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Then she turns and storms out on unsteady steps, her hair whipping behind her with the toss of her head.
Her lawyers stand. One sighs wearily and nods.
“Mr. Marshall,” he says. “Thank you for your patience and your time.”
He turns to follow his colleague and client out, then leaves us alone.
As the door to the conference room closes, Mr. Tanden sighs. “That went well.”
Oxford shakes his head. “I expected a disaster. She’s been publicly falling apart for months.”
“Indeed,” I answer. “I just wonder what’s triggered her downward spiral.” I swivel my chair toward my team. “Would you be able to contact a private investigator without that information becoming public?”
Miss de Silva winces. “That ... I don’t know what you’re thinking, Mr. Marshall, but stalking your opponent in a civil suit for damages usually doesn’t look good in front of the judge.”
“Then it’s best if the judge doesn’t find out.” I stand, barely able to contain my movements, my teeth grinding hard enough to make my jaw hurt. “Make it happen discreetly. Get me in contact with someone who can find out what the hell’s driving Marissa Sullivan to an early grave.”
I turn to walk out.
“Mr. Marshall? Where are you going?” Mr. Tanden calls after me.
“To find out the truth,” I fling back, right before I slam the door open and step out onto the office floor. I beeline for the elevator, ignoring a voice trailing in my wake.
There’s something Aunt Clara isn’t telling me, and I have to find out what it is.
XVII
BREAK IN THE CLOUDS
(ELLE)
I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.
My idol, the Clara Marshall, is looking at my concept sketchbook.
I’ve never shown anyone this. Not even Lena or Grandma.
I haven’t had time to look at this work in years: I pushed it to the back of my mind, told myself it was impossible to ever go anywhere with my silly little characters, Kiki the Koala and her cast of friends.
Before art school, I wanted to make her the star of my own series.
After art school, after learning about the freelance life, I tucked my sketches away and told myself I’d go back to them one day when the time was right.
Even as one day faded further and further into the back of my mind while everyday life took over, and eventually I stopped thinking about Kiki and her cozy evening cups of eucalyptus tea at all.
Until I mentioned Kiki to August.
Until the other day, when I was working on refining my lines as I sketched Inky over and over again, only for Clara to rest her hand over mine and stop me.
Elle, dear. I can feel your love for this darling penguin of mine.
But don’t you have anything you love of your own? Isn’t there anything you want to show me?
I’d never have presumed to offer.
But after she asked, I went home last night and dug out the presentation portfolio I swore I’d always present to a publisher but never did.
I’ve been bubbling out of my skin this morning, and not even seeing Marissa Sullivan seething as she waited for August could stop it.
