Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 119184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
. . . Luis?
Obviously, there’s no beef with the assistant. He’s a swell guy and a decent friend to Brady, who doesn’t seem to have a lot of them despite his ginormous social circle. Even if he’s cashing checks from his boss, he cares.
Still, if it’s Luis calling, things are not good.
If Brady wanted to see me to sort things out, he’d call me himself, wouldn’t he?
Sending Luis just adds another layer of distance.
Distance I insisted on the minute I ran.
Believe me, I know. The broken heart pieces rattling around my chest like heavy ceramic are a constant reminder.
“Luis? Hi, what’s going on?” I answer the phone with shaky fingers and my breath stalled in my lungs.
“Miss Joly.” He sounds the same as always, cool and polite, except—maybe a little frazzled?
I shouldn’t be surprised, considering the crisis.
“How are you?” he asks, which is too kind, considering he can guess.
“I’m—” A lie dies on my lips. No point trying to deceive him. “I’m still hanging in there.”
“That bad, huh?” There’s a softness in his voice now.
Empathy I don’t deserve.
“I mean, it’s not good. But you knew that.” My laugh sounds feeble. “I’m sure you’re about to tell me it can always be worse.” I cringe at my own phrasing. “But how—how is he?”
“Why don’t you come and see?” He doesn’t wait for my answer. “I’ve sent Corbin to the airport to pick you up. He should be waiting now.”
I blink in surprise. That was fast.
“I’m here, standing on the curb.”
“Yes, I know. He’ll take you to Brady’s, if you’ll graciously accept.”
My blood freezes over.
“Um, okay,” I say slowly. My heart hammers in my chest. “What for? Is everything okay?”
“Brady’s been working on the situation,” Luis assures me with what sounds like a huge understatement.
“I’m sure he has,” I say slowly.
“He’d be grateful for your presence tonight, if you can make it. It’s very important.”
Oh boy.
I’m sure whatever he’s got planned will be super fun. Not at all like being dragged over a frying pan.
“Corbin’s waiting. Black Escalade,” Luis says gently. “Can you wave to him when you’re ready? No hurry, take all the time you need.”
I swallow thickly, trying to suppress the fear gurgling up from the pit of my stomach.
But I wanted a conversation, didn’t I? And now Brady wants to make that happen with zero inconvenience besides my own mangled heart.
Whatever.
Deep breath.
“All right,” I say as I finally look at the black SUV in the lot and hold up my hand. “Anything you need. Anything Brady needs. I’m ready.”
“Thanks, Lena. We appreciate you.” Luis blows out a long breath that doesn’t make me feel any better about the situation. Almost like he’s relieved.
Also, we?
He can’t just say Brady?
That knot in my belly hardens into rock.
I know I’m reading into this too much. I feel like I’ve been dropped into a trashy reality show with some sinister surprise waiting, but I can’t stop.
I have to make this right.
The sooner I see Brady, the faster I stop plummeting to the bottom.
“See you soon,” I say numbly, ending the call.
I just hope there’s some privacy when I can finally talk to Brady.
By the time I blink, my phone’s flashing with the call disconnected and that big black SUV is waiting in front of me.
Corbin steps out to grab my suitcase and open the door, kindly waiting like I’m Cinderella, ready to spirit me away to my moody, doomed prince.
XXIV
A Hungry Dog
(Brady)
The worst damn day of my life is also the loudest.
My phone won’t stop ringing off the hook. There must be at least ten frothing-mad voicemails from Dad I haven’t played.
No need. I know they’ll be nothing but awestruck horror and panicked demands. Plus, cursing me out every way he’s ever learned in his long, demanding life.
Too bad I can’t write it off as his usual bullshit.
He’s right to be fire-breathing pissed.
I’ve ruined his name. My name. The family name. Hell, the Pruitt brand.
After this, we’ll probably need a damn animal mascot, if the PR team doesn’t just advise us to ghost media entirely.
I’m sure Dad’s spitting demands are brutally simple.
Damage control. Break it off with Lena immediately, then get in front of a screen and tell the world how much she disgusts me.
Like I said, brutally simple—except for the part where I throw the woman I love under the goddamned bus, knowing she’s a victim.
Alec Pruitt will never understand that Lena never asked for any of this shit.
Every drama freak eviscerating her online makes me want to break my phone again.
What my father and the rest of the world don’t get is that if I go against her, it validates every flippant jackass who’s ever sent her a nastygram or talked her up like she’s a porn star.
I won’t fucking do that.
I won’t betray her.
And I also won’t stand by without defending my brand and my girl the best way I see fit.