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Were our thing, I correct myself.
Upon hearing my gripe, Knox rubs his hands together while saying with a sly grin, “If you want a say in your career, Nicole, you need to occasionally get out of bed.”
It’s lucky he leaves the bathroom fast, because he is a mere second from being knocked out by the toothbrush holder I hurl at the door when my anger becomes too great to ignore.
* * *
After a long shower and an extensive hygiene routine, I feel semi-human.
My heart still feels wretched, though.
I can’t believe I was so foolish to take someone at face value. I should have dug deeper into Laken’s past before listening to the petitions of my heart. I should have instilled some of the madness Isaac undertakes anytime he hires a new team member.
I should not have trusted neither my gut nor my heart.
It is easier to acknowledge that now because I’m not standing across from the man who made the mountains seem so large and scary.
The way I felt when I was with Laken made the impossible feel doable. He made me believe I deserved this opportunity, and knowing it was a sham hurts.
As I flatten my skirt to ensure my outer shell hides my hideous insides, my mind drifts back to the memories that are being unearthed one grainy image at a time.
You’d swear from the look of devastation that washed over Laken’s face when I asked him if he was the driver of the car that claimed my sister’s life that he was as blinded by my accusation as I was when Knox handed me his criminal record.
I couldn’t believe the names in front of me or comprehend how our lives had crossed paths again so soon after his release.
Laken was underage when he was charged, and although that doesn’t usually conceal records for eternity, his lawyer was adamant there’d be no signed confession without a promise his record would never be made public.
While waiting for the authorities to locate Colette’s crash site, my father was adamant the man who’d left his daughter to die alone in a cold, abandoned field would rot in hell, but after a private one-on-one meeting with the DA and the accused’s lawyer, his opinion changed.
After a long talk with my mother that included more expletives than I’ve ever heard her speak, my father accepted the terms offered.
He’s struggled to make peace with his decision ever since.
Colette’s death changed him. It negatively impacted our family in a way I’ll never truly be able to explain, but we sought comfort in the fact the driver was handed a far harsher penalty than he would have gotten if we had taken the case to court.
The coroner ruled Colette’s death as an accident. The defendant had been drinking, but since it wasn’t in excess of the legal limit, they believed his claim that he’d swerved to miss a dog. Add that to his sworn testimony that he abandoned his car to search for help, and he could have had an extremely lenient DA willing to offer a substantially lower sentence.
I realize I’m no longer alone when Knox waves his hand in front of my face. “Earth to Nicole. I’ve been calling your name for the past minute.”
“Sorry, I was…” When I can’t find an excuse that won’t have me bursting into tears, I sidestep him before exiting the bathroom to collect my cell phone from my purse.
My heart leaps when I see how many missed calls and messages there are. Then it tries to break out of my chest cavity when it bleats with my FaceTime messenger tone.
As Jenni’s name flashes across the screen, I drift my eyes to Knox to stupidly seek permission to accept her call.
Submissiveness isn’t usually my forte. I’m just out of sorts.
When Knox’s expression shifts to miffed, I roll back my shoulders before adopting the stance I should have taken a long time ago. “I either accept her call or invite them here to keep an eye on me.Ifthey’re not already halfway here.”
Since he can’t deny the accuracy of my statement, he says, “Five minutes. You’re due on set in an hour and far from ready.”
When he exits my room with a mocking laugh, I lower my snarl before connecting my video chat with Jenni.
“She’s still not answering,” she announces, unaware our call is connected. “The label will have to take a hit. I’m sure it won’t kill Cormack. He’s uber-rich—”
“Hey,” I interrupt, stopping her both mid-rant and mid-packing. She’s stuffing sweatshirts into a carry-on bag like LA is as cold as London.
A smile tugs my lips to one side when her eyes rocket back to mine so fast that one tear filling them dislodges. I’m not happy I’ve made her upset. I simply love how much she loves me.
