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“PR is a big world—a gossipy one, at that—and we get mixed in with lawyers a lot. I’ve heard rumblings and rumors about something happening with MNL and WP. I got worried.”
“Yeah, well, do not freak out.”
“Of course not,” Riley says with a hint of panic in her voice. “Especially when you ask me not to like that.”
“I hurt myself. Nothing bad, I promise. Just a bruised ankle. But we had to come back earlier than planned, and the filming stopped. We’re waiting to see where it’ll go, but from what I’ve heard, nowhere good.”
“Did you get your ankle checked?”
I roll my eyes again. “That’s what you focus on? Yes.”
“Good. Yeah, it doesn’t bode well for a peaceful resolution. MNL has solid lawyers too. If Ben needs any help, let me know. I can put him in contact with some good friends.”
“I will, thank you. Listen, I gotta go. Oliver’s friends are here.”
“Who?”
Oh, yeah. I forgot she doesn’t know.
“Erm . . . long story. Remember Oliver from college? So, he’s a journalist for WP too and was assigned the project I’m on. Lots to talk about, huh? Okay, bye!”
“Charl—”
I hang up, text her two kiss emojis, and slip my phone back into my pocket. I would have been on the phone for hours if I hadn’t cut the conversation short, and I don’t feel like having a full dissection of the situation I’m in without having had a chance to talk it through with Oliver first.
Seeing as how he’s still out front saying goodbye to his friends, I continue my tour around the room, noting the alphabetical order in which the books are arranged. Bookshelves become drawers and cabinets, the fronts of which are tastefully decorated with swirls of wood carvings. No doubt Oliver’s work, which surely means he made everything here.
I survey the space in utter disbelief. I never knew his little hobby had developed so much. He has real talent.
I’m about to turn around when one of the half-open drawers catches my eye. Or rather, what’s inside.
Frowning, I reach out to open it—no. I shouldn’t. Even though it looks an awful lot like—
No, Charlee.
I’m not going to snoop through someone else’s things in their own house.
I glance at the drawer, then at Oliver, who’s still chatting with Matt, James, and Lola at the front door.
Fuck it.
I pull on the drawer, opening it wider.
“What . . .?” My fingers shake as I take the first envelope from the stack. Addressed to me. Dated a bit more than three weeks ago.
Slowly, I open the unsealed envelope, then unfold the letter.
Charlee, this will be the last letter, and after five years, I think it’s time to call it quits, don’t you think?
I scan the rest of the words. “What the fuck is this?”
Dropping the letter, I rummage through the pile of envelopes in the drawer. How many are there? Thirty? Fifty? A hundred? My heart races in my chest.
April 20, 2023.
February 3, 2023.
October 14, 2022.
