Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91285 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91285 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Easier said than done.
“I won’t. Once I make a decision, I’ll deal with Mom.”
“She won’t tell you to take as much time as you need, but I will. This is your life, Chey. You’re allowed to question whether or not it makes you happy.”
Tears prick the backs of my eyes. No one ever says things like that to me. We talk about contracts, filming schedules, branding deals, and how much of myself I’m expected to hand over before people are finally satisfied. Hearing Britt say it so simply, as if my happiness actually matters, makes my chest ache.
“Thanks, Sis.”
“Anytime. And I mean that.”
“Love you.”
“Love you right back.”
As soon as we hang up, I lie in the king-sized bed for a few seconds and stare at the ceiling. My heart feels too full and too unsteady all at once. Kind of like I’ve been standing on the edge of a cliff for a while and only just realized I might jump.
My phone lights up again. For just a second, I think it’s Britt until I see the name flash on the screen.
Sharon Benson.
Momager extraordinaire.
My stomach tightens. Instead of answering, I let it go to voicemail. A second later, my cell rings again before an incoming text chimes.
Mom:
Call me ASAP
I huff out a sigh, and wish that at age twenty-six, I wasn’t still intimidated by my mother.
Hey, I give the woman a lot of credit. She was working as a nurse when a video of Britt singing and playing the guitar went viral, and she’s the one who parlayed that into a reality show centered around our family. Think Keeping Up with the Kardashians but bigger. Younger me was enamored of the spotlight. Now, it’s a monster I just want to escape from.
If I talk to her now, she’ll pull me right back in before I’ve had a chance to think things through. And I don’t want that.
I need some time and space.
Instead of dealing with her head-on, I pull on a pair of leggings, a sports bra, and a sweatshirt. Then I throw my hair into a ponytail, and skip the makeup routine altogether. When I glance at myself in the mirror, I barely recognize the person staring back at me.
Good. That’s exactly what I want.
Gone is the woman with glossy hair, perfect skin, and a carefully chosen outfit that photographs well.
It’s just me. Or, at least, the closest version I can manage at the moment.
I grab my keycard and slide it into the pocket of my leggings before heading to the door and slipping into the hallway. A few minutes later, I’m striding through the lobby. Even though it’s early, there are a dozen or so people milling around. Not a single one of them glances in my direction.
The moment I step outside, the cold air hits my lungs. Without stretching, I take off at a slow jog. It’s one foot in front of the other. The rhythm is familiar and predictable.
And it feels so damn good.
There aren’t any cameras, stylists, or expectations.
Without a face full of makeup and the latest couture, I’m just another woman jogging through the city.
Invisible.
There’s no way Dakota will look for me here. No one expects me to be in Chicago. For the first time in weeks, I finally feel like I can suck in a full breath.
Three miles in, my lungs are burning and my thoughts have quieted. Running always does that for me. It’s become my drug of choice. By the fourth mile, my sweatshirt is tied around my waist and the breeze stings my cheeks. My legs ache in that satisfying way that quiets everything in my head. Like if I just keep moving, I can outrun all of it.
The show.
My mother.
Dakota.
My own uncertainties.
As I push through the revolving door of the hotel, sweat dampening the back of my neck, I feel so much lighter. That is until I catch sight of Knox sitting in one of the plush armchairs near the lobby windows, long legs stretched out in front of him, arms folded across his broad chest. He scowls as his gaze lands on mine.
The harsh expression is almost enough to make me stumble.
All I can say is that the man does not look pleased.
Then again, he’s looking at me, so what else is new?
Still… there’s something about finding him at the hotel that sends an unexpected jolt through me.
I force myself to close the distance between us before pulling out my earbuds. “What are you doing here?”
He rises to his feet, towering over me. “Your location was on the move.”
I blink, wondering if this is a riddle I’m supposed to solve. “And?”
“You were gone for almost an hour.”
“I went for a run.”
“Alone?”
It’s tempting to roll my eyes. “Yes. I went alone.”
His jaw tightens. “You should have let me know.”
Something flickers low in my stomach.