Chapter 104

Somehow I’m able to hold everything together for another hour, though I don’t actually get any work done. Instead, I focus on the blinking mouse cursor over a blank page and try to keep my lunch from resurfacing.

I’m definitely going to be sick. But if I can hold it off.

If I can keep things together until the end of the day.

It’s too much to ask.

One hour and fifteen minutes is all I make before I rush to the bathroom and my stomach turns inside out. After, as I’m washing out my mouth in the sink, I catch sight of myself in the mirror. I’m pale, looking a bit green around the edges. My eyes are red and wet.

I want to go home.

But I’m not even sure where that is anymore. It’s not back at Garnar’s.

Still, I know I can’t stay here. Pushing out of the bathroom, I head into Kimberly’s office.

She takes one look at me and says, “Go home. Right now.”

Nodding, I back out of her office. I grab my stuff from my cubicle and head out into the lobby. I’m not quite ready to drive myself home yet, so I claim a bench seat outside and rest for a minute or two.

For one wild moment, I think of calling Miles. Maybe if we talk…

No. I can’t drag him into this. The person who saw us is coming after me for a reason. It’s up to me to find out what that reason on my own, without implicating Miles.

Still, I bring out my phone and stare at Miles’s contact info. As I’m looking, though, I receive another message from that unknown number.

This time it’s only a location and a time. Tonight, at a place downtown.

Fine.

At least, this will put me out of my misery early. I have enough time to get home, shower, change, and rebuild my armor.

I just need to remind myself. I am a strong, independent woman. I will not be so easily broken, even with heart ache. Even with scandal.

I’ll bring out the truth.

Encouraged by my own peptalk, I walk to my car and drive myself to Garnar’s.

That night, I wear a simple but elegant black dress and heels. I settle on simple golden jewelry: a chain necklace, matching bracelet, and hoop earring. My makeup I wear heavier than normal, my war paint.

I kiss the girls goodnight and tell Garnar I have an interview for work downtown. He lifts his brow at my outfit. I know he wants to argue, but eying Iris, he keeps his mouth shut.

“Will Miles be there?” Iris asks.

I glance at her in surprise. She seems more curious than malicious.

“No,” I tell her. “This isn’t about him.”

She shrugs.

Garnar narrows his eyes at me, but still doesn’t speak.

I turn around and head out the door and into the night, not sure what I’m going to find at the other end of this address.

An address I do text to Cynthia, just in case I get murdered or something. Like hell I’m going to disappear to some unknown location without at least someone knowing where I am.

“I don’t think you should do this,” Cynthia says, her voice filling the speakers of my car as I drive. “Call the police.”

“That won’t solve anything,” I say. “In fact, that will just make me look guiltier.”

“Who cares about looking guilty if you might be walking into some kind of crime scene?”

Maybe sending the address to Cynthia was a mistake. I should have picked a less… excitable friend. Cynthia’s half ready to call the police for me and have them meet me there.

“Trust me to take care of this, okay? I swear I can.”

“Alright,” Cynthia says. “But if I don’t get an ‘I’m okay,’ text from you in an hour, I am calling emergency, got it?”

She loves me. That’s why she’s concerned for me. How can I possibly be mad at her for that?

“Love you, too,” I tell her and hang up.

I pull into a spot in front of a used bookstore. It’s past 9. A sign on the window marks the store as closed, but the lights are on inside. I double check the address to the one labeled on the front of the building. It’s the same. This is the right place.

After a deep breath for courage, I step out of the car and walk toward the store. I try the doorknob. It’s unlocked. The door creaks as it opens.

“Hello?” I call as I walk inside.

Bookshelves form long aisle ways throughout the building, from floor to ceiling. They are covered in dusty books with spines of varying sizes and colors.

If I walked into this building for any other reason, I might have enjoyed my visit. I love the must and smell of old books, and the feel of book pages between my fingers.

Unfortunately, I am here for a darker purpose than shopping, so I continued farther into the building.

“Over here, Mrs. Graham,” a woman’s voice says to my right. I follow it, ducking between the stacks.

At the other side, the walkways open up. In the space, a series of chairs are set in a circle. On one of the chairs, glaring up at me, sits Amber.

Amber?

“What the hell are you doing here?” I ask her. I might not have caught sight of the person who saw us, but I have a very good feeling that I would have noticed if it was Amber!

“One of my friends saw you and Miles in the bathroom of the Goosebelly Deli,” Amber says. Her voice is cold as ice. She tugs mindlessly at one of the stray strings of the armchair she’s sitting on. “I’ve suspected your relationship for a while, but it’s good to have confirmation.”

“I’m leaving,” I say, turning around. Miles was right. All this is, is whispers and rumors. Amber was let go of her position in shame after putting me in the hospital. Miles has a restraining order against her. No one will believe her word over ours. Even her friend’s word would be tarnished by Amber’s reputation.

“Not so fast,” Amber says, standing. “Unless you want Miles’s career to go up in smoke.”

“There’s nothing you can do,” I say. “No one will believe anything you say.”

“Maybe not,” Amber says. I don’t like the way she’s talking, like she’s still in control of this situation. Against my better judgement, I look back at her over my shoulder. She’s… smiling. “But it’s not my word they have to believe. We have pictures.”

She could be lying, everything happened so quickly.

But I was so distracted in that moment, she very well might be telling the truth.

Shit.

“You could have released the photos to the press,” I say. “You didn’t. You called me here. You want something.”

She makes a gun with her thumb and forefinger and fake shots me with a click of her tongue.

“I do want something,” she says, confirming my suspicions. “Call Miles. Bring him here. I don’t care what you have to say to do it, but do it. He’s the one I really want to talk to.”