Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
A cold realization settles in my chest, heavy and immovable. “So, you like the drama,” I say. The words come out harsh and accusing, but I don’t take them back.
Her eyes flash. “No. Not drama. Context.”
“Context for what?” I demand. “My relationship with Cherry? Because that’s not a story.”
“It’s not about you and Cherry,” she says with frustration. “It’s about you and Miller. About how this could affect the team. Your position. I don’t always know what the story is when I’m filming—I discover it later.”
I stare at her, trying to reconcile the woman in front of me with the one who curled into my side last night.
“You didn’t have to film,” I say. “You could have chosen me. My privacy.”
She steps closer, voice softening. “It happened fast and it doesn’t mean that I’ll use it. You know I’ll take your feelings into account, and we can absolutely talk about this. We don’t have to decide anything right now, but I swear, Crosby, I really was moving on instinct.”
Instinct? What a fucking joke. “Yeah… well, your instinct sucks, because if it was any good… if it was trustworthy… it should have been to protect me, not exploit me.”
The word cuts through the air, and Juno jerks backward as if I’d actually slapped her. “That’s harsh.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you’ll find a way to deal with it.” A bitter laugh scrapes out of my chest. “You’re no different from Cherry,” I say, the words tasting like ash. “Always choosing the story.”
The impact is a direct hit. I see it in her face—the fracture, the hurt.
I blow out a stale breath. “I can’t talk about this anymore. I’m late to a meeting with Michaels.”
I step past her, returning to the noise and the lights and the people who suddenly feel easier to deal with than this.
I don’t look back.
She doesn’t say anything else.
And I’m not sure if I’m glad of that or not. I only know… things are different between us now, and the trust has been broken.
CHAPTER 30
Juno
I stand in the doorway to Patrick’s office for a second longer than necessary. I’m hesitant to enter because once I do, my fate is sealed.
“Come in,” Patrick says from his desk without looking up, already knowing it’s me standing there.
There’s a moment of indecision. I can walk away, tell him never mind, I don’t need to see him, and I can go back to figuring out how to fix this mess.
But the realist in me knows that this is the only way, so I cross the threshold and close the door behind me. Patrick nods toward one of the guest chairs, and I settle into it, my hands resting in my lap, fingers laced together so tightly my knuckles ache. He didn’t offer me the comfort of the couches where we’ve had friendly conversations, so he understands this is about serious business.
I don’t fidget. I’ve learned how to look calm when everything inside me is splintering.
“What can I do for you?” he asks, leaning back in his chair.
“I’m stepping away from the project,” I say, amazed at how level my voice is because inside, I’m a quivering mass of sadness. “It’s not feasible for me to stay on.”
Patrick’s expression remains unreadable. He studies me the way he always does—like he’s reading the space around my words, not the words themselves. “Okay,” he says. “Tell me why.”
“I’m too close,” I reply, choosing to keep it simple. “And I crossed a line.”
His brow furrows slightly. “That’s not the same thing as being incapable of course correction.”
“I know,” I say, forcing my fingers to relax. “But I don’t trust myself to make it.”
Silence stretches between us. I wait patiently for him to say, “Okay… I understand.”
Instead, he asks, “Is this about Crosby?” My chest constricts.
I don’t want to talk about this because everything is so raw. I find myself nodding, my answer a mere whisper. “Yes.”
“And the incident at The Blue Line?” he follows.
I can’t even be shocked he knows about it. Cherry and Crosby’s fight was loud and abrasive, everyone in the restaurant with a front-row seat. It was picked up clearly on camera, and I know because I’ve watched the footage several times.
“Yes.”
He exhales slowly through his nose, gaze dropping briefly to the desk before lifting back to me. “Why do you think you should leave because of what happened between Crosby and Cherry?”
That tightens my chest, but I don’t flinch. “There are too many reasons, but I’ll give you the best. Because I can’t be objective about it. I chose to film that interaction because my gut told me it could be important. And it might be, but regardless, it was apparently unforgivable to Crosby. And that’s why I need to leave.”
Unforgivable. That’s where we stand. I tried to call him last night, but he didn’t pick up. I tried again this morning, and he’s clearly ignoring me.