She’s silent for a stretch of time before I hear her sigh softly. “We both know my father isn’t going to let you off the hook so easily.”
Christ.It isn’t that I forgot her father is a factor in this mess, but I don’t like to think about him if I can help it. Mikhail Yokav is not someone you mess with. His connections stretch much further than mine do, and so do his pockets. If he wants to make your life a living hell, he will. And while Emaly might not be their golden child, they are still protective of her.
If to protect their name only.
Up until a year ago, Mikhail had simply been my father-in-law. But after a few intense meetings with my agent, manager, and lawyer, he now all but owns my fucking life. Which means he can take away everything I’ve worked my goddamn ass off for.
Pissing somebody like him off is stupid. And the headlines right now are not going to paint me in a good light, regardless of how my team tries to spin it.
Emaly must know the inner turmoil waging in my body. “I can speak with him,” she offers. “Perhaps he’ll listen.”
If he were the type of man to listen to reason, we wouldn’t be living this charade for over a decade.
Scrubbing a hand down my face, I stifle a sigh. “I’ll handle it.”
The woman I consider my best friend, myonlyreal friend, makes a sound of protest. “You don’t always have to do everything on your own, Thomas.”
I want to tell her,“I know.”But I don’t bother lying, because she’s one of the few people I agreed never to do that with. The rest of the world can view me as a cocky asshole. A cheater. A liar. I don’t give a shit. But not Emaly. She’s always seen the real side of me. The one that yearns for quiet. For peace. For love. Who would rather stay inside with a bowl of popcorn and a soda rather than go to a bar until close with the guys.
No. I won’t lie to her.
So, I simply say, “I’ll be more careful about staying out of the tabloids.”
Because that’s the only other promise I have to offer the woman I swore to love in sickness and in health—the only thing I can give the girl whom I’ve only kissed one time in our thirteen years of marriage after sliding a ring onto her finger. For her, I’ll do better. I’ll try.
She says, “I love you, Little Bear,” in a soft, comforting tone that I miss hearing in person.
My throat bobs. “I love you too, Dimples.”
CHAPTER TWO
Winter
There’s a coffeestain the size of Texas on my brand-new silk shirt. I’d been excited when I saw the rose-colored top on clearance for half off because it completed the I-mean-business ensemble for my first client meeting.
I check the time on my phone again and cuss under my breath as I scrub harder at the spot.
“This had to happen today,” I grumble to myself, realizing that the five minutes I have left until walking into the conference room are not going to make a difference.
The outfit I spent days obsessing over is ruined because I decided to splurge on a cup of coffee, which I only allow myself twice a month because of how stupidly expensive the sugary caffeine I love is. But how can I pass up on something that tastes like heaven to my taste buds? If my father were around, he’d scoff at the drink I’m slightly addicted to and comment on my inevitable diabetes diagnosis. Unlike me, he preferred his coffee black and bitter.
But I deserve it. At least, that’s what I told myself when I handed the barista my last ten-dollar bill and cringed at how little change I got back.
Today is the first day I get to shadow and assist Janel Starr, my boss, as she takes on a “delicate” PR case. I have no idea what I’m walking into, or who will be on the other side of the table. All I know is that Janel thinks this client can be difficult, andcleaning up his reputation may not be as easy as the other cases we’ve taken on here at Starrs Strategy.
Defeat weighs on my shoulders as they slump at the pitiful sight of me staring back in the reflection. I got up early just to braid back my pin-straight blond hair and hide the hot-pink tips my sister helped me dye. Pink is a happy color—a positive one. It matches the color on my fingers and toes, but hardly fits my personality. Not anymore, at least. I’m more of a black kind of girl these days. Optimistic to a point, cynical to a fault. It’s hard not to be when you’ve gone through the amount of loss as I have. So, I choose to surround myself with happy colors.
Today it’s pink.
I spent extra time making sure my makeup is neutral, highlighting my mossy-green eyes and full lips with liner I don’t normally wear. My outfit is—was—cute and classy. The gray slacks aren’t tailored, but they fit my short legs better than most of my jeans, and the rose-gold top tucked into the waistband emphasizes my hourglass waist in a professional manner. Before the coffee incident, I felt…good. For once.
When I looked at myself on the way out of my apartment this morning, I didn’t feel like a twenty-five-year-old orphan on her way to her firstrealjob. Well, my first realmeeting. I felt confident. Older. Excited.
“You had to get a stupid coffee,” I scold myself, throwing the damp paper towel into the trash bin by the sink. I usually drink water at work because water is free. If I spill it, the most I have to worry about is a wet shirt. Notthis.
I give myself one last glance in the mirror before groaning loudly and walking back out to my cubicle. Sometimes I keep a sweater at work because of the draft above my desk. I could slip that on to hide the mess splattered over my boobs and save the day.
“What on earth happened to you?” Janel asks me halfway to my desk.
