Chapter 53
fifty-three
We made it to my place without another incident. Juliet followed me inside and stayed quiet while I ditched my dirty clothes and turned on the shower. Part of me hoped she’d join me again, but I wasn’t surprised when she didn’t.
Full of dread, I scrubbed myself clean, brushed my teeth twice, and found a fresh set of burgundy sweats.
Juliet had the same notion. Wearing her new navy yoga pants and a matching tank top, she joins me on the couch and thanks me for her flowers. Leaning back, I gaze up at the ceiling without seeing it.
“Glad you like them.”
My voice sounds foreign. Clogged and rough. Her hand lands on my arm—one warm spot amid all my cool numbness.
“Do you feel okay?” she asks.
Do I feel okay ? The question brings a bitter smirk to my lips.
“I can’t talk about it right now.” I set my hand on top of hers and let my eyes fall shut. “I’m sorry about losing my temper in the cab. I understand if you want to leave. I’m not going to be good company tonight. Or even this weekend, probably.”
Or ever .
Because I know what I have to do. And after my display at the restaurant, I can’t change my mind.
Jules gingerly settles into my side, resting her head on my shoulder. She sighs. “I can take you, pinchao .”
Her words from the taxi choose that moment to return to me. I am here for you.
A burst of gratitude washes over the icy lump sitting in my center. I let my head rest against hers. “Thank you. For staying. For not getting out of the car. I’m sorry I ruined dinner. Did you order something for yourself?”
She turns her hand over, lacing our fingers together. “For both of us. Smoothies.”
Appreciation swells through me again, so strong my next breath shakes. Jesus . Are my eyes watering? What the fuck has become of me?
I turn to press a kiss into her crown, distracting myself with the scent of her hair. “I don’t deserve you,” I mumble. “You should run. Now. Far and fast. I’m a ticking time bomb. When it all blows, I don’t want you caught in the crosshairs.”
“It already blew,” she argues lightly, squeezing my fingers. “All over Park Avenue.”
I would laugh if I weren’t so busy groaning. I scrub my free hand over my face, mortified. “Christ. People know me on Park Avenue. Someone could have seen .”
She giggles quietly. “Well, you may have flown under the radar if you hadn’t worn your insane leprechaun suit today. I swear it matched your complexion by the time we managed to stop the car.”
I lean back to look at Juliet, unable to bear another minute without seeing her face. Cupping her pointed chin in my palm, I turn her toward me and stare right into her eyes.
“Seriously, bijou ,” I murmur. “I’m sorry for snarling at you. Forgive me. Please.”
Her mouth wobbles, torn between concern and reprimand. “You don’t want to tell me what happened? The last time we talked about your father, we made a whole plan. Something changed?”
I have to tell her. But after I do, everything will change. I want one more peaceful night with her before I tell her I have to destroy my life.
Brushing her hair back, my regard hardens. “I said I’m sorry,” I repeat. “Forgive me?”
Her golden gaze softens into liquid honey. “Yes. I forgive you. But I still think we should talk about what the hell caused you to lose your mind.”
“We will.” My stomach sinks. “Tomorrow, okay? After we visit Christian.”
Juliet doesn’t like waiting. She’s impatient by nature, like me. I suspect that’s one reason why we’ve defiled half the surfaces in my apartment in the span of two weeks.
But she nods mulishly. “Fine.”
My phone buzzes on the floor beside the couch. When it goes off a third time, I grouse and fumble for it. There are three texts from Grayson. Two photos and one message.
The images are dark, fuzzy frames. Blurred. I squint closely.
“ Fuck .”
Pictures from tonight. One of me with my fist cocked; another of my father on the ground. Thankfully, Juliet isn’t in either.
STRYKER
I see telling your dad about your new company didn’t go well. We’re wheels up in five, but the jet has Wi-Fi service. I’ll call you.
“Hold on,” I mutter to Jules. “It’s Grayson.”
I go to my bedroom and pace.
He doesn’t know anything about Juliet. He doesn’t know about Christian overdosing. He has no clue my father has been committing fraud or that I have to turn him in .
I curse again and swipe at his incoming call.
“We’re taking off early,” Grayson says by way of greeting. “I wanted to talk to you ASAP. There’s someone you can call to clear this sort of thing up.”
“Wait a minute. Back up. How the fuck did you even get those pictures? Do you have security following your friends now?”
He gives a bleak laugh. “No. I hired a new PR person last week. She works exclusively with paparazzi all over town and buys photos directly, to destroy or release them for her clients on her own terms. She knows we’re friends, so when one of her sources told her he had pictures of Graham Everett knocking out an old guy in the middle of Peter Luger, she called me.”
A PR person. The idea is nauseating and brilliant.
“Who’s your girl?” I ask. “And how much do I need to pay for her to make those pictures disappear?”
Grayson pauses just long enough to make me suspicious. The hairs on the back of my neck rise. “Fuck me,” I groan, doubly ill. “Stryker. Tell me you didn’t hire her .”
He sighs heavily. “She’s the best in town, shithead.”
But not even my second-favorite moniker can quell my dread.
Ava Morgan .
Karma must be real. Of course, the one person I can hire to make sure no one finds out about Jules and me is a woman I once had hate-sex with in a coat-check room.
“She’s a raging bitch ,” I mutter. “I cannot believe you’re paying her. Where do you send her checks—the seventh circle of Hell?”
“Otherwise known as the corner of Seventy-Fifth and Park.” He laughs darkly. “Yes, I hired Ava. She’s started a whole campaign to win public favor for Ella and me, and it’s working . The woman is seriously connected. And, listen, I know you two have history, but?—”
I cringe at the thought. “Grayson. Come on .”
He knows the stories. I don’t want to relive them. Especially with my girlfriend in the next room.
“I know, I know,” he sighs. “But think of it this way: Ava took all of her Upper East Side venom and socialite social capital and put them to good use.”
Ugh . I want to moan. “So you’re telling me I have to call her to kill the photos? She’s literally the only phone number I have blocked.”
“I already had her kill the photos,” Grayson replies. “So, you’re welcome. But I’m assuming there’s a good reason you knocked your father out in front of the entire universe. She can manage press for whatever’s happening.”
My skin crawls. I palm the back of my neck, shaking my head while I admit, “I’m having the month from hell, Grayson.”
“Yeah, I sort of figured there was more to the story than your new business venture. We’ll grab a drink this weekend. I saw the portfolio stats you emailed yesterday—I owe you a round.”
His stocks rose another three percent this week. Up a total of seven in less than a month. My brain spits calculations at me automatically. $350,000 .
But I can’t enjoy my success. Because I still have to tell him about everything else when we meet up. Anxiety flattens my lungs.
“Yeah, sure,” I manage, defeated. “Can’t wait.”