----
Weeks.
It had been like this for weeks, and Moying was tired of pretending otherwise.
Calls went straight to voicemail. Texts sat unanswered for days before a short, clipped reply finally came through, if one came at all.
Limo was avoiding him, plain and simple, he couldn't braimwash himself to believe otherwise.
At the company apartment building, word reached him almost by accident, one of the younger trainees mentioning offhand that the chairman had been working late all week, holed up in his office every night rather than heading home.
Moying didn't believe that for a second.
Working late, sure. But every single night, right when calls somehow always failed to connect?
That felt like more than coincidence.
Still, if it meant Limo would actually be somewhere specific tonight, reachable in a way he hadn't been in days, that was enough. He'd take it.
