Zariahwas quick to usher her out before he got the chance to prove that though. “Let’s go before someone makes a story out of you.”
5
Emily woke up feeling like a mess. Her hand swept through her hair as she sat up in bed, disoriented.
Getting up, she made her way to the en-suite bathroom. Her eyes caught her reflection in the mirror as the lights were flickered on. Her makeup removal had been sloppy with the fake eyelashes etched onto her upper lid.
She groaned. Usually, she never passed her one glass limit of drinking in public, but after the week she’d had it was understandable.
As she brushed her teeth, she couldn’t help but revisit a few things from last night.
Restaurant. Champagne. Nicolas Re’s jawline.
She wondered what would’ve happened after he’d run that background check on her. For certain, there was nothing for him to “bury.” Most of her lowest points have sadly been publicized. That meant a marriage could have taken place between them.
After she was done taking a shower and getting dressed, she heard her phone ping from its spot on the bed.
One new message.
She looked at it quizzically.
It was from an unknown number. Because of that, her gut tightened and her palms became clammy.
The ping echoed once again, louder than before. It hit like a church bell striking inside her skull. Her fingers twitched but they were unable to bring themselves to unlock the device.
Her breaths shortened. The room felt smaller, the air thinner. Her hands suddenly grappled at the front of her shirt as if they had a mind of their own.
Flashbacks of a stalker. Nights of being followed home, anonymous texts, bloody love notes, and a jail sentence. Her throat closed remembering them all.
She was backthereagain.
You are not the product of your past. You are stronger than it. Don’t give him the satisfaction of getting what he wanted.
Her therapist’s mantra floated around in her head. She tried to cling to it.
“At least now you won’t forget me.”His voice sliced through the grounding moment.
She froze.
The image of him attacked her. He’d been smiling as the cops dragged him out of her apartment, past the shattered lock and the blood-smeared floor, the aftermath of her swinging a lamp to his head with everything she had.
“He came prepared,” the officer had told her. “Duct tape and cords were stuffed in his pockets. It wasn’t about robbing you. He was hell-bent on making a memory out of you instead. Consider yourself lucky.”
Her hands snatched the phone, her heart pounding.
Forget him. Forget him. Forget him!
She unlocked it and read the message.
It wasn’t him.
Her entire form slackened.
It was someone else she never expected.
Unknown:
Just confirming. Does your offer still stand, or was that the champagne problems talking?
