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WILLOW
Every mile I travel on my way to Somerset Harbor widens my smile until I'm sure by the time I arrive, my face will ache and my jaw will be stiff.
But no matter how I try, I can't wipe it from my face. This is it. This is the moment teenage Willow prayed for. All alone, late at night, crying herself to sleep while wondering what she ever did to deserve the treatment she received. Like the time I made the unforgivable mistake of bumping into Sawyer while rushing to class. You’d think I broke his ribs, the way he acted. “Watch out, everybody! There’s a rhino on the rampage!”
That wasn’t even the worst. There was one night in particular I'll never forget as long as I live, when I wished I would die rather than face anybody ever again. He deserves this for that night alone if nothing else.
I am not that girl anymore, but here's the thing about being bullied, you never really forget. You might put it behind you, compartmentalize, lock it away. There could come a moment now or then when you witness someone else being bullied and all the old feelings bubble back up to the surface—anger, embarrassment, frustration, even rage. But then they go away again, because, after all, you have a life to live. A life that's ages away from the person you used to be.
Still, that part of yourself exists, and right now the old version of me is front and center. She wants me to drive faster, because after all she has waited long enough to have her say.
Two hundred thousand dollars. He's that desperate. Desperate to salvage his reputation, his business, his relationship with his daddy. Something tells me that's front and center in all of this, though I doubt he would ever admit it out loud.
In other words, I've got him by the balls. There are still times, like right this very minute, when I feel like I should pinch myself in case I'm dreaming. But then if I am dreaming, I don't want to wake up. Because when will I ever have the chance to experience this again? This completely random bit of synchronicity bringing us together again. What are the odds of him knowing a past client of mine? Of all the public relations experts in the world, I'm the one he reached out to.
And now, he's going to find out how it feels to be rejected.
Though I doubt I could ever make him feel exactly the way he made me feel. I don't think I have it in me to be that cruel. It takes a special kind of coldness. Yes, we were kids—I'll give him that. But he went out of his way to humiliate me.
My hands tighten around the wheel until the squeak of leather and the ache in my joints make me loosen up. I can't do this to myself, getting angry when I'm so close to town and the club. When I first set eyes on him, I want to be cool, calm, and collected. Professional. I want him to see exactly who he made the mistake of hurting. The woman I've become. A woman with the power to make or break him now.
In other words, he's going to become the poster boy for being careful about who you bully, because you might one day need them enough to offer two hundred grand for their services.
The ringing of my phone echoes through the car’s sound system, and I reach out to touch the green button on the display when I see it's Sarah who's calling. “You said you'd call before you left,” she complains when I answer.
“I know. I’m sorry, my blowout took longer than expected.” Because obviously, I pulled out all the stops, booking an emergency appointment at both the nail salon and the Dry Bar before accepting Sawyer’s request for a meeting today. I wasn't about to confirm before I made sure I could look my best.
A glance at myself in the rearview mirror serves as a reminder of how far I've come. No frizzy flyaways, no Coke bottle glasses making my eyes look twice as big as they are. My skin is clear now, my face carefully contoured. I look pretty damn good, in other words.
“Are you ready for this?” she asks. “I really think I should have come with you.”
“No need for that,” I insist in a gentle voice. “I've got it under control.”
The strangled groan she can’t silence makes me think she’s unconvinced. “What if he says something to hurt your feelings? What if he's a complete tool?”
“I have no doubt he's that,” I mutter while changing lanes to prepare for my upcoming exit. “It's, like, coded in his DNA.”
“It might have been a better idea to have somebody there to speak for you if you get overwhelmed.”
She is my best friend, and I love her dearly, but for some reason her concern sets my teeth on edge. “I'm afraid I might have given you the wrong idea,” I explain as gently as I can. “This is going to be the shortest meeting in the history of meetings. He's going to beg for my help, and I'm going to turn him down. I’m going to take a few minutes to savor him dissolving into tears—five, at most—and then I’ll leave. End of story.”
“I'm sure he'll want to know why you’re turning down such a ridiculous amount of money.”
“Oh, and I have every intention of telling him exactly why,” I assure her. No matter how confident I try to sound, the sight of the Somerset Harbor exit makes my pulse pick up speed.
“Just be careful,” she warns. “We can't afford to have word getting out that we’re unprofessional.”
My heartbeat stutters a little. “Is that what you're worried about? I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize what we've built. I promise you.” And now I feel bad that she even had to think that.
“I don't know why I even worried. I know you better than that.”
“I will be a good girl, I promise. And I'll call you as soon as I finish up.”
“But do me a favor?”
“Name it.”
“Make sure he knows exactly why you're turning him down.”
