Lose Control (The Jewel Project #5)

9|| What Best Friends Do

Where is Sam Grant?

Where was Sam Grant indeed. Even the papers had noticed he was missing and had no information on his whereabouts. It was only a matter of time before someone put two and two together and the media shitstorm would start.

Christine crumpled the tabloid and threw it on the floor. One week. It had been one week since she'd last seen Sam, since she'd last touched him, taking it for granted. Thinking she'd always have more time to talk to him, to be with him.

Where was he? His phone was switched off, he hadn't answered his texts or e-mails... Nothing had worked and she had stopped because it was already getting sad.

Her phone buzzed and her heart hitched. But once she picked it up, disappointment grabbed on to her. It was Harry calling. Again. Why couldn't he just take the hint? The only reason she hadn't blocked his number yet was because he might have some news about Sam.

"Leave me alone," she muttered, throwing her phone back on the vanity table.

It chimed for an incoming message. That guy just didn't know when to quit. But she glanced at the screen all the same.

Christine, answer me!

Yeah, right. That convinced her.

At least let me know you're alright.

How pathetic could he get?

Did he do something to you?

The last message had her picking up the phone just as it started ringing again. This time, she answered.

"Can't you take a damn hint?" she growled.

"Thank God! You could've said something!"

"I don't want to say anything."

"You have to let me know. Did he hurt you?" He sounded so serious, like he'd actually do something if Sam hurt her. Except he was a freaking moron.

"What the hell kind of question is that?"

Sam didn't hurt people, he didn't hit girls. The memory of his punch landing inches from her face had her trembling. But he'd only done it to intimidate her and it had worked like a charm.

"A justified one. I don't believe you. Is he home?"

Yeah, right. As if it could be that easy. "Just leave me alone."

"Not until I make sure you're not lying to me."

There was a heavy knock on the door. For a moment, Christine was tempted to ignore it, but the need to let out her frustration on someone was far greater, so she threw her phone on the bed and charged towards the front door.

Harry stood in front of it, wearing a black shirt with its sleeves rolled up to his elbows and black jeans. He had a bandage on the bridge of his nose and his jaw was still purple and swollen even if it had been a week since Sam had punched him.

His eyebrows were drawn together in worry, his dark hair was messier than ever, and he hadn't shaved in a few days.

The look suited him, made his look like a ragged war hero, and Christine's heart skipped a beat. She chastised herself for it, because she was done with this. Yes, Harry was handsome and reasonably good in bed, but her indulgence in him had ruined everything so she wouldn't go down that road again.

Instead, she would appreciate Harry for his other use. Someone who adored her, someone she could yell at, a doormat she could use to wipe her dirty feet.