“I think you should go,” she whispers, her eyes finding mine. “And maybe think about that. Because we’re all human, Bear. We all fuck up. I know I have. And if I was never forgiven for my transgressions in the past, I don’t know where I’d be today. Besides… holding onto all that anger, all the resentment?” She swallows. “It’s tearing you up.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, moving toward her, but she flinches away, opening the door wider. “Please, don’t make me go right now. I need you.”
“No,” she argues, looking at me pointedly. “What you need is time alone with yourself. You’re just too scared to take it.”
We stand there, watching each other for what feels like an eternity, and her words melt over me like lava, burning my skin, scarring my heart. Eventually, I nod, and as soon as I’m out her dorm door, she closes and locks it behind me.
For the first time since last semester, I don’t feel numb.
For the first time, I feel all the pain, all the betrayal, all the resentment and anger I’ve been trying to work out of my system with weights and cardio and drinking.
Becca’s right.
I do need to be alone.
But I’m fucking terrified of what will happen now that I am.
HERE’S WHAT I KNOW about our precious little shining star of an intern, Sophie Miller.
She’s a junior at Palm South University, majoring in Public Relations with a particular interest in working as a publicist for high-profile executives. She’s not in a sorority, but seems to be very in with the Greek crowd, thanks to dating the president of Zeta Rho Kappa her sophomore year and becoming affectionately known as “one of the guys” in that circle. She’s a self-proclaimed country girl from Central Florida, and her favorite party trick is shotgunning a tall boy faster than any guy who tries to compete against her.
Of course, this was all learned at the Halloween party last weekend, when I casually found my way over to her group and infiltrated enemy territory. I shamelessly admit that I was looking for dirt, because Sophie Miller has been too damn perfect at work, and I wanted something to have even a small leg up on her.
Instead, I came to the conclusion that not only is she a stand-out intern, but she’s also pretty fun to party with.
Currently, she’s at the biggest Okay, Cool event of the year — our relatively small and intimate after-party for the Southeastern Advertising Conference held in Miami. It’s invite only, costs a thousand dollars a head, with all proceeds benefitting a local charity, and it’s reserved for the agencies my beloved boyfriend sees as leaders in the industry. Getting an invite as an agency is like finding Willy Wonka’s golden ticket, and being asked to attend as an Okay, Cool employee is arguably better than a ten-thousand-dollar bonus.
I know why I’m here.
I landed one of our biggest clients to this date while I was an intern. I completely dismantled and rebuilt our current project management team from the ground up, revamping old and outdated systems and ushering us back into our top spot in the industry. I am already building a reputation as one of the most competent and creative account managers and creative directors in Florida, and I haven’t even graduated yet.
I’ve earned my spot in this bougie mansion, standing in my brand new, rose gold and crystal-covered Jimmy Choo heels next to a giant pool that no one at this party will enter.
What I can’t figure out is why Sophie Goddamn Miller is here.
The party is in full swing, even though the conference just ended an hour ago. And though Florida may be immune to the rest of our country’s quickly declining temperatures during the holiday season, we’re still a victim to the days being shorter, so the sun has already set, and the party’s up-lighting and pool-lighting and candles littering every table make for an elegant, sophisticated feel. A jazz trio plays music from the corner of the pool balcony, a pleasant background to the soft buzz of chatter and laughter coming from each little pod of people.
It’s the networking event of the year, and that’s what I should be doing — networking. I should be rubbing elbows with other creative directors, making proposals for how we could work together to bag large, out-of-our-league clients, or steal the most coveted ones from other agencies who are lacking what we have.
I should not be staring death lasers with my eyeballs into the intern, but it’s all I can manage to do.
Presently, we’re both in a small gathering of executives — including the CEO of Atlanta’s hottest agency, Ball & Pen, the director of the conference, who also hands out the most sought-after agency awards each year, our CFO, and of course, Brandon.
He’s who stands between me and Sophie, one hand tucked into his pocket, and the other wrapped confidently around a glass tumbler of scotch. He and the others are laughing at something, which I miss, because I’m too busy wondering how the hell Sophie weaseled her way into this event and, even more so, how she’s standing here in this particular circle.
To make matters even more peachy, Brandon is bragging on her to the group. It’s not over the top, just noting a few of her accolades as an intern, but it’s enough to make me have to actively keep myself from tapping my heel in annoyance.
