Page 184 of Twisted Knight

The time to think and plan and process.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

I ignore the constant ringing of my cell, the bombardment of Chadwick Williams and all that he is.

I park my car.

I walk to the hangar.

I walk up the airstairs and onto the plane.

I plaster a fake smile on my lips for Rhonda and her judgmental looks.

I buckle myself in.

And when the plane takes off my chest hurts so fucking bad. All I want to do is cry. Is rage. Is throw this glass in my hand against the wall.

But I don’t. Won’t. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of getting to me regardless of how much I loathe him right now.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

“What,” I snap, sick of the sound and needing it to stop. Needing everyone to just let me fucking be. “Leave me alone, Chad. Just leave me alone.”

“Rowan. I need to talk to you. It’s important.”

SIXTY-TWO

Holden

This is the last place I want to fucking be.

The Westmore Country Club. The bane of my existence and the place that holds some of my sourest memories.

But I’m playing the game.

I’m kissing the babies and shaking the hands and hating every fucking second of it. But when Audrey calls and says I need to be somewhere, I need to be somewhere.

The question is why do I fucking need to be here?

I get you’re working from home for a few days, but isn’t that supposed to make you happier? More relaxed? Quit being such a surly asshole because I’m sick of it.

Weren’t those Audrey’s words?

And why are you being a fucker, huh, Knight?

Why haven’t you slept for longer than two hours at a time in days and why are you checking your phone every few goddamn seconds?

It comes down to one thing—Rowan.

She left on the fishing expedition to Georgia to try to reel in a new supplier. I know she got there because the fucking jet is mine … but I’ve heard little from her since.

Her texts are short. My unanswered phone calls are met with a quick responding text that she’s busy with clients. My late-night calls are replied to the following morning that she had fallen asleep.

It’s fucking maddening.

It’s been three days and I’m about to get on the jet and head there myself.

And now, of course, I’m here. At the teal-and-white hell that seems to be where every fucking business meeting is preferably held.