Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
JULIETTE
If I wanted to convince Griffin that I actually wanted this divorce, passing out on his chest for two hours was a terrible strategy.
But after four months of running on caffeine, anxiety, and spite, my defenses collapsed the second I felt safe again.
I didn’t notice I was drifting off. I was just gone.
Sometime later, I woke up in my bed. Rubbing sleep from my eyes, I scanned the room for my phone and spotted it on the floor—stuffed inside my tennis shoe. When I checked the time, my eyes bugged. I’d slept for three hours?
There was a text waiting from Griffin.
Griffin
Hey, beautiful. Just wanted to let you know, I’m staying in Seddledowne for good. You’re more important than a job or a city. I never should’ve left without you. I’m so sorry I hurt you. I love you, Jules, and I’m going to make it up to you.
Against my will, a sigh slipped out.
Cut it out with the sighing. He’s just on his best behavior, saying all the right things. The minute you forgive him, he’ll hit you with a plot twist. “Psych, we’re moving back to Phoenix.”
A second message came through.
Griff
PS: Sorry, I couldn’t stay and hold you longer. I love holding you. But I have some things I need to take care of.
Another breath escaped.
Wait.
What did he mean he had some things he needed to take care of?
I squinted and opened the location app… then sat straight up. He was at the fire station in Honeyville. I flopped against the wall, my pulse kicking up. Was he trying to get his old job back?
When I woke up this morning, “Griffin flies home, tries to win me over, and stays for good” wasn’t on my bingo card. I didn’t even have a square for that.
Before I’d even processed it, another text popped up. I jumped at Peyton’s name.
Peyton
I thought we were doing inventory today. Where are you?
Shoot.
I threw off the covers and tore out of the room.
Sitting at the glam station in DoubleTake Beauty headquarters—aka Ford’s former tour bus—I blended the last of the new cream illuminator across Peyton’s cheekbones. Shade: Morning Dew. The rose-gold shimmer was made for her olive complexion.
I kissed my fingers. “Seriously. It’s perfection.”
She turned her chin from side to side, clearly delighted. “Girl.” She held up her hand for a high five. “We are so good.”
I slapped her palm. “We really are.” Then I exhaled. “Thank you for inviting me to do this with you.”
“Stawp.” She blushed. “You don’t have to thank me every single day. You act like I rescued you from The Hunger Games.”
I pressed my lips together, sealing in the words pretty much. “It’s—” I dialed it back, “—so much fun.”
“Right?” She laughed. “So much fun.” She checked the time on her smartwatch. “Shoot. We’re on a roll, but Ford grilled ribs, and he’s getting hangry.”
“What if you go eat real quick?” I suggested. “When you get back, we can finish inputting the inventory into the system.” Anything to avoid facing Griffin and his bedroom eyes tonight.
Peyton gave me a suspicious side-eye. Or was that compassion? “I get it, girl,” she said. “Those Dupree men don’t know how to take no for an answer, and sometimes a girl isn’t ready for their big, loud, suffocating love.”
“Exactly,” I lied.
Oh, I was ready for it. There probably wasn’t a woman more ready. I had a twenty-year backlog of isolation and a desire to be loved, just waiting to be filled. But I couldn’t hurt Griffin any more than I had. So it was better to make myself unavailable.
“Plus, you have three months of heartbreak he needs to make up for. The man owes you infinity roses, foot rubs, and groveling dates.”
“At the very least,” I agreed.
“All right.” She clapped her hands together. “I’ll be back in twenty, and I’ll bring you some ribs, yeah? With mac and cheese and green beans? Unless you want to come eat with us?” She always offered, and I almost always turned her down. I didn’t want them to feel obligated.
“I love Ford’s green beans. It’s okay. I’ll stay here and try out the champagne eyeshadow palette.
” I grabbed a makeup brush and twirled it.
“I have no idea how you stay so thin eating like that.” I’d already gained a good fifteen pounds since arriving in Seddledowne.
Guess that’s what happens when you stop running on air.
“Oh, I do,” she said. “It’s because I don’t know how to stop moving. Just ask Ford.”
That was true. This woman got more done in three hours than most people did in three days.
She waved and opened the exit door. “Oh.” She turned back. “Ford says the lawyers are pushing to get that copy of your DayGlow contract. They’re worried about there being a possible non-compete clause.”
“Oh, yes, that.” I snapped my fingers. “I left a message, but I still haven’t heard anything back. I’ll reach out again.” The guilt from the bald-faced lie settled heavy and sour.
“Okay. Good.” She smiled, eyes bright, like she didn’t have a single reason to doubt me.
“Because you know we need your face to make these babies sell. And we want to get your name on the contract as co-creator so you get half the credit.” She winked.
“And the money.” Then she was gone, the screen door whamming shut behind her.
The second her tires crunched out of earshot, I crossed to the door and turned the lock—not that I needed to.
Clean Slate Ranch was the safest place I’d ever existed.
