The Fearless King (The Kings #2)(73)
She. Didn’t. Care.
Her phone buzzed and she sighed when she saw her agent’s name—again. There was no avoiding this, no matter how much she wanted to. Eliza sucked in a breath and answered. “Diego, hey.”
“Are you okay?” He cursed. “You’re alive, which is something at least. I told you not to go back there, Eliza. This shit…” More cursing. “It’s bad.”
It struck her that he wasn’t talking about the accident. Eliza clutched her phone tighter. “What’s going on?”
“Word got out before I could control the story. I don’t know how they found out, but every single account you have dropped you. This morning. You’re unemployed, honey.”
She closed her eyes against the burning that started there. She would not cry, would not break down. Diego might not know how they found out, but Eliza had no illusions. As if her fucked-up face wasn’t enough of a message, whoever did this to her had ensured she had nowhere to run once she recovered.
As if anyone would have wanted her after they saw how she looked now.
It took her two tries to get her words in order. “This is it for me, Diego. Once all the payments clear for the work I’ve already done, I’m out.”
“Honey, we can find a way. Those assholes aren’t the only names in the business, and you’re Eliza fucking King. You’re too good to go out like this.”
He wouldn’t say that if he could see her now, broken and disfigured. “It’s over. I’m done.” She hung up before he could say anything more. It was nothing more than the truth, but Diego was persistent and brilliant. If she let him, he’d spin a hopeful future around her that would light the way through her recovery and keep her going.
It would be a lie.
It was over. Her modeling career. Her independence.
She looked down at her mangled body and bit back a whimper. Even the stupid marriage merger wouldn’t survive this.
Who will want me now?
She knew the answer before the question finished.
No one.
No one would want her, not now. Not ever again.
Chapter Twenty-One
It wasn’t until they arrived at Frank’s place that it hit Journey—Frank Evans told me he loves me. She sat in his surprisingly cozy living room and stared at the steaming mug of tea in her hands. Frank loves me. And she, asshole that she was, hadn’t said anything back.
He walked into the room, having disappeared briefly to change into a pair of lounge pants and a T-shirt. It should have made him look rumpled and at home, but there was nothing rumpled about Frank. She’d bet that he ironed that white shirt recently.
“I love you, too,” she blurted.
“I know.” He didn’t even miss a step as he prowled around the living room, checking the windows as if expecting someone to burst through them at any moment. He shot her a look. “I knew the second you whisked me away to the Hamptons to keep me safe.”
She set the tea on the table and glared. “Way to take the wind out of my sails, jerk.”
“What we have is hardly a traditional relationship.” He gave a half smile. “Life would be simpler if it was.”
“You mean if my abuser father wasn’t probably going to try to kill both of us before the month is out? Or the part where you helped my cousin banish my mother from Houston?”
His brows drew together. “Do you blame me for this?”
“No, of course not.” She sighed. “It’s entirely possible that Esther would have removed Lydia herself once she got tired of waiting for someone else to do it.” The Bancrofts wouldn’t have been satisfied with exile, either—not when they knew exactly what Lydia King was capable of. Journey reached for the tea again but aborted the move when she saw how badly her hands shook. “I don’t want to give in, Frank. I know it’s the smart thing to do, but I want that bitch out of my company and I want my father out of Houston.”
Frank crossed the room to stand in front of her. He picked her up before she had a chance to protest, and strode out of the living room and toward the stairs. “Enough.”
“Enough?” She shifted, but he just clenched her more tightly to his chest.
“We can talk this thing to death, but there isn’t a damn thing we’re going to accomplish tonight. Tomorrow you will sit down with your brother and figure out your next steps, and I will get my team together to start digging into the Bancrofts. Your father is the most immediate threat, and Esther will lighten up on the pressure if she thinks you’re bowing to her will. My team is the best. If there’s something to find—and there is—then we’ll find it.” He toed open the door to his bedroom and walked in without turning on the light. “If I thought for a second it wouldn’t backfire, her paying off a Russian mobster would be leverage enough. But it’s too dangerous. The Russians don’t play by the same rules we do.”
He sounded so damn grumpy that, despite everything, she smiled. “That offends you deeply, doesn’t it?”
“We’re not talking about any of them. Not for the rest of the night.”
She eyed him. “What are we talking about?”
“Us.” Frank set her on her feet and just as carefully pulled her dress over her head. He smoothed his hands over her body as if assuring himself that she was there and whole and okay. Just like I did to him a couple days ago. The thought might have made her laugh if it wasn’t so damn sad.