“Oh—right.” Hadley’s eyes landed on the bag in her hand, and she smiled. “He gave it to you, didn’t he?”
She had just remembered leaving her bag behind and was about to call Eric—until it hit her that her phone was in the bag too.
“I was planning to go get it myself. Thank goodness you showed up, Chelsey.”
“That’s really nothing to thank me for,” Chelsey replied, looking a little bashful. “I’m just telling the truth.”
Hadley took the bag, pulled out her phone, and set it on the vanity. The makeup artist resumed her work.
“By the way…” Hadley asked casually, “Did you make the coffee, Chelsey?”
“Yes, I did,” Chelsey replied with a small smile. “I brewed it just before you arrived. I’ll go grab it.”
She quickly left and returned with a cup. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” Hadley took a sip and smiled brightly. “This is perfect.” She gave Chelsey a thumbs-up, clearly pleased.
Just then, Chelsey’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She glanced at the screen, and her expression changed. Without a word, she rushed out of the room.
“Huh?” Hadley blinked, turning to the makeup artist and Tamara, who was sitting silently on the sofa. “Did something happen to Chelsey?”
Tamara didn’t respond. She rarely paid attention to anything that didn’t involve Hadley.
“Well…” The makeup artist leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. “A man’s come by looking for her a few times over the past couple of days…”
“A man?” Hadley raised a brow. “Her boyfriend?”
“I don’t think so.” The makeup artist shook her head, eyes wide. “He’s a lot older.”
“Then who is he?”
“Why guess?” Tamara cut in, standing abruptly. She looked at Hadley. “If you’re curious, I’ll go find out.”
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“Wait—” Hadley tried to stop her, but Tamara was already gone.
Still, she figured it wouldn’t hurt to know. Letting Tamara check might not be such a bad idea. After all, Chelsey was her assistant. If something was bothering her, Hadley couldn’t just stand by and do nothing.
Outside, Tamara found Chelsey backed into a corner. A middle-aged man had her by the arm, his grip firm.
“Let go of me!” Chelsey protested.
“I told you to remember what I said! Why haven’t you answered my messages? Why haven’t I heard a single word from you?” the man demanded.
“I don’t know—I… I need to go back inside.”
“Go where? I’m still talking to you!” He yanked her closer.
“Let go…”
The man tightened his grip. Chelsey struggled, but she couldn’t match his strength. Her face turned red with effort.
.
.
.