Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 91065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
I don’t love how he refers to Wyatt as the kid but don’t make an issue of it. The less he knows, the better, even though Trent goes digging on his own. In fact, he probably hired the guy outside my house to take pictures of Margot coming and going.
“You look happy. Nice work.”
I smile at my reflection, feeling a surge of pride. “That’s because I am happy. It’s not an act.”
“Sure.” Trent chuckles. “Sure it’s not.” He pauses. “Just be ready for more attention—this kind of coverage is going to put you in the spotlight even more, which is exactly what we want. But keep it positive, and don’t dump her until we have a plan in place.”
Don’t dump her until we have a plan in place . . .
My stomach drops to the floor.
“Yeah, yeah. I hear you.” I run a hand through my hair, not sure what else to say because suddenly this conversation is making me ill. It’s a reminder about how I was prompted to contact Margot again—not because I was dying to see her, but because I need to make myself look good. Better.
In the media.
Not because I want to be good or be better.
Then.
I’m saved by the bell—literally.
The doorbell rings, and I pause. “I should go. There’s someone at her door.”
“So? It’s her door. Let her take care of it.”
Sometimes Trent is such an asshole.
“I’ll call you back,” I say before ending the call and shoving my phone back into my pocket. “Dickhead.”
But Trent’s words echo through my mind as I pull open the bathroom door and head back toward the front of Margot’s house, curiosity piqued by the unexpected visitor. As I reach the living room, I hear voices and pause.
Stand still in my spot around the corner, listening.
“What are you doing here?” Margot is saying.
“Mind if I come in?” asks a man’s voice. It’s deep and low and raises the hair on the back of my neck.
“I’m kind of in the middle of something,” she says, and if I had to guess, I’d say her arms were crossed right now. “Where’s Wyatt?”
“At Target with Gretchen.”
“Ahh. Gotcha.”
The tension in Margot’s voice is palpable, and I feel my muscles tighten as I lean, trying to stay out of sight but within earshot.
“I won’t be long,” the man continues. “I just need to talk to you about something important.”
“Is everything all right? Is this about you and Gretchen? Because if it is, I’m sure that—”
“No, this is about you being plastered all over the fucking news.”
There is a pause long enough to fill a room.
“I have no idea what you’re referring to. I’m not plastered all over the news.”
Of course she wouldn’t have a clue; she seriously has better things to do than sit online and read about herself or the latest celebrity gossip. Since I’ve known her, she hasn’t brought up things like that. She’d rather read and talk about books, or be outside, or—
“Tell me this is a joke.”
“I’d have to know what you were talking about first.” It sounds like her hackles are raised.
“There is no way you’re dating someone famous.” A sarcastic laugh follows.
Margot sniffs. “Why would you say that?”
“Because. You’re . . . you.” He laughs again. “You’re a teacher, and you hate going out in public.”
“Okay, if you say so,” she returns, not taking his bait. “Not that you would know what I like and don’t like.”
“So are you? Seeing someone?” He clearly cannot stand not knowing.
“Yes, I’m seeing someone.”
Her ex hesitates. “Is he actually a football player?”
“Yes.”
“You know.” His voice goes up a few octaves. “Even though I’m seeing Gretchen, you know it’s not really serious, don’t you?” The guy pauses before continuing his butt-hurt bitch fest. “I really thought there was a chance we would get back together someday, but I guess not.”
What’s this now? This bag of shit did not go there with her. I don’t know shit about emotional blackmail, but even I know emotional blackmail when I hear it, and this dude just went there.
“Are you being serious right now? What is wrong with you?” Margot gasps. “Why the hell would you say that?”
“I thought we were friends,” her ex goes on to say, sounding like a complete gaslighting toolbox.
“You’re making my head spin right now, Colton. You should stop talking.”
Her blunt comment almost causes me to laugh from my hiding spot and give myself away.
I watch and wait, warring with myself between giving her privacy and giving this blowhard a piece of my mind.
The tension in the room is tangible—I can feel it from here, and I can certainly hear Margot shifting uncomfortably on the living room carpet. It’s crazy how well I’ve come to know her in a short amount of time, so much so that I can predict her movements even when I’m not in the room.