The Person I Wanted

The building looked like every other place a design company would describe as having character.

Old brick. Tall windows. An entry system that took two attempts to recognize the code.

My driver waited at the curb while I went inside.

I sent Julian a message from the lobby.

Here. Looking at a sample. Shouldn’t take long.

Then I followed the directions upstairs.

The temporary workspace occupied the second floor. Someone had put a printed sign on the door with the client’s name, and a woman wearing a visitor badge met me in the corridor.

She knew my name.

She also knew which design I had been working on.

That was enough to quiet the small hesitation I felt.

She apologized for the late request and led me past stacked cartons into a room at the back.

There was no sample on the table.

Grant Mercer stood beside it.

I recognized him before he introduced himself because Julian had shown me a photograph the night before.

I stopped in the doorway.

“This isn’t a client meeting.”

“No,” Grant said. “But I thought you might be more willing to talk without Julian listening.”

I turned to leave.

The woman had already stepped out, and a man I hadn’t noticed moved across the doorway.

My hand tightened around my bag.

“Move.”

He didn’t.

Grant put a chair straight.

“Sit down, Evan. I’d rather this stayed simple.”

The fear arrived all at once, cold and humiliating.

I kept my voice steady with effort.

“If you wanted simple, you should have sent an actual contract.”

Grant’s pleasant expression faded.

***

They took my phone.

That was the moment the room stopped feeling like a strange meeting and became somewhere I couldn’t leave.

I asked for it back. Grant ignored me and looked through the notifications until he found Julian’s name.

“You told him.”

I didn’t answer.

He looked up.

“I offered you a great deal of money for very little work.”

“You offered money to help you find someone who didn’t want to be found.”

“Julian has been making decisions that affect other people.”

“Then speak to his attorney.”

Grant smiled without warmth.

“I intend to speak to Julian.”

The man at the door took my bag. I stood instinctively, and he pushed me back into the chair hard enough that my elbow struck the table.

Pain flashed down my arm.

Grant watched it happen.

I looked at him and understood, finally, that there was no useful version of this conversation where I embarrassed him into letting me go.

I sat still.

He told me I would make a call.

I told him I wouldn’t convince anyone I was fine if I wasn’t.

For a moment, I thought he might hit me.

Instead, he set my phone on the table and stepped away to answer his own.

I concentrated on breathing.

***

The room had one high window, a desk, two chairs, and shelving covered with boxes.

I noticed those things because looking around was better than staring at the man blocking the door.

There was dust on the window ledge but not on the table.

The printed client sign had been new.

The cartons near the entrance bore several different company names.

Whoever had arranged this had assembled enough details to make me stop questioning them.

I had helped them by wanting the errand finished quickly.

The thought made me angry with myself, then angry that I was wasting time being angry with myself.

I had sent the address to Julian.

My driver was outside.

Those were facts.

I held on to them.

Grant returned and placed the phone in front of me.

“Call him.”

“What am I supposed to say?”

“That you need to see him. Here. Alone.”

I looked at the screen.

Julian had replied to my arrival message.

Let me know when you’re leaving.

Below it was another message, more recent.

How’s it going?

The ordinary wording hurt.

I wanted to answer it honestly.

Instead, Grant tapped the table.

I called.

Julian picked up quickly.

“Evan?”

“I need you to come to the sample meeting.”

There was a pause.

Then his voice became careful.

“What happened?”

“Grant’s here. He’d like you to come alone.”

Grant snatched the phone before I could say anything else.

I sat back, keeping my eyes on him.

Julian had heard my voice.

He would know.

He knew how I sounded irritated, tired, half-asleep, and pretending not to care. I had to believe he could hear the difference now.

Grant moved toward the window while he spoke. He kept the conversation short, repeating the address and warning against bringing anyone.

When he ended the call, he looked pleased.

That frightened me more than his anger had.

***

Time became difficult to measure.