Ford and Jeff had seen to that long before I ever arrived: cameras on every corner, night vision, drones, a perimeter fence that tattled to Jeff the moment anyone breathed near it.
And he didn’t ask questions when it went off.
He just came. At that very moment, I looked up at the camera in the corner and waved at him and his team—so grateful to know I was being watched.
No. This panic was completely homegrown—entirely, stupidly my own doing.
If I modeled for DoubleTake—heck, if my name was even remotely attached to the brand—it would screw Peyton and Ford over royally.
Because I, Juliette Serrant, was contractually forbidden from co-creating, investing in, appearing in marketing for, or publicly promoting any makeup brand that wasn’t DayGlow.
Speaking of DayGlow…
I picked up my phone, thumb hovering over the Las Vegas number that had texted half an hour ago. I didn’t need to read it to know it was Cecil. No idea how he’d figured out my number. I hadn’t given it to anyone I knew from DayGlow. Not even Fallon.
I angled the phone away from the corner camera and tapped on the message.
1-555-421-3760
Your contract didn’t disappear simply because you did, Juliette. Come back before this gets ugly.
What I wanted to do was sprint to the edge of Lake A, launch my phone into the water, and take off for Belize. But there were too many people counting on me to do that.
I was no fool, though. In the three months since I’d disappeared, DayGlow hadn’t named a new Sunburst. Not as far as I could tell, anyway. Which, I hated to admit, meant they were holding out for me to return. So there was no way they were going to let me go because of a single “pretty please.”
No, the only way to stop DayGlow was to beat them at their game.
Juliette
Before it gets ugly? My life turned ugly the day I signed your contract. And Griffin and I are done. I’m filing for divorce. So stop harassing him to get to me.
Every punch thrown at Griffin online reeked of DayGlow. They could come after me all they wanted. But they didn’t get to touch him. Maybe he’d broken my heart when he left—fine, he’d destroyed it—but I still loved him. He didn’t deserve to be the pressure point they squeezed to control me.
1-555-421-3760
Well, hello there. When might I tell the board you’re returning?
Juliette
When the sun rises in the west, or you wake up with a soul. Either/or.
1-555-421-3760
Fine, have it your way. Refusing to return isn’t an option.
If necessary, we’ll resolve this legally.
We’ve been very patient with you. Don’t make us regret that patience.
And regarding your husband, who, may I remind you, you married without the board’s approval—we’re only doing what we have to protect our investment.
So that was their big plan—harass Griffin until I came back? I’d been right. Marrying Griff had painted a target on his back. “Selfish, selfish, selfish.” I had to make them stop.
I pounded out a response that sounded much braver than I felt.
Juliette
Nothing would make me happier than going in front of a judge. I mean, please, somebody make me put my hand on a Bible and swear to tell the truth, the WHOLE truth, and nothing but the truth. Because I absolutely will. That’s a promise.
I held my phone in my hand like it might detonate.
1-555-421-3760
Court will require you to honor every clause of the contract you signed. Including the one that prevents you from discussing the nature of your work with DayGlow.
My stomach lurched. Was that true?
You could ask Holden.
But then he’d want to know why. And if DayGlow finds out you’ve talked to him, who knows what they’d do. Who knows what they’d do to any of the Duprees either way.
My mind dragged me back to the thought that haunted every waking moment: How long could I stay here with the Duprees, pretending I was normal—living a normal life, chasing a normal dream? My life wasn’t normal and it never would be—and every day I stayed in Seddledowne put them in more danger.
But Cecil was an expert at sniffing out fear, and this was not the time to falter.
Juliette
Maybe, but I’m going to say it anyway. After what you’ve done to me, my life means nothing. I’d rather rot in jail than come back and “work” for you and the board.
It wasn’t enough of a threat because my life meant nothing to them either. My face? Yes. My body? Absolutely. But my life? Absolutely not—and they’d proven that sixty-nine times over.
1-555-421-3760
I’m sorry to hear that. Maybe your life means nothing to you, but your husband’s does. So what’ll it be? Griffin’s reputation for your insistence on continuing to break your contract? Or returning to do the job you were hired to do?
I took a screenshot of that blatant admission of guilt. Not that I’d ever be brave enough to use it. Then I stared at his message, hating that I was right back at the same dead end.
1-555-421-3760
You have the power here, Juliette. You can protect your husband and end his defamation by honoring your contract, or you can watch every speck of his dignity burn to the ground around you? Your choice. Let us know what you decide. But you’d better do it quick. Time’s a-ticking.
I pulled my knees to my chest and buried my face in them, arms wrapped tight around my legs. “What do I do? What do I do?”
You have choices, Julie-Bean, Angel Mom whispered. You always have choices. Even choosing nothing at all is a choice.
I didn’t try to fight her. I knew she was right this time. Choosing not to choose was choosing to let DayGlow whittle away at Griffin a little at a time.
I had to make them stop.
But the only way to do that was to give them exactly what they wanted.