Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71403 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71403 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
So it takes no time at all to catch her up on everything that has happened over a pair of plain-ass water bottles at the table by the back door. She picked the wobbly chair, but it hasn’t wobbled once. How masterful she is, to be able to wrangle even a broken chair into submission.
“So you’re telling me your boy toy’s sister is the one responsible for turning the tides?” Anya’s so much rougher around the edges in person. Even her voice. And especially when she’s on the hunt for someone else’s blood. “Can you trust the Hopewells? You’ve known them for a week.”
“Almost two weeks, actually,” I correct her, then smile dreamily. “Finn and I, we ran around the isle together last week.” I’m reminiscing like it’s already a tender memory. “It was so much fun. Felt like we were on the run from the paparazzi. Or a dangerous criminal. He was like my brave guardian, that Finn. He’s a short guy … but the protective way he handled me, you’d think he was a mountain—”
“Are you hearing yourself?” she cuts me off. “Riv, you need to take this seriously. This isn’t a love story. This is your life, and it’s ending one article at a—Oh.” She pokes at her tablet. “She’s really good, your boy toy’s sister.”
“Yes, she is. And Finn is his name …”
“This is actually … kind of brilliant. She’s not painting you as a victim. She’s painting you as a human.”
“And he’s not my ‘boy toy’ …”
“It doesn’t even seem like it’s coming from the same person. Maybe it’s not. Her posts are really infectious … I bet they’re inspiring others to make their own posts. Have their own opinions. Reject the narrative that was shoved down their throats. Making them believe some vague secret truth that isn’t even fully there or confirmed. Simple doubt in the viral video was enough. She’s used people’s natural skepticism as her kindling to start a … a seriously helpful fire here. And boy, has it taken.”
“I said his name’s Finn.”
She takes a breath, then slowly sets down her tablet. “If you want me to help you, you’ve got to make a choice.”
“A choice?” I frown. “What do you mean ‘a choice’?”
“Between your career or … whatever the hell it is you think you’re doing here in this sleepy beach town with this person you’ve known for a week and some change. This?” She gives a vague gesture around us with the tablet—the house, Dreamwood Isle, my “boy toy”, who knows what she’s encompassing with that single word—and says, “This isn’t who you are.”
I sit back in my chair, annoyed, but silenced.
It’s difficult to argue with Anya. Even before she went and became a lawyer, back when we were just struggling actors in college laughing off our failures, she analyzed her scripts like cases in court with just as much depth and severity. I trust her implicitly. She never has any ulterior motives. She’s as to-the-point and honest as they come.
“It’s classic River,” she goes on. “Escaping. You run away from your problems. You know who else did that?”
“Don’t you dare bring up my mother.”
“Then I won’t.” She crosses her arms on the table and leans forward. “Riv … I know I’m coming off harsh, but I think right now’s a time for harsh. Get your mind out of the clouds and look around down here on earth. You’ve got a phone full of people trying to get your life back on track—whose own careers also depend on you, might I add. Sure, your boy toy’s sister gave you a head start, but that’s all that boy will be to you in another few weeks: just a toy, a souvenir of your latest life challenge, a—”
“He’s not,” I tell her firmly. “He’s not a toy. He’s kind. And real. He has a genuine heart of gold.”
“Fine. A boy toy with a heart of gold. Not unheard of. Still not a reason to throw it all in the trash.”
“I know what it looks like,” I stammer, rising to my feet. Anya, unaffected, listens to me like a weary litigator waiting for the defense to tire out. “I know I’ve been very irresponsible. I know I’m hiding. I know I did a lot of … of really stupid shit that brought me to this point, even long before I socked Trent Embers in his smug fucking face.” I run a finger over my knuckles. It’s likely my imagination that they still feel sensitive to the touch. “I know you’re right about that. I need to stop running.” I meet her eyes. “But Finn … Finn, his name … Finn isn’t just a souvenir.”
Anya studies my face for a while, like she’s somehow fact-checking the emotions twisting over my furled lips and twitching eyes. “Okay,” she says quietly.