Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 123579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
I shake my head, collapsing into my seat again.
“Tell him I’m in a meeting and that I’ll call him later.”
“Before I deliver that message, he said to let you know if you brush him off, he’s coming to Soho.”
“Son of a…” I scoot forward and pick up the handset. “Line two?”
“Yep,” Stil says, closing the office door behind her.
“Walsh, heard you needed me?”
“I needed you two hours ago.” Irritation almost outweighs the concern in his voice. “But you’ve been ignoring my calls.”
“Maybe I’ve been busy all morning.”
“Sof, it’s me.” He lets out a frustrated breath. “You saw the news last night? About Kyle Manchester?”
“Yeah, I saw.” I lean back, crossing one leg over the other and tapping my shoe against the desk. “We’ve talked about this, Walsh. If Shaunti Miller wants to tell her story, then—”
“She’s not.”
My foot stops tapping. I sit up, resting my forehead in one hand.
“But last night—”
“That was last night.” Walsh’s deep voice goes softer. “This morning, she withdrew her accusations.”
“But why? What happened?”
“If I were to guess, Manchester’s people found something to force her back in the closet.”
A rock, hard and cold, sits in my chest where my heart should be. I can’t let myself feel anything because if I feel anything, I’ll feel everything. And it’s too much. After all these years, it’s too much.
“Walsh, what do you expect me to do?”
“What do you want to do, Sof?”
What I want to do is hard. It’s dangerous. It thrusts me into the center of a horrific storm. What I want to do, I don’t think I’m strong enough to try.
“I want to keep doing what I’ve been doing for the last fifteen years,” I finally answer, keeping my voice steady. “Put this behind me. Keep moving forward.”
“Sof, if someone as high profile as you are came forward, it might encourage Shaunti to tell her story in spite of what they have on her. Or there could be women we don’t even know about who are afraid to tell their stories.”
“I can’t.” Panic crawls up from a dark hole in my belly.
“At least tell your father. He’s aggressively selling Manchester to the board as a sure thing.”
How do you admit your own father doesn’t care that you were raped? That he is actively pursuing business with the man who did you such harm?
“He knows, Walsh. I told him.”
The silence on the other end puffs up with Walsh’s outrage, his anger, his disappointment. All the things I felt at first, but have gotten used to.
“And he…” Walsh falters. “Ernest knows what happened and is still doing business with that bastard?”
“He thinks I’m remembering it differently than it probably happened. He—”
“Bullshit,” Walsh snaps. “You may have been drunk when you finally told me about it, Sof, but you told me enough. The bruises, the—”
“Stop.” I don’t need him to detail any of it. I’ve spent all this time doing a great job of forgetting. “Just leave it alone, Walsh.”
“I swore to you then I wouldn’t expose this,” Walsh says. “I won’t expose your secret if you’re not ready to, but I’ll work around it.”
“What does that mean?” I lean forward, barely sitting in my seat at his words.
“It means that Bennett’s not doing business with a rapist.” Walsh pauses before going on. “Sof, your father is setting himself against me at every turn, on every front. This could get ugly.”
“Trevor seemed to think Uncle Martin’s retiring soon, and that you and my father would end up battling for leadership of Bennett.”
“Trevor?” Something lightens in Walsh’s voice. “Trevor Bishop?”
Ugh. No. Me and my loose lips.
“You’ve been seeing Trevor Bishop?”
“Walsh, a date or two. Nothing serious.”
“He’s a good guy. Maybe you should pursue something serious with him. Better him than Rip.”
I don’t answer because I kind of want to keep whatever is happening between Trevor and me just between us for a while. Me, whose whole life has been lived in front of cameras, half the time half clothed, wants something that no one else sees.
“I think he really likes you, Sof.”
“Well, he…” I know devious when I hear it. “Walsh, did you give him my phone number?”
His deep laugh on the other end is all the answer I need. Instead of being angry, a grin spreads over my face.
“You idiot. That man hasn’t left me alone since he got back from Cambodia.”
“And you like it.”
I do like it…now, but I’m not telling Walsh that.
“Sofie, just because you and I weren’t right for each other doesn’t mean you aren’t right for someone else. Someone who’ll be good to you and call out the best in you. Bishop’s good at that.”
“What if there isn’t a best, Walsh?” I swallow past the lump of uncertainty in my throat, forcing myself to ask the question that holds me back. “What if this is as good as it gets?”