Grant paced. The other man remained near the door. Somewhere outside, a truck reversed with a repetitive electronic beep.

My elbow throbbed.

I kept thinking about things I should have checked, then made myself return to the room.

I couldn’t undo walking in.

I could avoid giving Grant more information.

When he asked how often I saw Julian, I said we had known each other for years. When he asked where Julian was staying, I told him I didn’t know his current arrangements.

That was true enough.

It didn’t satisfy him.

He came closer, resting one hand on the table.

“You’re protecting him.”

I looked at his hand rather than his face.

“I’m trying to get through my working day.”

He laughed once and straightened.

My phone vibrated on the desk.

A message appeared from the driver.

Everything okay? You’ve been inside a while.

Grant turned it facedown.

I stared at the back of the phone.

The driver would call again. There was a scheduled check-in. Martin knew about the address.

I repeated those facts silently until the panic became something I could hold without letting it take over.

Then I pictured Julian on my living-room floor, trying not to look too pleased after I kissed him.

I hadn’t known I could want someone like that.

Now I wanted him so badly it hurt.

Not to come alone and give Grant whatever he demanded.

Just to know where I was and help me get out.

***

Something changed outside the room.

The man at the door looked toward the corridor. Grant checked his phone, frowned, and made a call that went unanswered.

There were footsteps.

Not hurried ones at first.

Then a raised voice and the sound of a door opening farther down the hall.

Grant turned toward me.

“Stay where you are.”

I had no intention of helping him manage the situation.

The man stepped out of the room. A second later, I heard someone identify themselves as police.

Grant moved toward the doorway, stopped, then looked back at the window as though it might offer a better answer.

The next moments happened too quickly for me to arrange them.

Officers entered. Grant was told to show his hands. Someone stood between him and me, and a woman in a dark jacket crouched beside my chair.

“Evan Brooks?”

I nodded.

“You’re safe. We’re going to get you out of here.”

The sentence didn’t quite reach me.

I looked at the open door.

Then Julian appeared behind her.

He stopped at the threshold.

For a second, his face frightened me. I had never seen him look so pale or so unable to hide what he felt.

His eyes found my injured arm, then returned to my face.

I stood too quickly.

The room tipped slightly, and the officer reached toward me. I caught the edge of the table, waved away help I probably needed, and tried to say Julian’s name.

Nothing useful came out.

He crossed the room.

This time, I didn’t wait for a question.

I grabbed his coat.

The familiarity of it nearly broke me.

He put his arms around me as I stepped into him, one hand settling carefully at the back of my head.

I pressed my face against his shoulder.

He was warm.

Alive.

Here.

My legs started shaking only after I had something to lean against.

***

They checked my elbow downstairs.

It was bruised, not broken. I listened to the explanation, answered questions, and let someone write down what had happened.

Julian stayed beside me without trying to answer for me.

When I reached for his hand, he gave it immediately.

Later, in the car, he explained only what I asked.

My driver had called when I didn’t respond. Martin had contacted the real client and learned there was no sample meeting. My message had given them the location before Grant called.

They had already been working on getting me out.

I looked at the address still open on Julian’s phone.

Such an ordinary little message.

I had sent it while thinking about dinner and Friday.

Julian put the phone away.

“I’m sorry.”

I leaned back against the seat.

“I don’t want to discuss whose fault everything is tonight.”

He nodded.

Outside the window, the city looked stubbornly normal. People carried shopping bags. Someone laughed at a bus stop. A man stood outside a café examining his receipt.

I had wanted to return to normal life.

I wasn’t sure how to step back into it yet.

Julian asked whether I wanted to go to Miles’s or home.

“Home,” I said. “But I don’t want to be there alone.”

He looked at me.

“I’ll stay if you want me to.”

I turned my hand beneath his and held on more tightly.

That morning, I had still been wondering what liking him meant.

Tonight, one part of it was painfully clear.

He was the person I wanted beside me.

“Stay,” I said. “We can work out the rest tomorrow.”