Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 93578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
“Wait a minute.” I put my hand on her arm. “Can you at least wait until after the weekend to tell her?”
Mimi thought for a minute. “I guess. What’s in it for me?”
I exhaled through my nostrils. “I’ll give you my side. Complete insider scoop.”
One of her brows peaked. “Including the part about the kink?”
“No. But I’ll spill everything else.” At least this way, I could control the narrative. I’d make sure Hutton was spared any embarrassment, and I’d take full responsibility. I’d make him out to be a friend who’d come to my aide.
“When can it run?”
“Monday.” That way the party would be over too. I felt horrible about it, but I didn’t see a way to come clean in time for Mrs. French to call it off—there was only one day in between the hearing and the party. Maybe I could offer to cover the cost once all was said and done. That would make me feel better.
“Fine,” said Mimi. “But you have to give me your side of the story this week.”
“You’ll get it no sooner than Sunday. I don’t trust you.”
Mimi looked offended. “I’m not a monster, Felicity. I’m just a woman looking out for herself.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “You know, Mimi, there’s something other than self-love I think you need to work on,” I told her. “It’s called empathy.”
As horrifying as the conversation with Mimi had been, I couldn’t help being sort of proud of myself for finally standing up to her. It felt good to call her out on her mean-girl behavior, even if I had to admit that I’d lied to out-Mimi her.
My first instinct was to tell Hutton about it, but then I remembered this morning—our first fight? The beginning of the end? The end of the beginning? Where were we now?
During my shift, I made up my mind that I would not tell him about the bullshit with Mimi before the hearing. He needed to be at his best over the next couple days, and the tension between us was stressful enough.
What would happen tonight when I got home? We hadn’t spoken all day, and he was leaving first thing in the morning. Would he be asleep? Would he be awake and want to talk? Would he apologize for being insensitive earlier, or would he stubbornly refuse to see why I didn’t like his idea?
When I arrived, I discovered that he’d already gone to bed, leaving just one light on for me in the living room. His roller bag was already by the front door, and his laptop case was beside it.
I locked the front door and went into the dark, silent bedroom. Quietly as possible, I undressed, pulled on a T-shirt, and went into the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind me. I switched on the light and saw Hutton’s leather toiletry bag on the vanity, and beside it were the last few things he’d use tomorrow and then pack up.
I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and rubbed moisturizer into my skin—that’s when I thought of something I could do for Hutton that might make him a little less anxious.
It was a small thing, but hopefully it would help.
When I was ready for bed, I turned off the bathroom light, entered the bedroom, and slid beneath the sheets. Hutton’s breathing was deep and even, and I made sure not to disturb him.
But it struck me that this was the first night I’d been here that we hadn’t reached for each other in the dark.
Rolling away from him, I squeezed my eyes shut against the tears and curled into a ball.
When I woke up, he was gone.
TWENTY
HUTTON
I listened to her come in, get ready for bed, and slide in beside me. But rather than pull her close like I wanted to, I feigned sleep.
My heart ached when she rolled away from me, and I heard her sniffle.
But I kept my eyes shut and my body still.
Avoidance was my specialty.
I arrived in D.C. exhausted and miserable, and spent the day being dragged around by Wade, who wanted me to schmooze a bunch of politicians ahead of tomorrow’s hearing.
But schmoozing was not in my skill set on a good day. I was terrible at remembering names, I had no idea where anyone was from, my head was pounding, and Wade constantly telling me to chill the fuck out was not helping.
By five o’clock, I was beyond done.
I pulled Wade aside at the cocktail reception I was suffering through. “I’m going back to the hotel,” I told him in a voice that said don’t fuck with me. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Dude, don’t leave now. Orbach isn’t even here yet.”
I had no idea who Orbach was or why I needed to care that he hadn’t arrived. “I’m out,” I said. “Sorry.”
Wade rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll stay and gather the intel. We’ll have breakfast tomorrow before the hearing. Answer your fucking phone in the morning.”