“Nah,” I said. “He deserves way worse than that. DayGlow too.”
“The next month,” Jules said. “I was sold to everybody’s favorite tech billionaire, Elliot Urie, for a meager $473,600.” She paused. “Let’s see what that does to your stock, Elliot.”
I whistled. “Theo’s going to lose his mind.” He quoted Elliot Urie daily—as if he were a prophet.
Jules continued, “The third time, I was purchased by Quentin Pike, linebacker for the Carolina Fury—one of the most disgusting men on the planet—for $377,000, even. Big man on the field. Bargain hunter everywhere else. Quentin? I hope your agent’s having a great night.” She winked at the camera. “And I hope it was worth your career.”
I swore, and for once, Mom didn’t scold me.
Sophie didn’t look up from the screen. “Good. He deserves it.”
Jules read five more names and dates, listing the prices they’d paid for her. “You get the picture. I’ve got them all right here.” She held up a notebook and shook it. Then she tapped her temple. “And here. And now the FBI and the Las Vegas Police Department have them as well.”
“Yes!” Sophie shouted.
I tried to chuckle, but my chest was too tight. I was seriously worried for Jules’s safety.
“And DayGlow?” Jules leaned closer to the camera. “You may have built your brand on my silence, but I can’t wait to see how it holds up to the truth. To all the women who’ve supported DayGlow because you trusted me—I beg you not to support them anymore. You might not see me after this.” I sucked in a breath, wondering what that meant. “And you might feel like you have to continue using their products because you’ve fallen in love with them. But I wouldn’t leave you hanging like that.” She smiled the first and only genuine smile of the night. “I’d like to point you to a new emerging brand thatwillbe out in a few weeks,” she said, likethat’s an order.
“That was meant for Peyton.” Mom’s voice was barely there.
“It’s called DoubleTake Beauty,” Jules said. “And the face of it is Peyton Dupree—everyone’s favorite female spy protagonist—who’s stunning, talented, and, thankfully, exactly who she appears to be. But more importantly, her products are better. Truly. Every foundation, blush, eyeshadow, and skincare serum outperforms anything DayGlow has ever made. So if you’ve ever trusted me before, trust me one last time. You want whatever she sells. And Peyt?” She blew a kiss at the camera. “Live your dreams.” She sat up straight. “Well, that’s it from me, your girl Juliette. Over and out.”
The reel began replaying.
The three of us sat there, no words. Until our phones started sounding off with alerts from the Dupree family group text thread.
Funcle Ford:
I’m sure you’ve all seen Juliette’s reel. DoubleTake Beauty is back in business. We need all hands on deck!
By the eleven o’clock news, Cecil and the entire DayGlow board were in handcuffs on every channel.
All because of Jules.
I cried myself to sleep—weighed down by what she’d gone through, wishing with everything I had that I could hold her.
For the next two weeks, I watched her reel every spare moment I got. Before I’d hit play again, I’d whisper, “I love you, Jules. I still want you. Please come home to me.”
But her due date quietly came and went without a word.
Chapter Forty-Two
JULIETTE
Weston really did try to kill me.
But after fourteen hours of excruciating labor, he finally arrived. He was only six days late—but who’s counting? At nine pounds and three ounces and twenty-two inches long, he was the most beautiful baby I’d ever seen.
I pressed a kiss to the top of his bushy hair, breathing him in. He already had the dreaded cowlick Griffin told me he’d hated so much as a kid. I loved it. Loved that he had his daddy’s nose and jawline. But the eyes were all mine. I could already tell they were going to be blue.
Nurse Amy stood next to my hospital bed, gazing down at us. “You’re a rock star. Can’t believe you delivered him without an epidural.”
I forced a smile. The extra-strength painkillers I’d brought with me were doing their job. An epidural had never been in the cards for me. Redheads need about twenty percent more anesthesia than the average person. And I didn’t have insurance. Turned out going off the grid had its downsides. Like not having an ID. Which meant I was self-pay, and I’d scrapedtogether enough to cover the basics. An epidural would’ve tipped it into impossible.
Amy shook her head, eyes drifting to my wig. “Where’d he get all that red hair?”
“His daddy.” I couldn’t keep the smile out of my voice. But I was ready to rip this sweat-trapping torture cap off my head. I’d almost done it a dozen times during the worst parts of labor. Protecting Weston was the only reason I’d kept it on.
