Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 64654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
“And then you didn’t,” he says, and Kam’s voice is harsher now. “What if you shared something and you didn’t realize what it could do to you … or to someone else?”
“I know there are people who are sad like me. I know that after what happened, I should feel this way. I want them to know I feel it too, and we can get through it together.”
“Can we start off slow? Please?” Kam’s last word is a whisper, his swallow harsh and paired with a desperate gaze. “I failed you once. I am terrified of failing you again, love. Please. Please, let’s start slow.”
“With a single picture and a single sentence … it doesn’t feel like it’s enough.”
“Then why don’t we record it. Record what you think is enough and we can keep it, we can hold on to it and post it when you’re ready.”
“When you think I’m ready,” I say to correct him, keeping most of the anger out of my tone.
“Not me, someone better than me,” he tells me, his voice pleading. “When a professional thinks you’re ready, we can share it.”
“Like Damon? If I show him what I want to post?”
“I’m not sure—” he starts and as my jaw drops slightly and my eyes widen, he’s quick to take it back. “When Damon and myself think you’re ready. Damon doesn’t know the beast people can be online. You know it. You’ve been through it.”
Pulling one leg up on the sofa, I rest my head on my knee.
“Tell me about the ball in the box,” Kam urges me. Tilting my head to the side to lay my cheek on my knee, my silence is met with his plea. “Don’t hate me, Ella. I love you. And I am just worried.”
I take a shuddering breath in and then let the lone tears fall where they may.
“I think we could post both. Maybe?” he says.
“Both?”
“We could post about the ball, and we could post the photo. Just … let me do it, all right? I’ll post for you. I’ll monitor it.”
“I really want you to, Kam,” I admit to him and my voice is hoarse. “I haven’t wanted to, but it feels so important.”
“Then we’ll tell them. We will. Maybe write it in your journal and other things you want to post. I’ll give you a phone, no social on it, but you can take pictures of it, you can text me. You can record whatever you want to share. I just don’t want you in the line of fire.
“You know how people can be.” Kam’s voice is gentle, but his statement is a wrecking ball. I know exactly how people can be.
“This is good,” he tells me, his hand on my thigh, giving me a squeeze although anxiousness colors his words.
“What else?” I ask him, brushing under my eyes and counting the last twenty minutes as a win. I will write for them. And he will share it. It’s amazing how much relief I feel, yet there just as much exhaustion present.
“We have new hair,” Kam says, then holds up a finger after taking a deep breath, “some social media,” and another finger is lifted. “What do you think about a shindig?” he asks, tilting his head.
“A shindig?”
He nods. “A shindig.” With my smile, he smiles broadly back. “I knew you’d like that one.”
Zander
Any modifications to a client’s plan of care will be carefully considered and vetted by multiple members of The Firm, or outside consultants, or both.
He is her conservator, I remind myself repeatedly as I leave. He has power over her. He has a vested interest. And he could easily take her away from me. Rage simmers although it’s merely a product of possessiveness. I’m all too aware of that. So I get up and go.
What the hell else am I going to do? I nod to Kam like the professional that I am—that I will remain—and get up from my chair. “I’ll be nearby,” I tell Ella on the way out. I don’t know why I say it. She knows I’ll be close, and so does he.
I can hear their conversation easily from the kitchen. Hiding just out of their view I take a moment to absorb the submission Ella allowed in our conversation.
Kam clears his throat in the sitting room and starts in on social media. Posting a photo. He has options for her … his voice turns to white noise. I don’t hear a thing he says. I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on the situation, making a note of what goes on, monitoring her. But I can’t. The fact that he’s her conservator makes it all the more important.
I need a minute.
I’d fuck you, Zander. I’ve already fantasized about it.
It’s not out of the ordinary for clients to express their fantasies. It’s not even the first time this has happened to me. Providing security for a person can heighten their emotions. Protecting a woman … well, it can lead to harmless crushes. In the past, it has always been unwanted and easily directed elsewhere.