Chapter 32 #2
Sam stops and points to a chair. I didn’t even notice a person was here until now.
An older woman is sitting there, her hair pulled into a slick bun and an ivory turtleneck stretching nearly up to her chin.
A laptop sits on her lap, and a tumbler of amber liquor is warming on the glass end table next to her.
She scoffs at something and picks up her phone. When her chin tilts up, I gasp. “That’s me?”
“Yes, Greer. That’s you.”
“I’m old.”
Sam doesn’t smile or laugh; he simply nods. “This is your future,” he says evenly. “Now, watch.”
My gaze turns to the old woman. Her—my—hair is crisp white and silver. I don’t need to get closer to know I must pay a fortune to make it look that good. I have lines on my face, but the bright fire and light next to the chair show me I had to have invested in a facelift and Botox.
Future me doesn’t smile as she taps on a name in her contacts and lifts the phone to her ear, red lips in a hard, fierce line.
“That’s really me?” I ask. I know it’s me. I look like me, but also not. I’m very…stiff. Mad. Soulless, like the room I’m in.
“It’s you,” Sam affirms.
My gaze never leaves Future Me as she waits for whomever it is to pick up the phone. The fingers of my free hand continue to peck out something on the laptop, as if I can’t waste a minute of time.
“Finally,” Future Me says. “I don’t care, Madison. I told you to be available. Yes, I know it’s Christmas, but I gave you the morning, and it’s evening now. Do you not want to have a job? Oh, I see. Good, then.” I tap something on the computer before I continue.
“I’ve been looking over the acquisition papers you sent, and I don’t like the terms. Northlight Capital isn’t valued at what it used to be, and it’s not worth the money they’re asking for…
yes, I know we can afford it, but my company is valued similarly, so it wouldn’t make sense.
Contact the lawyers, and tell them they need to come back with a more realistic number. ”
Future Me pauses and rolls her eyes. “I understand that it’s Christmas, but they know I work all year round. Do it, Madison, or you won’t work for anyone in this city again. Trust me when I say you’re young, and you don’t want that to happen…that’s what I thought. Goodbye.”
I flinch at the words that just came out of my mouth. I know I can be ruthless, that I’m direct and expect the best out of myself and the people I work with, but that was—I don’t even know what that was. Again, the word soulless comes to mind.
Future Me finishes typing something then slams the laptop closed. “Goddamn Northlight.”
“I have my own company?” I ask Sam as Older Me sets her laptop and the phone on the table and picks up the drink. She stares into the fire, an annoyed grimace scrunching her too-tight face.
“You do, you started it after you left Northlight. You didn’t like how they treated you over what happened at Holly’s, so you stayed for another year, but you butted heads with everyone at the office and felt you could do better starting your own firm.”
“And Avery?” I ask.
“What about her?”
“I was talking to someone named Madison. That means Avery didn’t come with me?”
Sam shakes his head. “You continued to push her away, didn’t show up to her wedding, sent your new assistant with a gift in your place. She finally stopped trying to be your friend after that. It wasn’t worth the heartbreak.”
“I did what?” I ask. I may be a workaholic, but—
“You did.”
“What about Tim?” I probably shouldn’t care about him, but I find that I do.
“After the new year, you eventually convinced Mr. Cross he wasn’t worth keeping around.
He ended up unable to find work in Denver, and he and his wife moved.
They struggled with money, and his wife ended up having to go back to work.
He’s an old and bitter man now—doesn’t look at the world the same. ”
“You’re lying,” I say. “There’s no way.”
“May I show you?” Sam asks, holding out his hand.
I take it, and as soon as I do, flashes of visions fill my mind like a montage of memories.
It’s what Kai did the first night he showed me the past. This time, however, it’s not mine.
It’s Tim’s. I see images of sadness, pain, hurt, struggle, and finally, bitterness.
I feel his resentment toward me and his hatred of what he felt I forced him to become.
Even his daughter dislikes me for what I did.
I gasp and pull my hand away, my breathing shallow. “That wasn’t real.”
“Not yet, but it will be.”
I want to argue, but Future Me distracts me. She stands from the chair and walks closer to the fire. There’s no music, and because the room is so bare, everything feels cold despite the heat of the flames.
I step closer to her and watch as she peers into the fire. She rubs her hand over her face, and I know what she’s doing: dissociating.
Her eyes go hazy, and her lips press tight. She’s staring into the fire but not really. My heart twinges in my chest, tears pricking my eyes as I spin on my heel and walk away from Sam and Future Me.
“Greer?” he asks.
I don’t respond. I walk at a fast pace through the house, taking everything in but also looking for something. What, I don’t know.
It’s funny. At one point, this would have been my dream house. It’s big like Mr. Cross’s was—plenty of room, high ceilings, everything built well with the best marble, wood, and hardware. There’s no color except for modern paintings here and there, but even those are muted.
I go from room to room with Sam on my heels. He doesn’t speak again, but I know he wants to—I can feel questions on his tongue like a weight making the air as heavy as a humid summer day.
Each room I look into has something in it: a gym, an office, a library, another office, then a bedroom.
It’s the only bed in the home.
I stare at the perfectly made king-sized bed. I don’t look away until I feel Sam’s light touch on my shoulder. “It’s time to go, Greer. We have one last stop.”
I look at Sam, my brow furrowed. “She doesn’t even have a guest room.”
His dark eyes are sad as he says, “No, you don’t.”
Not she. You. Because this is me. This is my future life.
I take one last look at the bed that doesn’t even seem like it’s been slept in before holding my hand out to Sam. I don’t know where he’ll take me next, but the tug in my gut tells me I have to see it, no matter if it’s painful.
“Show me.”