….
And I’m still mad at Zane. I cannot believe he would offer to put up that kind of money without even talking with me about it first, and the fact that he offered to pay that kind of money for *her* feels... Wrong? And I feel like he would never do something so grandiose for *me…*
Last night was full of cold shoulders and icy looks, and we slept on separate sides of the bed when we usually cuddle and touch each other’s bodies all through the night… This morning he got up extra early, and when I got up and came down for coffee I found he’d made a small pot for himself, which was almost completely gone, and had already left for work.
*Nice.*
I’d taken a deep breath, heart pounding, and made a small pot for myself and done the morning kid/school/getting-ready routine by myself.
*Thanks for that.*
I step into my office and take a sip of my hours-old-cold coffee before setting it on my desk and settling into the office chair in front of it. I open my laptop and press the power button and refresh the e-mail on my phone while I wait for my laptop to start up; I’m anxious to see if Amy Wingtower, the marketing editor I’ve been working with at Blush, has returned my e-mail about Sophie’s designs. I e-mailed her yesterday about a referral to the fashion editor, Lexie Marquart...
I’ve checked my e-mail about a thousand times since yesterday afternoon, and so far haven’t gotten anything back…
*It’s only been a day.*
My e-mails reload. A new e-mail from Amy Wingtower pops up. Subject: Sophia Cortez.
*Oh my God! Please, please.*
I instantly click on it.
*Hi!
Does Sophia Cortez have a portfolio? Lexie wants to look at it ASAP. She’s flying out to London after lunch on Thursday.
-Amy*
Lexie wants to look at Sophie’s portfolio?!
My eyes widen and my jaw drops.
A feature article or cover story in Blush could make Sophie’s career as a designer. I pull up Sophie’s last text, hands shaking, and begin typing a reply.
*Hi…*
I pause.
What do I say? ‘I hope we didn’t fuck up your life?’ ‘I hope you don’t hate us?’ 'I hope… you’re alive?’
*I just got a text that Lexie Marquart wants to see your designs! Can you send some samples ASAP? She’s heading to London on Thursday!
P.S. I hope everything’s OK…*
I set my phone down.
I know she knows who Lexie Marquart is. There isn't anyone in the fashion world who doesn’t.
My heart pounds.
I hope she doesn’t think this comes with strings attached…
I sigh and glance back to my laptop, clicking open my profile.
My phone pings.
My eyes snap to it. Under my message to Sophie in red letters it says:
*Message not sent.*
I recoil from the phone, my spidey-senses prickling.
My mind races. Why wouldn’t it be sent? Should I be checking on her? When is it enough to say, ‘this is seriously worrisome?’
I saw her carried away by two men in black suits with headsets at Alexander’s club, and now her phone is down?...
I can’t concentrate on my work.
I absentmindedly close my laptop, thinking about what could be happening to Sophie.
I text Zane.
*****
I pull up in front of Sophie’s apartment building, parking at a metered spot along the street. Zane is already parked up ahead, I see the Lexus down the block. I collect my bag and phone, eye the front entrance, and step out of my car. The sounds of the traffic and people on the street flood my ears as I step out and cross in front of my car, opening my bag to grab a card out. I step up onto the curb and approach the meter. I select an hour, the smallest increment of time allowed, swipe my card and slip it back into my bag. I see Zane walking towards me in the flow of people walking along the sidewalk.
I meet his eyes as he approaches me and we give each other a look that says, ‘I’m sorry.’
I slip my hand into his and fall into step with him and the flow of people, and then cross over to the steps of Sophie’s building and walk up. The doorman opens the door as we step through.
Inside is a front desk area with an attendant, and set of elevators, another uniformed doorman standing beside it.
We look around, but there is no one else entering…
I look at the attendant behind the desk.
I smile at him.
“Excuse me,” I say.
“We were just here last night with our friend, Sophia Cortez?” I begin, not knowing where I’m going with this.
He looks at me.
“…And…” I continue, tentatively. I decide on honesty. “…I’m really worried about her. I haven’t heard from her… and now her phone’s shut off…” I shake my head, imploring him with my eyes.
He looks me over, scrutinizing, and finally nods his head.
“I remember you,” he says. He nods toward the doorman beside the elevator, and he steps toward the card slot and swipes his own card, and the elevator opens.
“Make sure she’s ok,” he says with a little wink, and we step in past the doorman.
“Thank you,” I say, and we step inside.
The doors shut and I press the number 16, and we ride silently up to her floor, my heart racing.
The doors open and we walk down the carpeted hallway to Sophie’s door.
1608.
I remember from yesterday.
I knock on the door.
“Just a minute,” a woman’s voice calls.
I hear some shuffling on the other side.
The door opens and standing before us is a woman in a silky robe with dark wavy hair, golden skin, fluffy lips, dark brown eyes, and a tiny curvy body… I do a double take, and blink twice, focusing better on her features. She looks almost identical to Sophie, but its not her. It is astonishing. She looks so much like her I could mistake them for each other…
This woman looks at us blankly.
“Oh!” I say, looking around us. We must be at the wrong apartment. I look back at the number on the door.
1608.
No, this is the right apartment.
I look Zane and then at her again.
“Um… Who are you?” I ask, bewildered.
The woman looks at me.
“Who are *you?”* She stares at me hardly and then glances up at Zane.
“We’re… friends of Sophia’s… Is she… here?” I ask, shaking my head.
I look beyond the woman into the interior of the apartment. It has the same white carpet and hardwood floors, but the furniture has been replaced with a more sleek, modern black and charcoal grey couches and chairs, the end tables black marble, and the dining room table now a black squared-edge marble… The black and white photographs on the walls have been replaced with colorful abstract art canvases, and there are boxes along the walls…
“No. She moved out,” she says.
My heart thuds.
And my head snaps to Zane.
“Sorry,” Sophie’s replica says, beginning to slide the door closed.
“Wait!” I say, desperate for any clue about Sophie. “Do you know where she went?” I shake my head, eyes wide, imploring her.
The woman shrugs her shoulders, a bored expression on her face, shaking her head.
“Okay, well then… sorry, to have…” I say, backing away from the door.
She slides the door the rest of the way and it clicks closed and we hear the locks engage.
“…bothered… you…” I finish, my sentence dangling in the air.
I look at Zane and he slides his hand into mine, and we give her door one last glance, and then walk down the hall away from Sophie’s apartment.
“What the fuck…?” I murmur to Zane as we walk, looking sideways at him, my heart racing.
He nods, and I can see a thousand gears turning in his head.
My mind is racing 90 miles a minute as we walk down the hall, back to the elevator.
Where is Sophie? What happened to her? What did Alexander do to her? Or, what did he have his men do to her…?
And, who in the world is *that?*
Zane is firmly holding my hand, pulling me quickly along.
“Should we go to the police?” I ask, in a whisper.
Zane shakes his head.
“I don’t think so. I think Alexander has too many men on the inside. I don’t know who to trust anymore. If we go to the police, someone there might tip-off Alexander…” Zane says.
“What do we do?” I ask.
“Let’s just get home… We’ll talk there…” He says.