I would have done it in a fucking heartbeat.
I hoped, with every fiber of my being, that those cards from Shep were worth it.
I hope they gave her the closure she deserved.
I closed my eyes and let out a sharp breath, hoping like hell that they would just let me leave and not ask me to participate in short-form content for their digital platforms.
I didn’t have it in me today. I had been a shitty coach for the clients who were unlucky enough to have calls scheduled with me last week. I spent every waking minute trying to get in touch with Willow. I asked Lisa where she was. I reached out to Jack and Miles. I messaged Whitney and Wander. I was about to pack up and start scouring the country if I didn’t get a clue soon.
Voices carried from the hallway just outside the door.
I really didn’t want to make social media content right now . . .
I was about to sit up when everything went black.
“Up and at ‘em, sunshine!”
Darkness slowly lifted, but a sharp pain immediately ricocheted down my neck. I groaned, but tried to lift my head anyway. “Where am I?” I rasped. My throat felt like it had been filled with sand. I blinked and tried to make out my surroundings, but it definitely wasn’t another defunct Burger Palace.
The kidnapper, however, was the same.
“Dude. You didn’t see my comment?”
A dim light turned on overhead, and I realized I was in the first row seat of a minivan. Reflective sun shields covered every window, making it impossible to see in or out. Miles was in the driver’s seat, craning around to look at me.
“You’re in the Croc-Mobile. Had to get a new set of wheels before the mini-me comes along. Gotta say—she’s pretty sweet,” he said with a satisfied grin as he patted the dashboard that was lined with little rubber ducks.
I groaned and tried to roll my head from side to side to ease the ache. “Why am I in pain?”
Miles hummed in thought. “My guess is either from the heartbreak or from the bro hug I gave you to get you out of that studio. The segment was terrible, by the way. They need a new host.”
“And by bro hug, you mean?—”
“You might have passed out a little. It’s fine. You weren’t in any real danger.”
“Great,” I groaned. “Am I still in New York?”
Miles laughed. “Of course not, you silly goose. I love the city as much as the next guy, but I’m a homebody these days. We’re in Rhode Island.” He clapped his hands together. “So. We can have this chat in here or in the interrogation room. Which do you prefer?”
Before I could answer, Miles said, “Interrogation room it is!” Then everything went black again.
“You havegotto stop kidnapping me,” I said when I awoke in a brightly lit room. Industrial tile stretched from wall to wall.
Miles was leaning against the wall rather casually, wearing a pair of swim trunks, Crocs, and a long-sleeved shirt. I was handcuffed to a sturdy metal chair that was in the middle of the room, right over a rather ominous floor drain.
“Once is bad enough,” I said. “Twice is inconvenient. Twice in one day is overkill.”
A click echoed in the empty room as part of the wall slid back. It wasn’t that I was disoriented and couldn’t find the door. It was that the door was really a discreet panel that completely disappeared into the wall.
A man wearing a bespoke navy suit peered inside. His coiffed hair, five figure cufflinks, and pocket square screamed of wealth. He looked at me, then at Miles, then at me again. “You’re not on an assignment at the moment,” he said, his voice thick with a posh British accent.
“Nope,” Miles said as he put emphasis on popping thep.
The man looked at me again, eyeing the handcuffs that chained my wrists to the sides of the chair. “Do I want to know what you’re doing in here?”
Miles shook his head. “Probably not.”
The man huffed. “Hose down the room when you’re done.”
