Page 135 of Late Harvest

“Arabella, I hate that I can’t see you. Are you ok, Angel?” Sebastian’s voice wrapped around her heart and squeezed.

“I’ve been better,” she croaked out, then took a sip of water, wishing it were a big glass of red wine instead. “You need to call Walter. Tell him everything.”

“Yes, Walt needs a call. But, Arabella, I’ll make this right. We know the truth of our love. How we got to where we are is nobody’s business but ours. I’ll fix this. And then I’ll find out who leaked this story, and I’ll fucking ruin them.”

An image of Slash’s smirking face flashed behind Remy’s eyes. He wouldn’t. Would he? He and Sebastian were best friends. And the battle over Paradise versus the action series was already done and dusted.

But…could it be as simple as revenge? Slash and she hadn’t warmed up to each other. He hadn’t even been invited to their wedding. Maybe this was his way of getting to her?

Remy shuddered. She’d spent her entire adult life building the necessary armor to survive in what could be a cruel, unfair world.

And now? She’d left herself defenseless. Again.

Chapter Seventy-One

Get out there and conquer that shit, bitch. Rule the world like a boss.

—from Remy’s Badass Bitch Affirmations

Remy

It was bad. Really bad.

According to Honor’s gently delivered update, the stories had exploded and the shrapnel had mutilated Remy’s character. Less so Sebastian’s, only because he was a hot commodity. And she was just an almost-fifty surgeon.

Remy had managed to finish her final surgery of the day, convincing Brinder she needed the peace and routine of her OR to recalibrate. Her Zen ballet in the chaos. She’d never put a patient in danger before, and she wouldn’t begin now. Brinder knew that and respected her request. Which wasn’t really a request.

Remy compartmentalized, performed the surgery…

…and then would figure out her next step.

As she left the surgical suite, an oppressive silence filled the air. No one would hold any kind of eye contact, gazes darting uncomfortably away. Well, not everyone was uncomfortable. Troy had been leaning on the wall next to the scrub sink, sneering away.

“Hope you have a good evening, Dr. Remington,” he called out. And no one missed the venom in that fucker’s voice.

Later. I’ll deal with him later.

Shukri pulled her into a hug. “It’s going to work out. We all know how much you two love each other,” she whispered, squeezing Remy’s shoulders. “Courage, Dr. Remington. You have brass ovaries. Use them.”

Remy managed a smile and then disappeared down the patient transport elevator to the private exit they used for VIPs who were getting care at Evangelist.

When Remy finally arrived at the condo, exhaustion seeping through every atom of her body, her eyes filled with tears. The Red Wine Supper Club had gathered, Nell rubbing Chicane’s floppy ears as he chirruped in ecstasy.

“We just wanted to be here for you. You don’t need to say anything or do anything and you can totally kick us out,” Lila offered, handing Remy a glass of red.

“I’m sorry to be such a problem child.” Remy shrugged and smiled wearily, dropping bonelessly on the couch next to Nell and Chicane. It felt like deja vu.

“You aren’t the problem. The assbasket who violated your privacy is the problem,” Geneva snarled. “I could tear someone to shreds.”

“Easy, tiger,” Nell soothed. “We all want to throw hands. But as good as it might feel in the moment, I’m not sure that will help things.”

She shifted to face Remy, smoothing her shirt over her belly—a nervous tell Remy had immediately picked up on when they met a year ago. “Lila’s right. We can leave if this is too much. I know you’re more accustomed to privacy, but we thought it might be helpful to have some friendly faces right now.”

“No. Stay for a while. I’m…glad you’re here.” And she was. Remy patted Nell’s hand, then rubbed her lop’s ears at the base. His favorite thing. Other than Sebastian cuddles.

Same, Chicane. Same.

“So what’s the plan?” Lila asked, looking like a pugilist ready for battle.