Chapter 4

Three days later Reid Blackbell sat at the head of the long conference table and watched his board members pretend not to flinch every time he spoke.

He hadn’t slept more than ninety minutes in a stretch since the blonde left. The constant noise in his head was back, louder than he remembered. Every light felt too bright. And every voice scraped at the edge of his senses.

He'd done everything he suspected had

“The numbers for the Eastside acquisition are unacceptable,” he snapped, tossing the document in his hand on the table. “Fix them by Friday or find someone else to do your jobs.”

One of the junior directors dropped his pen, his hands trembling as he bent down to pick it. Tyren, standing behind Reid’s chair, cleared his throat.

“That’s enough for today,” Tyren said carefully. “Come up with something before the end of the week. You can leave.”

Chairs scraped. They rushed out in a flash, tail between their legs. When the door shut, Tyren turned. “You’re terrifying them.”

Reid pinched the bridge of his nose. “Have you found her?”

“Not yet.”

“You had the ex she was heartbroken over, Tyren. How hard can it be?”

Tyren exhaled. “Well, he's not giving us anything. Probably thinks we're traffickers. He keeps saying something about not selling her for money no matter how desperate he is. I just can't get him."

"And none of you can pry it out of him?" Reid asked, frustrated. "He's not telling you and you're just negotiating with him?"

"We live in a law abiding country, Reid." Tyren sighed. "Really want to get blood on your hands and mess this up more than it already is?"

Reid exhaled, shutting his eyes. "What about the club?"

"You know they wipe everything from the cameras at the end of the day. How else would top, high-profile clients trust them?" Tyren patted his shoulder. "You should just give it up. With just a first name and a description, there's not much we can do. She doesn't seem to be a high socialite or anything. And Noelle is common enough that cross-checking every name is like looking for a needle in a haysack. Unless..." Tyren drawled, turning over the idea in his mind.

Reid perked up, eyes snapping open. "What?"

"Well, it's crazy," Tyren explained, "but what is she isn't the one that gave you calmness but something about her?"

Reid tapped his fingers on the table gently. Tyren was onto something.

"Scent. Food. Something?"

That was true. The first thing he'd inhaled was her scent. It gave him a relaxation before any other thing?

"There was something," Reid stopped tapping and looked up. "Her scent."

"Perfect. We can start from there. Make a perfume with it instead? It's more efficient and saves us the stress of dragging her down."

Reid turned the idea in his head. It was stupid, but it could work.

His head was killing him. He reached for his temple and massaged vigorously. Anything that would work at the moment was more than welcome.

"See to it," he ordered Tyren. "And, have my doctor prescribe something something stronger for me to sleep. I need at least my four hours."

***

That afternoon he brought in three of the best perfume formulator in the country. They took notes as he described it, “Crushed lavender, warm pastry dough, melted chocolate, and the smell of ripe blueberry muffins straight out of the oven.”

Two days later, they presented a small bottle to him. As close and perfect as they could get.

He took it eagerly, smiling at the thought of finally having a peaceful rest again.

He left work early, washed up and prepared himself for bed, then sprayed the perfume generously across his bed.

It smelled exactly like the scent he remembered. But did nothing to calm his nerves. Instead, he sneezed all night, not even getting a second of shut eye.

He tore the bedding off in anger, throwing it in the laundry.

Where on earth was she?

How could she just leave without so much as a number or an address? Only money and...

Something clicked.

The chocolate cake.

Reid shot upright so fast the mattress shifted beneath him.

The wrapper.

He'd shoved it into his pocket that evening before leaving the hotel.

He crossed the room in seconds and yanked open the wardrobe doors. Suits hung in perfect rows, pressed and organized by color. Usually he appreciated the order.

Tonight, it only got in his way.

Which one was it?

His movements grew rougher as hangers clattered against the rail. Days had passed. The housekeeper could've sent it to the laundry. It could've been thrown away already.

"No," he muttered, digging through another row.

Ten minutes became twenty. Jackets piled across the floor. Trousers hung inside out over the bed. By the half-hour mark, sweat clung to the back of his neck, and the last thread of hope began

He dragged hangers aside, searching for the black suit he'd worn that day.

to unravel.

"Come on," he muttered.

His headache was pounding behind his eyes.

He reached for one final pair of black trousers still hanging neatly beside its matching jacket.

His fingers slipped into the pocket.

Foil.

He froze.

Slowly, he pulled it free. A black-and-gold wrapper caught the bedside lamp, glinting between his fingers.

Relief hit him so hard he actually laughed.

"You beautiful little thing."

He sank onto the edge of the bed and stared at it.

Days ago, it had been nothing more than a piece of trash.

Now it felt like the most valuable thing he owned. He traced the words on it.

Butter.

Milk.

100% cocoa.

Sweet Solace Bakery.

He searched it up immediately. Her picture immediately popped up. Noelle Bennett. Small bakery on the edge of the old market district.

Location: 14 Vermont Street, New York

Opens 8am, and closes, 6pm.

He held up the wrap, ecstatic and immediately called Tyren.

“I found it!” he screamed, confusing the poor man who was woken at 2: 48am with not obvious context.

"Found what, Reid?" Tyren cried.

"Noelle." Reid replied. "Cancel everything on my schedule after the meeting with H&C tomorrow morning. I'll be taking a long nap."

Tyren groaned in disbelief.