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Fletcher, wearing a peculiar smile that didn’t waiver even as he took in the bandage on my head and my pale, disheveled appearance. “Got time for a check in?” he asked, same as he did when he called on the phone.
“I—um, come in.” I stepped back, more to get out of his way than to welcome him. Fletcher had hardly waited for the invitation before he barreled forward.
He seemed too big for my small apartment. He was a man who needed soaring ceilings and oversized furniture to look proportional. He glanced around without seeming to see any of it though, not even paying enough attention to curl his lip at the cheap furniture and bare bones decor.
“I came to tell you the job is over,” he announced, staking a claim on the floor space between the couch and the television. I stayed at the mouth of the living room, my head spinning with confusion.
“The job with Miller?” I asked, frowning. “What do you mean?”
“I mean it’s over. You fucked up, kid. Callum didn’t go for the documentary. He’s going to sell to Lewis Productions.”
I stared uncomprehendingly at Fletcher, trying to read him. He was baring his teeth in a smile, and his tone was pleasant enough, but there was a tightness around his eyes that told me he was mad. More than mad. Furious. But that didn’t make sense because my father had never bothered to hide his rage before. Why was he doing it now? Did he know that I’d deliberately fed him bad intel? Did he know about Julian and me?
“I—I’m sorry,” I offered finally. “But I don’t want to quit. That won’t look good. On my resume, I mean.”
Fletcher laughed. “On your resume,” he repeated, the laugh dying quickly. “Or do you mean it won’t look good to Julian Lewis.” His features rearranged themselves into something that might have been pity.
My mouth went dry. He knew. He had to. I tried to speak, but nothing came out.
Fletcher nodded slowly. “I know all about it, kid. I keep close tabs on Julian.”
Not on his own daughter—on his nemesis. That said everything one needed to know about Fletcher. I straightened my spine and found my voice again. “Yes, it wouldn’t look good on my resume, and I don’t want to let Julian down. I…care about him.”
“And you think he feels the same way?” There was that poor imitation of pity again.
“I do,” I said, refusing to fall for whatever shit he was pulling.
Fletcher’s mouth drooped, his arms spread out like he was halfheartedly offering a hug. “I blame myself. I never should have put you in this position.”
I stayed silent. I wasn’t going to embarrass myself by telling my father that Julian and I had spent every night together for months. That he wanted to meet my family. That he wanted me to meet his friends. That thiswasn’tthe same situation as him and my mom.
“Willow, it’s not real,” Fletcher said so gently I might have thought he was sincere if we were on a phone call and I couldn’t see how tight the anger was around his eyes. The desire to hurt radiating out in furrowed lines.
“You don’t know anything about it,” I said with as much dignity as I could muster.
Fletcher’s laugh was too big for the room. “You think I don’t know a thing or two about messing around with the staff?” he asked.
“Julian’s nothing like you,” I shot back. “He isn’t married, for one thing.”
“And you think he’s going to marryyou?” Fletcher shook his head. “I blame myself,” he repeated, not sounding like he blamed anyone for anything. He sounded like this was all one big joke. Then he remembered that he was supposed to be playing the role of the protective father and rearranged his face. “Kid, Julian is engaged to Shelly Monroe. They’re planning the wedding as soon as she gets back from Europe.”
I shook my head. “No. That’s not true. They’ve been over for years. They’re just friends now.”
“Yeah, and it was over between me and Lydia when I met your mom,” Fletcher said sarcastically. “We were just waiting on the paperwork.” He held up his left hand so I could see the gold band still tenaciously wrapped around his ring finger. The skin puffing out on either side, like it had gotten stuck there.
I felt sick looking at it. “It’s not true,” I repeated, my resolve weakening. “He wanted to introduce me to his family.”
Fletcher sighed and dug his phone out. “Oh, I’m sure that was the line he fed you to keep you around while his lady was away. Listen, I hate to feed these scum sucking paparazzi nazis, but here. Pictures don’t lie.”
He pulled up an article from a gossip website. The kind that outed people before they were ready and speculated on who had gotten work done. I didn’t read the article; I didn’t need to. My eyes went straight to the picture above it. Julian, Shelly Monroe, Dana, and his parents, all out to dinner. Shelly holding out her hand—a brilliant diamond sparkling on her ring finger.
Fletcher hadn’t touched me, but he might as well have sunk his fist into my solar plexus. I sat down hard on the nearest chair, no longer caring that it meant Fletcher was looming over me. My empty stomach was churning, bile frothing up my esophagus.
“It’s not true,” I repeated, but there was no air left. I don’t even know if the words were audible. Fletcher didn’t react to them. He was looking at his phone now, scrolling his thumb up. Was he checking his messages? Now? After he’d just detonated a bomb that was blowing up my entire life?
I was pregnant with Julian’s baby, and he was engaged to someone else.
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