Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 158829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Jenn grabs my arm as I reach for the door.
“Wait! You shouldn’t go alone. What if he—”
“Jenn. We talked about this, remember? I don’t want you mixed up in it if something crazy goes down. It’s my risk. I technically don’t even work for Winthrope anymore, so Brock isn’t liable for me.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better.” Her eyes search mine. “And just so you know, I don’t think he’d be thrilled about this plan either.”
“What Brock Winthrope thinks is none of my business,” I lie.
Jenn rolls her eyes.
“C’mon. Are we going to keep pretending he isn’t half the reason we jumped on a train to Portland? Right or wrong, he’s the whole reason you’re gearing up to storm a psycho’s room.”
I swallow thickly.
“He’s not. And I’m not ‘storming’ anything. I’m simply going to talk. Let him know I have ironclad proof, and ask him to come clean. Nicely.”
She gives me a doubtful look.
Yeah, I don’t believe it’ll be that easy either, but I have to try.
“Pippa, you don’t know what you’re going to run into behind that door. Let me come,” she whispers urgently.
“And I have to do this. I’m the only one who can act as a personal agent here without a direct connection to Winthrope.” Sighing, I gently grab her shoulder. “Lady, I love you like a sister. Get out of here and wait for me. If I’m not back in twenty minutes, call the cops. Just go.”
“I’ll wait outside, but I’m waiting here,” she says, glancing nervously. “What if you need backup?”
I smile. “If I do, what will you do? Throw an unflattering filter on him?”
“We could...hit him in the nads. These things are pointy!” she says, kicking up her heels.
Even with the tension suffocating me, I laugh.
“We did wear heels for a reason,” I say.
“Go be your badass Carmen Sandiego self. I’ll be waiting.” She stands there staring, then flings her arms around me in a hug. “Don’t be mad at me later.”
“I won’t be, Jenn. Sit tight.”
With one more fortifying breath, I turn and twist the knob.
There’s a second of relief, realizing it’s unlocked. I won’t have to knock as I push inside.
A woman in a crisp white button-down with the Oasis Springs logo on her breast whirls around and looks at me like I’m a ghost coming through the wall.
“Can I help you, ma’am? This is a private room.”
“Yes, I’m here to see Mister Finch.”
She frowns, picking up a black notebook from the table beside her. She glances down, flicking through a few pages, and then looks up at me.
“I don’t have any appointments listed for today. It’s very close to the ceremony, so I’m sure it’d be best if you reschedule.”
“He told me to come tonight,” I insist, stamping my foot impatiently. “I don’t have to tell you how he gets when he misses his appointments. You know the kind I mean.”
Yes, it’s a Hail Mary.
But if this guy is every bit the wretched creeper he seems, I’m hoping I have a shot.
The woman’s eyes narrow, then widen as the realization sinks in.
“Oh, you’re one of those?” She sizes me up in disgust for a few more seconds before she sighs. “Fine. I’ll escort you to his private suite. He always makes time for his ladies...”
Big yikes.
My stomach flips over at the thought, but that also means I’m in. I follow her through a couple more rooms to another closed door.
She knocks on it softly.
“Yeah?” Finch calls brusquely.
“There’s a woman here to see you, Mr. Finch. Special appointment?”
I’m motionless as we wait for his reply.
“Send her in!” he yells back.
There’s just enough edge in his tone to make the hairs on my neck stand up.
“Go ahead.” She opens the door, waving a hand in front of me like she’s inviting me into a Komodo dragon pen.
I walk through with my heart pulsing in my throat.
Inside, I find Apollo Finch waiting for me.
He’s wearing a traditional tux with a half-full champagne flute in hand, lounging in an armchair with one leg tossed obscenely over the side.
Everything about this feels off.
“Miss Renee, is it? Or do you prefer 'Sunshine?'” A too-wide grin spreads across his face like a drawn sword as he stands. “I never expected this little surprise. Finally got sick of playing house with a loser wreck and came to your senses? I can’t blame you for that. Champagne?”
He gestures toward a bottle chilling in an ice bucket just a few steps away.
I shake my head.
“Brock Winthrope isn’t a loser,” I force out.
“Oh-ho-ho.” He manages to make it three words. “Here to plead his case for mercy then? You’re more loyal than most trophy girls, I’ll give you that. Did you want the champagne, love?”
My gaze sharpens. “And I’m not his messenger. I came here myself.”
He walks over to the champagne, pouring himself another glass before he looks at me again.