Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
It was too late for Simon. I should have helped him, and now it was too fucking late.
* * * * *
I entered my studio feeling numb. Maybe I was in shock. Simon was an ex, yes. He’d done awful things to me, yes, but we’d spent ten years together and maybe I’d owed him something, some basic human decency and caring. Maybe I could have prevented his death.
I hunched over my computer, wondering if Price was watching me. He’d refused to show me where the camera was, or how many there were, and I accepted that because I was his slave and I pretty much allowed him to do whatever the fuck he wanted for some reason that made no sense to me now. We had a rule, and that rule was that I could have nothing to do with Simon.
I broke that rule and put Simon’s name into a search engine. I clicked the News tab and was confronted by an endless barrage of morbid headlines about his overdose. His dark eyes stared out at me from beneath black shaggy hair in the photos. Why didn’t you help?
I read the first few articles, mostly accounts of his life, his talent, the loss to the art world. I learned the heartbreaking details of how he’d died in a nightclub bathroom, seizing on the cold, hard tile. Once he stopped, he lay there for over an hour because the other clubgoers thought he was only passed out. He’d stuck a needle in his arm, unable to maintain another moment of sobriety.
I wondered what he’d thought of at that moment. I wondered if he’d felt guilt or regret, or just relief to be getting high again. Maybe he wanted to die. With the stuff he used, it was only a matter of time. Bad high, an anonymous witness had offered in an interview. Strong shit has been going around the city, and Simon Baldwin never knew when to stop.
I closed out the articles and tried to work, but the metal swam before my vision as I wiped away tears. I tried to pull it together for my two PM meeting with Vinod, but he noticed my red eyes.
“What has happened, my dear?” he asked.
“A death. A tragic one. I lost an old friend.”
I left it at that, because if I said any more, all the grief and guilt and furious angst would vomit out of me like lava onto the sample display between us. At least Vinod seemed pleased with the jewelry I’d designed, and after a few kind words of condolence, he left me alone with my thoughts.
The problem was, I didn’t know what to do with my thoughts. I stewed and read more articles, and cried again, and hoped Price wouldn’t visit me. He didn’t. At least he allowed me some sexual space on this day. If he’d come to me and demanded a blowjob in the back room, what would I have done? Could I have said no? I started to question why I let Price control me the way he did. He said it was for my own good, for my protection, and most of the time I liked it, but someone had died, and now, suddenly, the control felt out of control.
Finally, I put my work away and took the elevator up to the offices of Eriksen Architectural Design. I wasn’t sure of my mission, only that I had to see Price and talk to him about what had happened. I needed him to admit that he’d fucked up, that he’d steered me wrong and was at fault in this. Esther greeted me at the reception desk.
“Chere! How are things? I haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Things are great.” I managed a smile only because I needed it to get what I wanted. “Is Mr. Eriksen here?”
“He’s in a meeting.”
“I need to talk to him.”
Her smile faded. She stood as if to stop me, but I was already heading down the hall to the back.
“What— What do you need to talk to him about?” she asked, scurrying after me. “He just sat down with some new clients.”
“In the conference room?”
“Chere, wait.”
I wasn’t waiting. I didn’t want to get Esther in trouble, but I couldn’t fucking wait any more. I reached the conference room door and swung it open. Familiar faces looked up at me. Jennifer was there, and Praneesh, and some faces I didn’t know, presumably the clients. Praneesh and Jennifer smiled, surprised. The clients watched me in expectation, as if I was simply a late associate. But Price’s face...
He looked right at me, his chin propped on steepled fingers. His expression said Don’t do it. Don’t dare.
“We’re in a meeting,” he said. “I’ll see you later this evening.”
I glared at him. “I need to see you now.”