Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 129460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
I don’t need him to read Jess’s lips to know her reply to his request. Her annoyance is visible from a distance. She hates timewasters. That’s why I’m shocked she’s waited around for me for so long.
Fitz’s annoyed groan rumbles up his chest when the man liaising with Jess shifts his body so we can no longer see his lips. I begin to wonder how many people Jack has around on Octavia when he asks to no one in particular, “Can anyone get a clear visual on Jess’s notepad?”
His quick search for a notepad and pen exposes their answer. Jess’s hidey hole was as bad as the one I utilized on Valentine’s Day a couple of years ago. Daniel was—and still is— interested in anything Jess has to offer, but Jess is blind to his advances.
Although curiosity is my first emotion, it is soon replaced with panic when the first three dot points Fitz jots down hits home hard.
Priest.
SA.
Mask—?
I fight the bile surging up from my stomach to my mouth for almost thirty seconds before asking, “What do you think it means?”
Relief washes over me hard and fast when Fitz replies, “I don’t know.” I realize my life has never been easy when he adds, “But how about we go find out?”
I assume he’s going to intercept Jess, who is walking toward the lobby of our building looking as ruffled as me but am proven wrong when he cranks the ignition of one of the many black town cars in Jack’s fleet before heading for Seattle Socialites’ headquarters.
Within an hour of us arriving, I realize why Octavia’s protective detail is so varied. We should have known this would happen. Anytime you attach yourself to anyone with notoriety, your entire life history is mulled over and exposed for the world to see.
Although the story Fitz found buried deep in the Seattle Socialites’ hard drive doesn’t directly mention Octavia, there are too many details for me not to know who the doctored story is about.
My grandfather’s crimes weren’t buried with him. They’re in the mainframe of an underrated glossy magazine so desperate for the scoop of the century, they’ll take down one of their own to achieve it.
My frustration is heard in my tone when I ask, “What happens now?”
Fitz pulls a USB drive out of the central command station, then places it into his breast pocket. “We show Ja…” he pauses partway before correcting, “… Mr. Carson, then go from there.” He must see the worry lines etched between my brows as he tries to smooth them. “He won’t let the story run. He will squash it like a bug.” I inhale a full breath for the first time in an hour. “But we still need to work out the source of these false accusations.”
I want to tell him that they’re not false, that every horrendous thing uncovered about my grandfather is the truth, but since that will expose both Octavia and me, I keep my mouth shut while following Fitz’s walk to Jack’s newly renovated office.
Fitz was a little lenient when he said Jack would squash the story about my grandfather molesting several young boys who attended his church. He destroyed it so meticulously, even if you found a morsel of the millions of pieces he shattered it in, there’d be nothing useful on it.
That doesn’t mean our job is over, though. Fitz has been working many angles the past seven hours, and every single one of them points in the same direction—at Jess.
As much as my heart is telling me she has nothing to do with the story, the facts are hard to deny. Her login codes were used to submit the story for approval, the IP address matches the computer on her desk, and she met with a man who gave her information that pertains to the case.
It is obvious she is involved in some way, but no matter how much my head assures me of this, I still feel bad knowing I’m the bait Fitz is throwing out with the hope of catching Jess.
My first official day on the job has been a shitshow, and I only see it getting worse when Jess notices my entrance to the squash courts. She gets hit on every single game, and tonight’s match is no different.
I stop shooting daggers at Jess’s opponent when Fitz says, “Please ensure Ms. Henslee and Ms. Arkwright are returned home safely, then I won’t need you again until the a.m. Understood?”
That’s Fitz’s way of saying I need to keep Jess and Octavia occupied long enough for them to search Jess’s apartment, but Jack would rather that be done in the privacy of my apartment.
I jerk up my chin before pushing out a tired, “Yes.” Octavia looks set to break into rapturous laughter when Fitz arches a stern brow, demanding a more formal reply. “Sir. Yes, sir.”