Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 98755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
“You can go now.” I wave her along, and she hurries off to her waiting car without a backward glance.
I’m suddenly realizing I’ve followed a trail that leads to a hornet’s nest. I smirk as I look up at the tall building Hope works in, embracing the fact I’m not someone who is scared to be stung.
I’ll uncover what Hope Ivanov is hiding.
Whether it be her or her family, I’ll be unmasking something deadly. I know it.
CHAPTER 7
Hope
I spend all day and night reworking the sculpture. By the time I finally walk out of my workshop the sun is starting to rise on a new day, and hardly anyone is on the streets. It’s true that New York is the city that never sleeps, but it’s times like this that I like it the most.
I don’t have to worry about my overbearing father trying to enforce security anymore, either. I always felt guilty staying here at ungodly hours and keeping bodyguards by my side because of it. But that all changed last year when I turned twenty-one, and I’ve adopted new habits that offer me a sense of freedom and normality from the bright shine of stardom and recognition I’ve been under since I was sixteen. It was bad enough that I’m Lena Love’s daughter, not that I begrudge my mother for being incredible—if anything, she’s inspiring—but there was always an expectation as to how I should act in public. Not that she applied that personally. I just felt socially awkward by society’s expectations. And then when I started getting recognized for my own work, everything blew up.
I went from a teenager to a woman overnight, being bombarded with compliments but being spoken about behind my back and, at times, not so discreetly in articles and critics’ reviews. So it’s nice to be at a place in my career now where I can be by myself and enjoy my own company—which is how I prefer it.
I walk five blocks down to a twenty-four-hour diner that I frequent often, especially in the early hours. I’m still wide awake, and as I walk, I think back to how Braxton intruded on my space. Hardly anyone visits me when I’m working, and it infuriates me that because of him, I’m behind on a project. He didn’t even apologize. Not that I would expect someone like him to do such a thing, but the fact he has a bullshit badge makes him think he can do whatever the fuck he pleases.
It grates on my nerves that he touched everything in my studio, his hands all over my things that aren’t his to touch. I have the distinct impression it won’t be the last time I see him either, so I start pondering on ideas as to how I should best deal with the situation. Having a cop snoop around my business isn’t ideal, and had it been anyone else, I might’ve actually let my father deal with them. But I want to manage this situation myself. Braxton has made it personal and I don’t like anyone sniffing around that might jeopardize me or my family. If it weren’t for my last name I wonder if he would have such persistent interest in the first place.
When I arrive at the diner, I order a stack of pancakes, then I sit back and read my book. I’ve been quite consumed by the thriller series and find it the easiest way to wind down after an intense creative session.
I absentmindedly pick at my pancakes, and after an hour of sipping on a cup of coffee, someone pulls out the chair across from me.
At first, I think it’s the waitress taking my plate away, but when I raise my head to check, I’m met with a crystal-blue gaze.
I swear my left fucking eye twitches.
Braxton.
“Are you lost?” I ask, pushing my glasses back up my nose and looking back to the book, which is far more interesting than the man who just intruded on my quiet time.
“Your friend returned the wallet this evening,” he says, starting another conversation I have no interest in.
“Mmhmm.” I’m not sure what else I’m supposed to say. Did he really have to come and track me down to tell me that he got the wallet back? I’m sure most detectives don’t go to these lengths to provide updates, so I’m unsure why he’s here.
“Charlotte admitted to it and explained that you just went along with her.” Still, I say nothing. It’s a week after the fact. Had they wanted to do something about it, they would’ve done it sooner, and frankly, I don’t give a shit. I pick up my coffee and take a sip.
“She’s being held at the station right now. Do you want to see her?”
My gaze snaps in his direction. “You arrested her after she returned it?”