Chapter 185
Aaden took a deep breath. He knocked on the doorframe.
“Delivery!” he chirped.
Carmen looked up, startled. Her eyes landed on the small boy in the doorway, and her face softened at once, the tension smoothing away.
“Aaden?” she said. “What are you doing here? Where is Ms. Wolfe?”
“I escaped,” he whispered dramatically, slipping into the room and easing the door shut behind him.
Carmen laughed — a warm, throaty sound. “Does Jocelyn know you escaped?”
“Shh.” He pressed a finger to his lips, climbed into the guest chair, and let his feet dangle. “I need a favor.”
𝖣𝗂s𝗰оve𝘳 𝘩𝘪d𝖽𝖾ո 𝘨е𝘮𝘀 оn 𝗀a𝗅n𝘰𝘷𝘦𝗹𝗌.с𝗈𝘮
Carmen leaned back with her arms crossed, visibly amused. “A favor? More gummy bears?”
“No,” Aaden said, with great seriousness. He reached into his pocket and produced the crumpled yellow sticky note, smoothing it flat on her desk. “I have my dad’s number, but I can’t use my watch to call him inside the big building. And I really miss him.”
He widened his eyes. He let his lower lip tremble just slightly. It was a weapon of mass destruction.
“Oh, sweetie,” Carmen said, her resolve dissolving. “We should tell Jocelyn. She can call him for you.”
“No!” Aaden shook his head vigorously. “She’s mad at him. I heard them arguing. She won’t call, and I need to tell him I’m okay. Please? It’s an emergency!” A single fat tear rolled down his cheek.
He pushed the paper across the desk.
Carmen hesitated. Calling a U.S. Senator’s private line felt wildly unprofessional. But the child looked genuinely distressed. It felt less like a favor and more like a duty of care.
And those eyes.
“Okay,” she sighed. “Just one call. Then we go straight back to Jocelyn.”
“Deal,” Aaden said, the tears vanishing instantly.
Carmen lifted the office phone and dialed the number on the paper.
It rang once. Twice.
“This is a secure line. Who is this?” The voice on the other end was deep, tired, and edged with suspicion.
Carmen straightened. “My apologies for the intrusion. This is Carmen Golden, CFO at Wolfe Hotels. I have your son Aaden here in my office. He was quite insistent on speaking with you.”
Silence.
Absolute, total silence. It stretched for five full seconds.
“Hello?” Carmen checked the line. “Mr. Collins?”
“Carmen?”
The voice cracked. The suspicion collapsed, replaced by a whisper of pure, breathless disbelief — the sound of a man who had just seen a ghost.
Carmen frowned. A sharp pain pulsed at her temple, the same migraine warning she had felt at the mall. “Yes. This is Carmen. Is this Justin Collins?”
“Where are you?” The voice came out raw and urgent. “Stay exactly where you are. Do not move. I’m coming.”
“I’m at the hotel, sir, but —”
The line went dead.
Carmen stared at the receiver. Her hand was trembling faintly. Why did he sound like that? Why did the sound of her name make a U.S. Senator sound as though he were on the verge of tears?