Chase. My knees feel weak and wobbly when he lets me go.
***
After I dress, I call Taye. He’s upset that I didn’t call him last night to come to the hospital. I explain that Chase came. Quickly, I detailed the oddity of Chase helping me by telling him they found his business card in my jacket pocket from the meeting. The nurses called him, not Taye. It seems reasonable, and, technically, it isn’t a lie. He says he will touch base with Mr. Davis at the board meeting, and hopes I feel better after making my statement and resting.
Jack escorts me to the police station. The visit is horrifying. A wide array of delinquents and degenerates from all walks of life are being dragged around the facility. Even though I get a handful of stares and disgusting grins, none of them dare approach me. Jack, the “Tank”, snarls like a possessive dog would, protecting its owner when men look my way. The bodyguard must have instructions from Chase, ones he takes very seriously. The big guy doesn’t leave me alone, not even for a minute.
The officer takes me into a quiet room and Jack follows, standing in the corner watching everything without making a sound. I don’t have much to offer. My attacker came from behind, held me immobile, and then knocked me out. Nothing to see. There is little hope of getting back my belongings or finding the man who attacked me. I express my fear that my attacker has my address and personal information. The officer is less concerned because I live in San Francisco. My attacker is in Chicago, over two thousand miles away. The thought makes me feel a bit better. Not much.
When all the “I’s” are dotted and the “T’s” crossed, Jack ushers me to the waiting car. I’m happy he didn’t drive the limo today. That would have felt outlandish at a police station in downtown Chicago.
I take out my cell phone to type Chase a text message.
To: Chase Davis
From: Gillian Callahan
Statement made. Nothing more can be done. On my way back to hotel.
My phone dings with a message before I can put it back in my pocket.
To: Gillian Callahan
From: Chase Davis
Are you okay?
Those three little words make my heart jump. In the span of two days this man has become something more than the Chairman of the Board of Safe Haven. Much more. I need time away from him to figure out just how much, as well as sort out this strange connection we have. Home. That’s where I need to be. Then it dawns on me. How the hell am I going to get home without my driver’s license or identification? Worry trickles along the edges of my tired mind.
To: Chase Davis
From: Gillian Callahan
Worried about how I’m going to get home without ID.
I lean my throbbing head against the seat rest and pull the pain medication from my briefcase. It’s all I have since my purse was stolen.
“Here’s a bottle of water, Miss Callahan.” Jack hands me a bottle over the seat. I take it and smile at him in the review mirror. He doesn’t return the gesture.
To: Gillian Callahan
From: Chase Davis
I have taken care of it. You will fly home with me in the company jet. Stop worrying.
“Holy Shit! He has a company jet?” I say aloud while staring at the words on my phone. I blow a puff of air toward my heated forehead. “How rich is this guy?” Who really has their own jet? Donald Trump maybe? The President for sure.
“No, Miss Callahan. Mr. Davis does not have “a” jet; he owns a fleet of them.” My mouth drops to my chin. “Mr. Davis is worth billions,” Jack adds, very matter of fact.
I start to shake and twist my fingers together. Billions? I knew he was rich, but I had no idea. What could a man like that possibly want with a poor, charitable fundraiser from a broken home with a jaded past? Besides, I’m a mess. I have more than my fair share of issues and baggage, much more than any man deserves. God, knowing he’s worth so much, that he’s so valuable, makes me want to run for the
***
After I dress, I call Taye. He’s upset that I didn’t call him last night to come to the hospital. I explain that Chase came. Quickly, I detailed the oddity of Chase helping me by telling him they found his business card in my jacket pocket from the meeting. The nurses called him, not Taye. It seems reasonable, and, technically, it isn’t a lie. He says he will touch base with Mr. Davis at the board meeting, and hopes I feel better after making my statement and resting.
Jack escorts me to the police station. The visit is horrifying. A wide array of delinquents and degenerates from all walks of life are being dragged around the facility. Even though I get a handful of stares and disgusting grins, none of them dare approach me. Jack, the “Tank”, snarls like a possessive dog would, protecting its owner when men look my way. The bodyguard must have instructions from Chase, ones he takes very seriously. The big guy doesn’t leave me alone, not even for a minute.
The officer takes me into a quiet room and Jack follows, standing in the corner watching everything without making a sound. I don’t have much to offer. My attacker came from behind, held me immobile, and then knocked me out. Nothing to see. There is little hope of getting back my belongings or finding the man who attacked me. I express my fear that my attacker has my address and personal information. The officer is less concerned because I live in San Francisco. My attacker is in Chicago, over two thousand miles away. The thought makes me feel a bit better. Not much.
When all the “I’s” are dotted and the “T’s” crossed, Jack ushers me to the waiting car. I’m happy he didn’t drive the limo today. That would have felt outlandish at a police station in downtown Chicago.
I take out my cell phone to type Chase a text message.
To: Chase Davis
From: Gillian Callahan
Statement made. Nothing more can be done. On my way back to hotel.
My phone dings with a message before I can put it back in my pocket.
To: Gillian Callahan
From: Chase Davis
Are you okay?
Those three little words make my heart jump. In the span of two days this man has become something more than the Chairman of the Board of Safe Haven. Much more. I need time away from him to figure out just how much, as well as sort out this strange connection we have. Home. That’s where I need to be. Then it dawns on me. How the hell am I going to get home without my driver’s license or identification? Worry trickles along the edges of my tired mind.
To: Chase Davis
From: Gillian Callahan
Worried about how I’m going to get home without ID.
I lean my throbbing head against the seat rest and pull the pain medication from my briefcase. It’s all I have since my purse was stolen.
“Here’s a bottle of water, Miss Callahan.” Jack hands me a bottle over the seat. I take it and smile at him in the review mirror. He doesn’t return the gesture.
To: Gillian Callahan
From: Chase Davis
I have taken care of it. You will fly home with me in the company jet. Stop worrying.
“Holy Shit! He has a company jet?” I say aloud while staring at the words on my phone. I blow a puff of air toward my heated forehead. “How rich is this guy?” Who really has their own jet? Donald Trump maybe? The President for sure.
“No, Miss Callahan. Mr. Davis does not have “a” jet; he owns a fleet of them.” My mouth drops to my chin. “Mr. Davis is worth billions,” Jack adds, very matter of fact.
I start to shake and twist my fingers together. Billions? I knew he was rich, but I had no idea. What could a man like that possibly want with a poor, charitable fundraiser from a broken home with a jaded past? Besides, I’m a mess. I have more than my fair share of issues and baggage, much more than any man deserves. God, knowing he’s worth so much, that he’s so valuable, makes me want to run for the
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