Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Riley looks at me from across the kitchen divider. She smiles tightly and nods. She’s basically saying, your secret is safe with me.
Sophie gives me a sour look, probably at my bossy tone, and then walks toward her bedroom. I sit on the couch, take out my cell phone, and call Tyrone. I’m too full of energy to do nothing, even for a few seconds.
“Boss,” Tyrone says. “I was going to call you soon.”
“Good. So there’s news.”
“Mark and Lisa have stock in the company that they want to make our new eco-friendly plastic through. They tried to cover their involvement using shell companies, five layers of them, but it’s theirs.”
“That makes sense. We already knew they wanted this eco angle, though. I’m guessing the company’s in trouble, and they’re scrambling to save their investments.”
“Exactly,” Tyrone says. “Nice catch.”
I laugh gruffly. “It didn’t take a rocket scientist.”
“Anything else?” I say, an idea tickling at the back of my mind, but I need evidence.
“Not yet.”
“Keep digging and get solid proof of what you just told me.”
“I’m on it,” he replies.
Sophie suddenly walks into the room, holding her phone and aiming it at me. My first instinct is to jump to my feet, throw my arms around her, kiss her head, and brush the hair from her face. Jane Larson—the fame chaser from the hospital—is on the screen.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“Boss,” Tyrone says on the phone. “There’s a new video.”
“I’m looking at it as we speak.”
Sophie clicks play and sits next to me. Not close, but near enough for me to smell her perfume, shampoo, maybe just her. Jane Larson looks even tanner and blonder than in the last video.
“So I have some interesting news. It seems the big billionaire wants a one-on-one with little old me. Well, I have a counteroffer! If he wants to try to justify his terrible behavior, I want both Fame Warriors. Let that little girl justify her temper tantrum, too.”
“Little girl,” Sophie snaps, locking her phone. “What a bitch.”
I say nothing, my thoughts going to the video, to the actual little girl who made up so many fairy-tale possibilities for us. It makes me feel so wrong even though I can’t believe they’re the same person when I look at this Sophie.
“She wants Sophie, too,” Tyrone says. “I’m not sure about that.”
“I’ll do it,” Sophie says, looking at me bravely, confidently. I can see some nerves buried inside her, a few glints, but she seems ready. “I’m not scared.”
I’m so proud of her. I almost kiss her. Almost touch her hand. Almost show her how amazing she is to me.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Sophie
I have my hands in my lap as Kaleb drives us away from Paul. I hold them like this to reduce the chances of me reaching over and squeezing his forearm or shoulders, bulging through his shirt, or trailing my hand through his silver hair. Before we left, I asked Paul if he really wanted this. He blinked, tears in his eyes. “I don’t want you to see me on these pills.”
Honestly, I don’t want to see him like that either—my big, strong brother. That’s why I agreed to this. That’s the excuse I have to give myself, anyway. I can’t admit it’s because I want to be closer to Kaleb.
“I’ve got you the suite next to mine,” he says.
“A whole suite to myself?”
He glances at me, that confused look in his eyes. It’s like he wants to kiss me and wants to push me from the car with equal intensity. “I think it’s for the best. Don’t you?”
“Obviously,” I snap, looking out the window at LA rolling by, all the glamor seeming so muted, maybe because I’ve been here so many times. “So, when are we doing this interview?”
“Tomorrow,” he replies. “If you’re sure—”
“You don’t have to keep asking me if I’m sure.”
“There’s something wrong with me. I kind of like it when you get sassy.”
I look at him and feel the burn in my cheeks. “Kaleb…”
He nods and doesn’t need me to say anything else. We both know he shouldn’t be saying things like that. He drives and says nothing for a while. I pick at the fabric of my pants, an uneasy habit I should’ve quit a long time ago.
“I’m not a player,” he says. “Just so you know. I wasn’t lying about that.”
“Why does that matter now?” I ask.
It does matter. It means everything to me, but we’re supposed to pretend none of this ever happened.
“I just want you to know,” he snaps. “I’ve never been a player. I could have been, but I haven’t.”
“You could have been?”
“I’m a billionaire, Sophie,” he says. “A man in my position…” With his looks. “I could do whatever I wanted. I’ve met other wealthy men with dozens of girlfriends in dozens of cities. They pay for it if they’re feeling lazy, but that life has never interested me. It seems hollow.”