Say the Word(92)

Her tears spilled over and she nodded weakly in agreement.

“Here,” I said, reaching into my small clutch bag and pulling out my tattered wallet. There wasn’t much — just what little grocery money I’d managed to save for next week — but I pulled the bills out anyway. Pressing them into her hand, I knew in this moment, she needed them more than I did. “Take this.”

“I can’t—” She began to protest, but I stopped her.

“It’s not much, trust me. I wish I could do more for you.” I used my hand to curl her fingers closed around the wad of money. “Just promise me you’ll get away from him.”

Greta clung to the money like a lifeline, then wrapped thin arms around me in an unexpected embrace. Her wet, tear-stained cheek brushed mine as she hugged me. “Thank you.”

“Go,” I ordered, fighting off my own tears as I stepped away and pushed her lightly toward the small, beat-up Honda she’d parked next to the garage. She nodded and hurried for her car.

When her taillights disappeared down the long driveway, I brushed the dampness from my cheeks and turned away.

“Good luck,” I whispered into the night.

Sebastian emerged from the house a few minutes later. He draped my jacket over my shoulders and led me to the car, staring at me with worry in his eyes. Three times during our ride home, he asked why I’d gone so silent. I shrugged off his concern and stared out the passenger window, lost in my thoughts, until he dropped me off at home.

I couldn’t tell him.

Not tonight, anyway. This was his father, after all. Plus, it hadn’t escaped my notice that his father was an important political figure. If this got out, it wouldn’t only ruin the senator’s career and reputation, it would set off a media storm that would shatter Sebastian’s family — and, in all likelihood, his future.

But, at the same time, I couldn’t not tell him.

His father was the worst kind of man — one who abused his power to exploit the innocent, who used his strength to force others into submission. Bash had a right to know.

I’d tell him in a few days, I reasoned. I needed time to process and figure out the right way to break it to him. For now, as I remembered the crazed look in Andrew’s eyes when I’d led Greta away from him, all I could think about was the fact that I’d just made a very powerful enemy — one who’d stop at nothing to protect himself.

And destroy me.





Chapter Twenty-Six





Now


The boards groaned beneath my sneakers, each step sending up a plume of dust into the stale air of the warehouse. This was, by far, the stupidest thing I’d ever done in my entire life. Did that stop me from attempting this insane quest?

Of course not.

After work on Monday, I’d hurried to the lobby bathroom and performed another quick change into sneakers, jeans, and a sweatshirt before boarding the subway to Brooklyn. As I rode to Red Hook, I distracted myself from thoughts of what I was about to attempt by replaying the day I’d had over in my mind.

I’d arrived at work purposefully late, figuring a tardiness reprimand was better than another early morning elevator ride with Sebastian. Walking in while the daily briefing was already in progress, I avoided any possibility of being cornered alone. I weaved through the group and headed immediately for the Jennys, shamelessly using them as a human shield to protect me from the hazel eyes that roamed the gathered team. Sebastian had stood at the center of the circled workers, discussing the 1950s and 1960s sets he’d be shooting today and doling out responsibilities to the design crew.

“I’ll be up on the fourteenth floor most of the day, shooting,” he’d informed us.

Thank god. I smiled as I listened to him hand out assignments, cowardly relieved I wouldn’t have to see him all day.

“Tech support, you’re with me. Models should already be in hair and makeup upstairs. Costume design, you can head up there immediately to ensure everything’s set up.” Sebastian glanced at his watch. “I want this to go as smoothly as possible. Set design, be on standby to set up the ‘60s set as soon as ‘50s is done. Last week it took too long to roll out the ‘40s set after we finished with ‘30s and we were here late.” Sebastian’s eyes abruptly cut through the crowd straight to me, where I’d ducked partially behind Jenny S.’s petite frame. Apparently, he hadn’t missed my stealth entrance or been fooled by my makeshift hiding spot. He smiled when our eyes met.

“I don’t want to be here late tonight,” he continued, his eyes locked on mine. “I’ve got plans.”

Shit.

His grin widened as he turned his head away, scanning the crowd a final time before he broke up the meeting. “The rest of you, continue working on whatever research or writing projects Angela has assigned for the upcoming shoots. Any questions, ask her — she’s in charge while I’m gone. Let’s have a good day, people.”

When everyone began to disperse, I made a point to engage the two Jennys in a conversation about their troubled love lives — they always had plenty of weekend horror stories to share — and studiously avoided looking in Sebastian’s direction again until I was sure he’d disappeared upstairs for the photo shoots. My own weekend had been blessedly quiet after his visit Friday night — I’d locked myself away from the world, researching and drafting the beginnings of my story on sex-trafficking, watching old movies, and eating so many Cool Ranch Doritos I was sure the chip company was going to write me a thank you letter for single-handedly helping them meet their third quarter sales quota.