Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82094 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82094 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
“Is there somewhere we can talk?” Carmine asks.
Before I can tell him absolutely not, Grandpa says, “There’s a conference room just over there that should be empty.” And he disappears with Gareth.
Leaving me alone with Carmine.
A thought strikes me then as Carmine moves over to the conference room door. It strikes me hard and fast, like a lightning bolt. Grandpa knew Carmine was coming. This isn’t some wild coincidence. He knew Carmine would be getting off the elevator at that exact moment and he made sure I was standing there with him so that I’d run into Carmine. Someone must’ve alerted him without me noticing and he set this up. The clever old man knew and he set the trap with perfection. I can’t be sure but that’s exactly the sort of trick my grandfather used for years, and I can’t imagine he’d be above using it against his own granddaughter.
“Brice,” Carmine says, holding the door.
I move woodenly past him and into the conference room.
The long table is polished and gleaming. Three black telephones sit at even intervals along its length. Carmine walks slowly to the front and I stick near the door, ready to bolt.
“I’m glad you came to meet with me,” he says without looking back.
“I didn’t know you’d be here.”
He tenses for a moment and lets out a grunt. A small smile slips across his face. “Your grandpa is a wily bastard then. He told me you wanted to talk.”
“And he didn’t mention you were coming at all.”
“Seems like he’s determined to make this a match.” He leans back against the windows, arms crossed over his chest, that arrogant smile plastered on his face. “And yet here you are, still resisting.”
“Can you really blame me? I’ve had two interactions with you. They’ve both been mortifying and painful.”
He seems to take that in stride like it doesn’t bother him at all. “Let me ask you something. Of everything you did at Blackwoods, how much of it do you remember? I mean, really remember? Clearly, in detail, how much of it has stuck with you?”
I refuse to look at him. Memories flit through my mind, most of them weak and hazy like half-forgotten dreams, and there are so few of them—a handful at most like snapshots of the four years I spent at school.
And chief among those memories is that one moment I shared with Carmine.
He says, “You hate me because I shoved your face in the dirt, but you remember that moment. You can still taste it, can’t you? You can still feel my body on top of yours and you can hear my voice in your ear.”
“Yes, Carmine, you’re right. I do remember trauma. That’s how human brains work. Trauma sticks like tar and it never goes away no matter how much you wash. No matter how hard you try to make it disappear. Thanks for that.”
He shakes his head “No, that’s not it. Your life has been so cute and orderly and comfortable for so long that you’ve forgotten what it means to feel anything.”
Rage flashes down my spine. I hate the way he talks like he understands everything about me when we’ve barely had two conversations in our lives. It’s absurd and arrogant and it only makes me want to turn my back on him even more. “You don’t know me. You come storming back into my life and act like you’ve been following me around for the last seven years. But, Carmine, you don’t know me at all, you have no clue what I’ve been doing.”
“After graduating, you got a job with Bowman and Shale Advertising. You spent three years there, and when Bowman split off to form BoneMan Boutique, you went with him. You’ve lived in the same apartment all that time. You did Pilates for a while, then switched to Zumba, and also delved into yoga and that heart rate gym, what’s it called?”
“Orange Theory,” I whisper feeling like my bones are made of ash.
“That’s it, Orange Theory. You had a paleo phase but that didn’t last. Now you’re vegetarian, but mostly just on weekdays. You hate driving. You take Ubers everywhere. You spend most of your time with your friends, Sara and Robyn, and your roommate, Cassidy. You love to eat out at—”
“Stop it,” I snap, finally losing my temper, and it only makes his eyes brighter and his smile larger. “What’s this proving? That you stalked me?”
“No, filthy girl. It’s proving that I do know you, because there’s so little to know. I haven’t been stalking you. I dug all this up in an afternoon. There wasn’t much to find. It was all safe, boring, and clean.” He pushes off the window and stalks toward me. My heart’s racing as I back up and bump into the door behind me. He keeps coming, closer and closer, until he stops inches in front of me. “That’s all you are, Brice. Safe and boring and clean.”