The office settled into its steady rhythm after the break, but for Mark, something was off. He noticed it the moment he returned to his chair, when he expected to see Lilly come back through his door, head bowed, saying sorry, and back to the sofa. He waited. Ten minutes. Fifteen.
Nothing.
By the half-hour mark, irritation had become a steady throb in his jaw. He pressed the intercom, "Maria."
"Yes, Mr. Bergen?" Her voice was calm, though he caught the slight hesitation that always surfaced when she sensed his temper close at hand.
"Send Lilly in. Immediately."
A pause. Too long. His brows drew together, "Maria, do you hear me?"
The sigh that filtered through the speaker was cautious, "Sir… Lilly isn't here."
He stilled, "What do you mean, she isn't here?"
"She left early," Maria admitted, lowering her voice, "She got a call from her brother's school."
Mark's hand tightened around the armrest of his chair. He forced his voice into a sharp line, "And?"
"They said her brother was taken to the hospital."
Silence pressed heavily against the room. He thought back to the way she'd gone pale in his office, the way her hand had trembled around the phone before she walked out without asking, without waiting for his word. He had assumed it was defiance. Insolence. Now—
"Which hospital?" he demanded.
"I don't know," Maria said quickly, "She didn't tell me. She just grabbed her bag and left."
His breath came hard, measured, but it did nothing to temper the fire crawling up his spine. Lilly had run without explanation, without permission, and yet this wasn't just about his authority anymore. Something had happened. Something he didn't know. And that lack of knowledge ate at him.
"Give me her number," Mark ordered.
"Sir, I'm not sure if—"
"Maria," His voice dropped, dangerous, final.
A beat, then her resignation bled through, "Yes, sir. I'll forward it now."
The moment her number flashed on his screen, he was dialing. Once. Twice. Straight to voicemail.
He tried again. And again.
By the fifth call, he was pacing. By the tenth, fury coiled in his gut, not at her silence, but at the fact that she was out there, beyond his reach, drowning in something he couldn't control.
The line rang out once more, dropping to her recorded voice. This is Lilly. I can't come to the phone right now, but please leave your message, and if it's important enough, I'll get back to you.
His jaw clenched, "You'll answer me, Lilly," he muttered under his breath, "You don't get to run."
He pressed redial. Again. Again.
The office around him emptied as the hours stretched. Keyboards fell silent, conversations drifted away, and lights dimmed across the floor. Still, he sat in his corner office, phone in hand, calling into a void that refused to answer.
By the time the city outside his window was swallowed in black, he had called her nearly a hundred times. Each attempt ended the same, straight to voicemail, her calm, professional tone like a wall he couldn't break through.
Mark leaned back, the leather creaking beneath him, his eyes fixed on the phone in his hand. He had never waited for anything in his life. Not a deal, not a signature, not a person. And yet here he was waiting for her call.