Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74467 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74467 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
He made me utterly dependent on him.
That’s the scariest part. I gladly gave up my independence for this.
I’ve been yanked away from my support network, all because of Ansell.
I’m in tears when I finally emerge from the room. I pause to compose myself, trying to think of what my next steps are, when the elevator dings.
I step back, heart racing, eyes wide.
The doors slide open. Ansell steps forward, looking at the floor, and pauses when he spots me.
Confusion flits across his face, there and gone again in seconds.
“Pearce.” He tilts his head and glances at the bag on my shoulder. There’s almost nothing in his eyes, but I know that disapproval. I know what he’s thinking right now. “You’re packed.”
“I’m sorry, Ansell. I have to—” I don’t know what to say right now. Should I confront him? Scream in his face? “I have to go.”
Run away. That’s the right move. Run away and survive.
“Where?”
I step past him and toward the elevator, but he grabs my wrist. I yelp softly as he pulls me back and I try to yank free but he’s too strong. The elevator doors close and I’m left standing in front of them shivering and shaking, his hands like cold manacles on my skin. This isn’t the man I thought I knew.
I say, “I’m going home, back to my apartment. I need space.”
His face tightens. I’m not sure what that look means, but the fact that he’s giving me any expression at all is a miracle. Could I have it all wrong? Was it true when he told me I make him feel for the first time in a long time?
No, I have to be strong. I can’t let him sway me right now, not until I’ve had time to think.
“What happened?” His tone is sharp. “What did William do?”
“It wasn’t William.” I look to the elevator call button. “Please, let me go. I just want some time to myself.”
“Pearce.” He’s struggling with himself. I can see it in his eyes and it kills me. “Tell me why. What happened? You know I can’t let you leave here, not when it’s so dangerous out there.”
“You can’t keep me locked up. You don’t own me.”
His jaw works. “I do own you.”
“You’re just a guy, okay? You’re just my boss. You never should’ve gotten involved in all this from the start, but you did anyway. Why did you help me that night, Ansell? Did you know I was getting those emails while I gave you that Pride presentation?”
He looks confused and steps back, releasing me. “I didn’t know that. What are you talking about?”
“Liar. You knew.” I glare at him and slam the call button. He seems bewildered and my resolve threatens to slip, but I remind myself why I’m doing this. He knew, he’s the Ice King, don’t be stupid. “You knew the whole time, from the very start. Was all this just to get back at the Crawfords? Is that why you’re using me?”
“Pearce, I don’t know what you were told, but—”
“I know who sent the emails, okay? I know who did it. You can stop pretending.”
He stares at me for several long moments. I think I catch a dozen micro-expressions: sorrow, anger, confusion, longing. They mix and mingle and I’m not sure what he’s really experiencing, or if this is like everything else, barely passing through the shell he has wrapped around him.
“I don’t know what happened or what you think, but you’re wrong about my involvement in those emails. I don’t know who sent them. Tell me what you’re talking about. Tell me what happened.”
The elevator dings and the doors slide open. I duck inside, waiting for him to reach out and grab me, but he doesn’t follow.
He stands there staring with the slightest frown and coming from him, it’s like he’s screaming in agony.
“Baptist sent the emails,” I say, meeting his eye, and it’s so painful I think I might be sick. I hate hurting him like this. I hate running away but I can’t stay here, not right now. “And I think you knew it.”
The doors slide shut.
I think I hear my name, but it’s swallowed by the silence as the elevator goes down, shuttling me away from him.
I have to pause outside to cry. I find a quiet street around the corner from his building’s entrance and curl up on the ground. I keep thinking he’ll chase after me, but he doesn’t. That’s okay—he doesn’t owe me anything, and I don’t want him to.
Right now, I think if he appeared around that corner, I’d throw myself into his arms and beg him to make everything okay, but that’s silly and weak, and I can’t let myself succumb to weakness.
Once I’m done sobbing, I wipe my face and stand up straight. I need to get back to my apartment, lock the door, clean myself up, and figure out my next moves. But as I pull out my phone to order an Uber, it starts to buzz with a call from my father.