Page 130 of Twisted Truth

Sterling tells me to put the phone on speaker. “Eight,” he tells Matthew. “The pilot wasn’t expecting a flight, so he’s driving back from his cabin upstate.”

“Ugh. That is going to be tight. I can’t just bring this suitcase; my island wear won’t do me much good in dreary London.”

“We appreciate it. And make sure Ella is packed with clothes dressed to impress the Lennox Rose executives. I think the only way we’re going to close this is if she agrees to a sponsorship.”

“You cannot call it a sponsorship,” Matthew clucks. “That’s gauche. Brand ambassador is what we’ll call it.”

“Okay,brand ambassador—whatever we call it—is the only carrot the execs are going for right now.”

“That’s a lot of pressure for Ella,” I argue.

“She’ll be fine. She’s handled all the shit you’ve thrown at her so far. A brand ambassadorship is nothing in comparison.”

I want to continue to argue, but a thought occurs to me. This might be a lot of pressure, but it could be a great thing for Ella.

“At least this will provide her an income outside of Langford Holdings,” I muse aloud. “Which gives her a stream of revenue that’s not tied to me. That’s probably healthy, right?”

Matthew snorts. “Look at you, evolving from your baser caveman ways. Yes, of course it’s healthy andnecessaryfor her to make money that doesn’t come from you. It will make parting at the end of this that much easier.”

A stab of anger pierces me at him mentioning the end of our relationship, but I don’t comment on it. I don’t know what the fuck to make of it myself, and I definitely don’t need to turn Matthew onto the scent of it. He’d never stop badgering untilhe’d wrung all the answers to his questions out of me, and I’m not about to go down that road.

“Okay, I will make sure Ella is packed to impress and on your private jet by eight.”

“And help her understand what being a brand ambassador involves. I’m going to call her now and explain it, but I’m sure she’ll have more questions later on. I don’t want to try to answer her questions and risk something being lost in translation with shitty cell service on the plane between London and New York. Ella and I have been on enough shaky ground already.”

“Done.”

37

ELLA

“Ms. Hale?” a calm, quiet voice says.

My mind is foggy, lost in the haze of a drugged sleep.

“Ms. Hale? We have landed in London, and the car is out on the tarmac waiting for you.”

I blink my eyes open, but my mind is having a hard time clicking into place.Where am I? What’s going on?

Then it slowly starts to piece together. I’m in London. I took a sleeping pill as soon as I got on the plane so that I could adjust to the time difference easier. But my brain is a mushy mess.

The flight attendant smiles down at me and asks if I’m okay.

“Yes, sorry. Just groggy.”

Matthew groans next to me. That’s right. We ate dinner in the car on the way to the airport after frantically packing, then we both took sleeping pills and crashed in the bedroom on the plane. Because Asher’s private plane has a bedroom in it with a king-sized bed, no less.

“What time is it our time?” Matthew asks me, his voice scratchy and much deeper than normal.

“I don’t know. I think New York is five hours behind. But I can’t math right now. Math is too mathy for my sleepy brain.”

We crawl off the bed with the grace of freshly turned zombies, and Matthew, gentlemen-like, lets me use the bathroom first. I do my business, and then see the horror that is my face reflected in the mirror as I wash my hands. I look like I’m half dead. This is why I don’t take sleeping pills. As a lightweight through and through, I feel like a truck ran me over, backed up, and then ran me over again. And the worst part is that I only took half a pill.

Blessedly, I regularly keep an emergency hairbrush and toothbrush and toothpaste with me, so I fish them out of my purse. After brushing my hair and teeth, with a hand and arm that don’t quite feel attached to my body like they should be, I feel marginally better.

The flight attendant is waiting outside the room, chipper and polite, with a cup of coffee for me.

“Bless you,” I say, taking it from her. “May all the good things happen to you.” I’m fairly certain my words slur a bit.