“Charlotte, now is not the time to get some balls. You can get a promotion. Just stop.”
“Oh yeah, Chris? Here’s some balls for you… Time of death as your lackey is eleven thirty.”
With the touch of one button, the call disconnects. A wave of exhaustion washes over me as soon as the call ends. My mind fades to silence as Chris’s grating voice is no longer repeated in my head.
My eyes surrender to sleep.
The next time I open them, I am hyperaware of every limb in my body. Every ache in my back. My ribs are still compressed by this corset.
I stand up slowly and move to the mirror to find black mascara running down my cheek. Stripping down to my bra and undies, I frantically search for a washcloth.
Every inch of black refuses to come off no matter how much soap and water I apply. Each time I drag the cloth against my face, it becomes redder. I pop my head through the door and creep outside to find a note slipped underneath and lying at the foot of the door.
Running an errand. I’ll be back in an hour. –H
Rereading the note a few times, I dissect every word before settling on how I like that he is H. Maybe I will call him that?
I have no backup clothes and no mode of transportation. All I have is my purse, phone and a few sticks of gum. In the closet, I manage to find the softest robe imaginable, waiting to be worn. Wrapping myself up, I fasten the belt around my waist, hearing the repetitive knock on my door.
“Bonjour, your favorite ghost is here.” Skye slips through the doorway, making a dramatic beeline for the bed and flopping backward like she owns the place.
“So. I heard you quit your job.”
“Yep. I’m just unemployed. Super sexy, I know.”
“Mmm. Bold. Slightly unhinged. I like it.”
“Yeah, I’m just full of surprises,” I snap. Skye rolls onto her side, propping her head up with her hands. Her face softened.
“You’re free, for the most part.”
Then why did freedom feel simultaneously like a breath of fresh air and a weighted blanket all at once?
“Yeah, I’m free, alright. I’m about to be blackballed in the industry…”
“Chris isn’t the master of the universe.” Skye’s eyes roll into the back of her head. Her little “everything will be just fine” one-liners won’t work on me.
“Tell anyone in public relations that—”
“You don’t have to be in public relations, Charlotte,” Skye says.
I swallow hard, clearing my throat. I’m not sure how true that is.
Chapter twenty-three
This Stage Is Called Bargaining
Holden comes through the door, staring at me in amusement. Laying now on the bed in only a fluffy hotel robe with a panic expression on my face. My lips seal together as I filter through several stages of grief—denial, anger, and currently bargaining. I don’t even have a ghost whispering in my ear to reinforce that I am an insane person at this very moment.
Nope, I am here all on my own.
“How was sleeping in the tub?” he interjects.
“I don’t know. How was sleeping in thousand-thread-count sheets?” I say gripping the linen, feeling the most luxurious bedding, I’ve ever laid my hands on.
“It was wonderful,” A smirk flickers on his face as he tosses me a thick booklet of pages with our faces on the front of it. My name sprawled on the cover next to his.
Because why wouldn’t this get any worse?
