Please fuck off, Brooke.
But of course, Abigail materializes at my other elbow. “Spill! What was that about?”
“He knows her cousin apparently,” Brooke answers, eyes narrowed.
I flash my most innocent smile. If they buy this, I deserve an Oscar.
They exchange doubtful looks.
“Well, I must get back to that super urgent report,” I say, tapping away at my laptop. What I wouldn’t give for a meltdown in the ladies’ room right now.
“That report’s for me,” Brooke points out, unamused.
“Right! Can’t keep you waiting.” I give an enthusiastic thumbs-up.
She huffs in irritation. Silently, I’m begging for any kind of distraction—a fire drill, a sudden tremor, you name it. Anything to avoid continuing this charade about my mythical friendly chat with Connor fucking Quinn.
When she finally storms off, I let out a huge sigh of relief. Crisis dodged, at least for the moment. I was half convinced I’d have to dramatically faint.
Alone, I stare at my computer screen. It’s as if the universe took a good look at my life and decided “Yep, let’s crank up the misery to the max for this one.”
Connor’s cruel words echo through my mind on a torturous loop. “At least hookers are honest about screwing men. You’re worse.” Just what every girl wants to hear.
What a monumental jerk. I get he’s upset about his car, but nothing justifies that cruelty.
Standing there smirking, like he’s the center of the universe. As if he’s so far above me that I should be grateful just for the chance to drop and suck him off right there.
I swallow hard, blinking back tears to see my screen.
Deep breath.
So, Connor’s a grade-A ass. And Deano definitely swiped his car. But the fact is that Connor hasn’t called the cops on me. He must not have solid evidence against me. And even with all his anger, he’s letting me stick around on the account.
He seemed more ticked off about being “played” than the actual car theft. Maybe he’s not going to the cops to avoid more embarrassment after the whole Willow mess? Maybe I’m not totally done for.
“You gonna spill what that was all about?” Kayla props herself against my desk, arms folded. “Come on. Coffee time.”
I just nod, trailing her to the break room.
She spins around, jabbing an accusatory finger at me. “You’re the worst liar! He does NOT know your cousin.”
“Fine.” I sigh, thoroughly depressed. I run a hand through my tangled hair, wondering if it’s too late to escape to a nunnery and take a vow of silence. I can’t even tell Kayla the truth without spinning it. It’s too dangerous with Deano involved.
“Okay, we met recently under less-than-ideal circumstances,” I say carefully. “I was at his hotel bar . . . with Gracie.”
Kayla’s eyes bug out before narrowing. “What? I ask you out all the time and you say no!” She’s clearly wounded.
Now I feel even worse. I force a smile, wondering how much more of my soul this web of lies will cost me. Pretty soon there won’t be anything left but a shriveled black lump.
“I’m really sorry. I promise to make it up to you,” I say, taking a deep breath. “Anyway, I got into a bit of a spat with Connor.”
“What?!” Kayla screeches, managing to spray my face in the process.
I laugh despite the pit in my stomach, dabbing the droplets now decorating my face. Why is everyone spitting today? “Thanks for the free facial, Kayla. My pores needed a good misting.”
“Sorry. It’s just—I could tell something was off with you. What happened?”
Man, I didn’t plan this far ahead.
