Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
#Eliver
Under the column there’s something else.
APOLOGY.
On the eighth, we published images of Evelyn Fairfax and Fin DeWitt together, implying they are in a relationship. The City Chronicle understands this is not the case. Mr. DeWitt and Mr. Deubel are friends and business partners. The images have since been removed, and we regret any offense or pain caused to those involved.
I suddenly feel very cold. “This is not what we spoke about.”
“Sometimes plans change.”
“No shit, because you said you were going to get your lawyers involved—this is not a legal injunction. This is just more manipulation!” I guess that means his lawyers aren’t responsible for Mitch’s alternative-reality story being deleted, along with the photos of Fin and me.
“This way was more immediate.”
“Do you have any idea what it looks like?”
“Of course. It looks like lovers visiting a jeweler.”
“It implies you bought me a ring!”
“A good guess,” he says, tugging on his cuffs. “Because I did.”
“You’re sure she didn’t get that from you?”
“No, Eve. I did not tell a journalist I was about to propose to you.”
“But you want people to think we’re getting married.”
He shrugs and, as though bored, slides his hands into his pockets.
“You said the stuff on the internet wouldn’t matter, because the guy with the house wouldn’t see it.”
“It was shortsighted of me.”
“He has seen it?” Panic blooms in my chest at what this might mean for me. For Nora.
“No, not as far as I know. But there were other factors to consider.”
“What factors?” I demand, throwing my hands up.
“Nothing that need concern you.”
“Because you’d prefer to keep me in the dark.” I swing away, take four rapid steps, then launch his phone back at him. He catches it with a scowl.
He ought to be happy I didn’t throw it at his head.
“I haven’t lied to you,” he mutters, sliding it away.
“Not even by omission?”
“You’re being very melodramatic this morning.”
“That’s not an answer, you total asshole!” I press my hands to the top of my head as it begins to pulse.
“It was simply a gift.”
“A loaner,” I insist.
“A friendship ring,” he amends.
I bark out a laugh. I’m so far from being amused, so far from feeling like his friend. Duality, my ass. He’s as twisted as they come. Why can’t I get this into my thick head?
“No one is going to mistake that monstrosity for a betrothal,” he adds.
“They won’t need to speculate because of that . . . that fantasy from Una Smith!” “Women everywhere are cheering for you,” she’d said. Like she cares! “I am so slow on the uptake.”
“You’re just built to look for the good in people.”
“Like I said, ‘stupid.’ Stupid for agreeing to this scheme. Stupid for still being here.”
“And here you’ll stay,” he replies silkily. “There’s no backing out now, unless you’d like to stay in the UK at His Majesty’s pleasure, thanks to a little visa fraud.”
“My God, I made a mistake when I saw good in you.”
“Yes, that’s probably true. Sit down, Eve.” He moves the chair a little, his words barely an invitation.
I cross the room, because what else can I do? Start throwing things at him? “I wish to hell I understood what you’re getting out of this.” I feel like I’m missing something. Whatever it is, I feel like it’s there, but just out of frame.
“There’s your reaction to this.” He puts his phone on the table as he takes his own seat.
“You like seeing me angry?” If looks could kill . . .
His smile is measured, almost provocative. “Remember when I said Mitchell would become the poster boy for fuckups? That the impact will leak into his life, affect his decisions? This is what it looks like.”
“It looks like you and me getting engaged?” I ask doubtfully.
“Think of his attempts at manipulating the narrative. A Little Bird’s previous posts, dragging your name through the mud. His suggestion that you’re as guilty as him, that he might be the true injured party. And making images of your personal belongings available on the internet.”
My wand. Given my anger, you’d think I wouldn’t have the emotional bandwidth for embarrassment. You’d be wrong.
“But that’s all directed at me.”
“Because he can’t get at me. He’s becoming desperate, and I want that. I want to see him frantic. I don’t want to see you hurt.”
Tears of stupidity prick in my eyes. This isn’t even about me—I’m just the means to an end—this is more about the past. More about Lucy. She must’ve really done a number on him.
“So you went to Una,” I assert, forcing back my emotions. “You made a deal with her.”
“It seemed the better option. For one, a defamation claim isn’t immediate. It might also have brought more publicity to his accusations.”
“Isn’t that what you just said you wanted?”
“I also said I don’t want you to suffer as a consequence.”