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“Try living it – it’s harder to even swallow,” I complain. “I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do. My entire life is turning into one gigantic shitshow.”
“I don’t know if I’d go that extreme with it,” Olivia laughs. “But things have certainly gotten interesting.”
“That’s one word for it.”
“Okay, first things first – this whole marriage deal. I’m going to have to insist that you have a do-over simply because you promised me that I’d get to be your maid of honor when you got hitched.”
She laughs and manages to get me to get me to crack a smile – no small feat in my current mood.
“Honestly though, I can’t even believe you guys did that,” Olivia scolds me.
“Seemed like a good idea at the time?”
“Everything seems like a good idea when you’re three sheets to it,” she quips. “But, as long as you don’t send in the marriage certificate, no harm, no foul.”
“That still leaves us with the baby,” I tell her. “Along with what I heard him say today.”
My phone rings and when I slip it out of my purse to check the caller ID, I see that it’s Aaron. Again. So once again, I send it directly to voicemail.
“Aaron?” Olivia inquires.
I nod. “Yeah, but I don’t want to talk to him right now.”
She looks at me for a long minute as she sips her coffee. When she puts her cup down, I can tell she has something to say – something I’m not going to like particularly well. She has that look.
“Look, I wasn’t there, so I don’t know, but is it possible that maybe you misinterpreted what you heard today?” she probes. “I mean, in your own words, you heard one sentence – not even a full sentence at that.”
“What they were talking about seemed pretty obvious.”
“Which is still a long way from it being fact,” she goes on. “I mean, they might not have been discussing you at all, Emily. Didn’t you tell me they have some big government contract happening or something?”
“Well yeah, but –”
“But nothing, did you actually hear either one of them say your name?”
I let out a long breath and tug on the ends of my hair, my frustration growing. “Well no, but –”
“Then they could just as easily have been discussing a problem with this big deal, rather than referring to you as a problem,” she presses me. “Isn’t that a possibility?”
I feel the heat flaring in my cheeks as I realize she could possibly be right. When I’d heard them talking, I was so sure they were talking about me that I let my emotions overrule my logic. Of course she’s right. They could have been talking about literally anything.
I simply attached my own name to their conversation because of the frustration that’s built up inside of me and everything I’m holding back right now. I pride myself on my ability to stay calm and think my way out of a situation. This time, I apparently thought myself into the middle of a situation.
Possibly. Just because it’s possible, it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s true.
“Yeah, I guess,” I begrudgingly admit. “Maybe.”
“As for hiring a large, angry-looking man to watch over you, and moving you into a safe house, I am going to personally send a thank-you note and a fruit basket to Aaron Steel,” she continues.
“Olivia, I feel like I’m under constant supervision,” I gripe. “I feel like I’m on house arrest or something.”
“Cry me a river, doll,” she says. “Until Robert is dealt with one way or another, you need somebody watching your ass. If what you’ve told me is true, this guy is a fucking psycho. And Aaron is right – he’s not going to stop. Not until somebody makes him stop.”
“I don’t like having somebody constantly watching over my shoulder,” I protest.
“That’s because you are so stubborn you have no idea how to ask for help. Not even when you really need it most,” she growls at me. “I swear to God, you’re like a guy that way.”
I scoff at her. “Yeah, you’re one to talk about not being able to ask for help.”
