66. Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Six
Kat
Henry needed to get some x-rays to make sure none of his broken bones had shifted or splintered or any other horrifying words they had used. They were fairly certain they hadn’t, which was why the x-rays could wait until he was feeling a little better. It was just precautionary.
So even though my still slightly sedated whiny driver didn’t want to, he went off to where they do their radiology sorcery, and I headed back to the garage.
“Hey, Grace. We’re looking at another hour or two, then we can help you replace the sensors.
Were any fucked up in his suit?” Andy asked.
I hadn’t actually checked yet, but I assumed yes.
That’s why there were so many, because some were bound to break with them being so light.
I nodded, both in answer and acknowledgement.
I headed toward the break room for coffee, because it was going to be a long night.
The lights were off when I got there, but I didn’t flick them on when I saw a show playing on the wall.
The vast majority of the mechanics and engineers were in here, and it seemed like they were watching the new season of the Formula 1 documentary.
I rolled my eyes. I hadn’t been a fan before last fall, and now even less so.
They seemed to have just started the first episode, but I wasn’t sticking around.
I grabbed my coffee and retreated to my conference room, planning on checking which sensors needed replacing and getting some more coding done.
I leaned back in my chair, sighing at the number of sensors that I needed to replace. I had figured there would be a bunch, they’re light and flimsy and meant to be replaceable. But I had just gotten them all installed. I groaned. It had been a couple hours, and I needed some more coffee.
I wandered into the break room again, and as I was pouring my coffee, I heard Henry’s voice from behind me. It wasn’t him, though, just the show. I turned around and leaned against the counter to see what Henry had to say.
I shouldn’t have.
“So, to address the tabloid elephant in the room, you want to tell us about this new connection you’ve made?”
Silence, and an odd look on Henry’s face.
“Would you not call it a connection? Or do you not want to address it?”
A sheepish look, Henry rubbing the back of his neck. Hard. Shoving a hand through his much shorter than now hair.
“Well, we all make mistakes, yeah?” he asked softly, looking down to play with the hem of his purple and black shirt.
I froze. I… what?
“Would you like to tell us about this mistake, then? You make so very few.”
A hand through the hair again, showcasing the bruises on that hand from his crash in Vegas.
Playing with the hem of his purple and… silver… and white? Shirt?
“Well, what is it they say? What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas?” he said, looking fully chagrined at that point.
I saw Andy notice I was standing back there.
I knew Andy had figured enough of this out by now.
But I didn’t want to talk to Andy about this. About how I was apparently just a mistake. This must’ve been during the time frame when I was ignoring his gifts because of that horrid NDA he hadn’t known about.
That was the only thing that made sense.
But to hear him call me a mistake… That… I couldn’t…
Tears started dripping down my face once more.
They’d asked him something else, but I’d missed it. He looked down again, a wildly upset expression on his face.
His now unbruised hand was playing with a fraying seam on his shirt this time. It was purple, but the other colors had blended together by this point. It didn’t matter, anyway.
“I just hadn’t seen it coming. I was utterly heartbroken by it, is all.”
Fucking.
Kill shot.
The tears were streaming in earnest now, and I couldn’t stop them as Andy leaned back against the counter next to me.
Luckily for my sanity, the conversation on screen was over. The only thing left was a black screen, with some writing on it.
MS. brOOKS MADE HERSELF UNAVAILABLE FOR COMMENT.
Because that was totally fair. Because I hadn’t been completely and utterly trapped by a disgustingly prying NDA at that point.
But I probably hadn’t needed to be a bitch back to the producer when he had been a misogynistic prick to me.
But I was always a bitch when someone was being a misogynistic prick. What woman doesn’t have the right to do that?
The ones being portrayed in the media, it seemed. That’s who.
“They cut that video, you know,” Andy offered quietly. I didn’t look up.
“As in, most sane people know that his answers weren’t answering those questions,” he pressed, a little louder. I glanced up, but I had no right to be hopeful. Andy sighed.
“Christ, Grace, his hair was all different lengths, his bruises came and went, and his shirt was different colors every time. And yet they portrayed it as one conversation. I’d like to bet he didn’t answer questions about you at all,” he said a little more fiercely. I shrugged.
“It’d be nice to be able to be sure though, huh?” I asked bitterly.
I turned on my heel and walked out into the night.
Fresh air would maybe make it easier to breathe.
Or at least, that’s what I told myself.