Page 48 of Sexting His Son's Ex
“The hell with it,” I say, pressing the call button for the first time since she stopped messaging me.
I tried to ignore the entire situation and move on, to not waste my time on someone I hadn’t ever met, but a week without anything? No warning, no goodbye, no flowers telling me she was done.
I’m not a man someone can sweep under the rug.
“The number you are trying to reach has been disconnected?—”
I hang up before the automated message can finish. I tighten my grip on the phone, the plastic creaking from the applied force.
I call again.
“The number you are trying to reach has been disconnected?—”
“Fuck!” I roar, throwing my phone across the room.
It smashes against the wall. The screen shatters into a thousand pieces, falling useless and unusable on the floor.
It’s fine.
I open up my drawer and pull out a new phone with the same number. I always have backup devices.
There are too many ways to track down who the person behind the flowers is.
The door slams open, Lorenzo has his gun drawn, aiming it left and right to clear the space only to see me standing behind the desk.
“Mr. Salvati, is everything okay? I heard a noise.”
“It’s fine, Lorezon. I threw my phone against the wall.”
He steps forward, his booted foot landing on the broken pieces and the plastic crunches again. “I see,” he states, stepping to the side. “Is there anything I can help you with, Sir?”
I stroll towards Lorenzo with determination, stopping in front of him. “Yes. I want to find the person who delivered the flowers. You still have the facial recognition software, right?”
“Of course. I’d never get rid of that.” He seems offended I’d even ask.
“I want you to find him. I need to ask him who sent him to deliver the flowers.”
Lorenzo remains silent, a particle of confusion twitching his usual not animated eyebrows. “What for, Sir?”
“I don’t want to share that,” I explain. “I want you to find him.”
“Very well, Sir. May I use your computer? I can find out his identity in five minutes if I can do it from here.”
I stretch an arm out to my desk to lead his way. “Please.”
He is quiet as he walks, his shoes barely making a sound. His fingers don’t touch my desk when he walks around it, unlike myself, I always drag my fingers around the corner. He sits, clicking the keyboard at a higher speed than I thought he could type.
Picking up my broken phone, I place it on the desk. “This phone needs to be wiped and disposed of.” Luckily, I have a cloud that backs up all my photos. I don’t have to lose any pictures of my mystery woman.
“I will do that when I’m done with this, Sir,” he states. “Here is the security feed from when the flowers were delivered. This kid is young. Can’t be more than twenty years old.”
“I don’t care. Find him.”
He nods, running the facial recognition software. “Now, we just wait.”
“I hate waiting.”
He chuckles. “Good things come to those who wait, Mr. Salvati.”
