I press play, bracing. Alistair’s voice is softer, more distant than mine, but there’s no mistaking who it is. Hearing it makes my skin crawl just like it did in his pristine house on the hill. The only comfort is imagining him now, toweling off spilled wine and nursing a bruised elbow.
Reliving it is bad enough. Watching Jamal react is worse.
His eyebrows shoot up at Alistair’s opening line. His mouth falls open at the casual arrogance. He recoils when Alistair brings up Ash, nods grimly when I call him a sadist, and by the end he’s basically curled into himself, waiting for it to be over.
In my head, the audio should end with the soft scratch of a needle spinning at the center of a record. Instead, it just… stops.
“Well?” I ask over the pounding in my chest.
Jamal lets out a low whistle. “Dude’s an asshole.”
“He’s fucked, right? I got him?” Hope flares through the nausea like a baby bird trying to fly.
“I mean… maybe?” Jamal’s hesitation splats my bird on the pavement.
“He literally says ‘Use me,’ and then basically threatens to fire Ash.”
“He says Ash will regret this,” Jamal corrects. “Didn’t you say he kissed someone on his team?”
“Barely.” But I’m not here to defend Ash.
Jamal crawls up onto the couch and takes my hands. “That was scary. I’m glad you’re out. That guy’s a creep, and you deserve better. But it’s not like he physically assaulted you on tape. He doesn’t say, ‘You’re fired.’” He searches my face. “It’s shady as hell, but… enough to bring down a billionaire? Maybe. If Ash wants to go nuclear.”
I shove his hands away and grab my drink. “The media would kill for this. He put his hand on my waist. I should send it to the cops.”
“Maybe,” Jamal says, frustratingly neutral. “And you pushed him to the ground. Have you thought about what turning this in might do to you? To Ash?”
Of course I’ve thought about that. Rocky’s been rattling around in my pocket all night, whispering worst-case scenarios. The truth is, I’m not worth Alistair’s time.
“I don’t have anything he can’t already ruin,” I say. It’s a weak answer, and only half of what Jamal asked.
Ash was right; I hadn’t really understood how far Alistair’s reach went. If he wants to squash Ash, he can do it long after firing him from Query.
“You should send it to Ash,” Jamal says.
“He didn’t want anything to do with it.”
“Because he’s mad you did all this without him.” Jamal gestures between the phone and his apartment. “You’ve made all these huge decisions without even talking to him.”
“Like he planned a whole gallery without talking to me?”
“I helped plan that gallery.” Jamal plants a hand on his hip. “Do you want to be with Ash?”
Warmth punches through my chest, the same dizzy rush that hit when I realized, in that horrible house, that I loved him. Ipush it down. Ash didn’t look anything like love tonight. From where I’m sitting, he’d have me back in Alistair’s arms if it meant locking in his promotion.
“I thought I loved him,” I say, the words somehow too big and too small. “Standing there with Alistair, it hit me I’d rather walk away than let Ash get hurt.”
“Are you kidding?” Jamal’s whole face lights, but I just feel tired.
“I’m broken, Jamal?—”
“No.” He shakes his head hard.
“How could I not be? Maybe Alistair’s right. Maybe we’re all just meant to use and be used. God knows that’s been the story of my life.” I meet Jamal’s gaze.
He’s still shaking his head. “I don’t give a shit what Alistair said,” he replies. “If you love Ash or even think you might, do you really want all this ‘use and be used’ crap deciding your future?”
Put like that, the answer is obvious. “Of course not.”
