The Teacher's Billionaire

Callie was back at his place resting. She wasn’t the type to lie. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to disturb him so she decided to leave a message with his mom knowing that he would come looking for her.
    Yet something told him it wasn’t true. She hadn’t left because of a migraine. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
    “Why don’t you go and check on her,” his mother suggested sounding concerned. “I’ll let Warren know where you went.”
    Dylan wasn’t sure if she was concerned about Callie or him. Regardless of which one, he didn’t need to hear her suggestion twice. “I plan on it.”
    All the lights were off and the apartment was silent. Not a good sign. Still Dylan told himself not to worry. If she did have a migraine, it would make sense that she was lying down in the dark. Whenever a migraine hit him he preferred his room to be pitch black.
    Despite the urge to fling open his bedroom door and flip on the light, Dylan pushed the door open slowly. The light from the hallway provided enough illumination for him to see that his bed was empty and the gown she’d been wearing was laid neatly across it.
    Confused he yanked off his tie and pulled out his cell phone. He was about to call her when he saw the note.
    What the . . .?
    He read the note again. The two words stared back at him. Taunting him.
    Why?
    Dylan dialed her number. He knew she had her cell phone with her. But it just rang before going to voice mail.
    Damn why isn’t she answering?
He replayed the night over in his mind. They’d been having a good time. At least he thought they were. Then Phillips asked to speak with him. Whatever sent her running must have happened after that.
    Dylan didn’t bother wasting time to change. Tossing his tuxedo jacket and tie on the bed, he grabbed his car keys and headed back out. Urgency like none he’d ever experienced before rode him hard. There was no time to waste. She had at least a forty-five minute head start and the train didn’t have to worry about traffic slowing it down. In record time he pulled out of the parking garage, the same questions taunting him. What could be so awful that she’d take off without a single word to him? It just didn’t make sense. They’d been having a great weekend.
    Pressing re-dial he tried her cell phone again. Like his previous attempt it rang several times before going to voice mail.
    Bloody hell. He threw his phone onto the passenger seat. Was it possible she just didn’t have any cell service on the train? Maybe she wasn’t really avoiding his calls, he reasoned navigating the busy New York City street.
Right and pigs can fly.
    Thanks to a rainstorm, the ride to Callie’s took longer than usual. Finally, sometime after three in the morning Dylan pulled into the driveway behind her building. He fought to keep his worry and fear in check as he banged on her apartment door not caring if he woke her neighbors. Something upset her enough to send her running home. He needed to know what that was. At the same time he was pissed she hadn’t bothered to tell him she was leaving.
    Like his many phone calls, his knock went unanswered. “It’s me Callie! Open the door! I know you’re home. I can see the light on inside.” He pounded again this time a little harder.
    The outside light went on, and she opened the door for him. Soaked to the bone he moved into the tiny kitchen where Callie backed up till she leaned against the counter. Her eyes were red as if she’d been crying, and she stood with her arms crossed hugging her body.
    “What are you doing here?” It was the first thing she said to him so far. Dylan thought it was the most ridiculous question he’d ever heard. She’d run out on him and hopped a train. What had she thought he would do when he discovered her gone? Go out for a beer?
    He moved to stand in front of her. “Why do you think I’m here?” What the hell was wrong with her? This wasn’t the Callie he’d come to know.
    Relax, Talbot. Getting upset isn’t going to help anything.
    “I went to talk with Phillips. When I got back you were gone.” Dylan tried to keep the frustration out of his voice. “I tried calling but you didn’t answer your phone.” He knew she had to hear the anger creeping into his voice, but he couldn’t do anything about it. “I was worried.”
    “Worried? About what?” Her eyes flashed with anger. “That I would tell someone I was Warren Sherbrooke’s daughter?”
    Of all the things she could have said