I’m debating ways I could make it look like an accident and shove her into the pool, when Brandon puts his hand at the small of my back and smiles down at me, flashing his dazzling smile that somehow looks even more charming in the low lighting and pulling me back to the moment.
“And this one,” he says, shaking his head. “Not only did she secure the Bare•ly account as an intern, but she is also the lead on our top-performing campaign.” He pauses, arching a brow at Mrs. Lambert, the CEO of the Atlanta agency. “And she hasn’t even graduated yet.”
Mrs. Lambert whistles through her teeth as the rest of the group smiles and nods their approval. “That’s pretty impressive, Ms. Daniels. You ever get tired of working for this chump, you make sure you find me in Atlanta, okay?”
“Does Atlanta have a beach?”
The group chuckles at that, but Mrs. Lambert tips her glass toward me. “No beach, but if you ever thought about coming to work for me, I’d build one for you right in the middle of the city, if that’s what you wanted.”
“I’m flattered, Mrs. Lambert,” I say, laying a palm over my chest. “But my home is Okay, Cool.” I look up at Brandon then. “As long as this one will keep me around, anyway.”
Brandon pulls me into his side possessively. “Like I’d ever be stupid enough to let you slip out of my hands.”
My heart blooms in my chest as he stares down at me, and then — in front of our little group and for everyone else to see, too — he plants a gentle, adoring kiss on my lips.
Fucking swoon.
He jumps right back into the conversation, steering them toward the conference and how they could improve upon it, but I’m still floating on a cloud with that kiss reverberating through my body. Ever since the end of last semester when the truth about us came out, we haven’t had to hide our relationship — and being able to stand next to this man and proudly claim him, to have him claim me?
It’s the most powerful drug in the world.
I’m still trying to contain the butterflies in my ribcage when my gaze shifts to Sophie, and I’m a little surprised to find her staring back at me, a small smile curved on her ballerina-pink lips. She tilts her glass toward me in a nod of acknowledgement, and I do my best not to frown, offering her my this-isn’t-a-fake-smile-I-swear smile before I turn my attention to the current speaker in the group.
But Sophie keeps watching me, and when Brandon’s assistant comes up to usher him away from our group and to another anxiously waiting to speak with him, the rest of the executives disband, and Sophie stands closer to me, sipping from her champagne glass as we both survey the crowd.
“This event is wild, isn’t it?” she says after a moment, shaking her head as her bright eyes scan the crowd.
I hate those eyes, because they remind me so much of my own that I want to gouge them
out of her head and claim copyright infringement. It pisses me off that her hair is the same platinum blonde as mine, that she has the same taste in high heels, and the same love for high fashion. Hell, we even look like we planned our similarities tonight, both of us dressed in sleek, form-fitting and short white dresses with heels that steal the show — mine being the dazzly Jimmy Choos, and hers the same Louboutins she was wearing the first day I saw her in Brandon’s office.
She looks incredible, sexy but professional.
And I loathe her for it.
“I can’t believe Brandon invited me to come,” she continues, a longing sigh leaving her chest. “I feel like the luckiest girl in the world.”
I growl low in my throat, though I’m praying it’s not loud enough that Sophie heard me. “Yes. Mr. Church is lovely in that respect,” I correct her subtly, reminding her that no one at work calls him Brandon — except for me. “He has such a big heart for charity.”
It’s a thinly veiled dig, but if Sophie notices it, she doesn’t let me know it.
Instead, she leans in closer, lowering her voice. “I know I won’t have much time alone with you tonight, since I’m sure you have so many people to see and talk to, but while I have you, I just have to say…”
And then, that conniving, sneaky little bitch wraps her silky palm around the inside of my elbow.
“The work you’ve done on the Bare•ly account?” She shakes her head in earnest, leveling her gaze with mine. “It is the most inspiring work I’ve seen done in any agency in the years I’ve been studying. I was wondering… I have this project I have to do for my cornerstone class on big moves in the industry, and I’d really love to spotlight you and that account in particular. It wouldn’t require much, just an interview and maybe some behind-the-scenes brainstorm notes, if you’d be willing to give me access. Just enough for me to put together a ten-minute presentation.”
Sophie pauses then, her hand slides down my arm, slowly, each fingernail making contact with my skin. Her eyes follow the gesture, her plump, smooth lips parted slightly, and when she glances back at me, there’s something hidden in her lash-covered gaze.
Chills and confusion wash over me in equal measure, and I’m suddenly shocked still, throat tightening with how intimate the touch is. We’re in a crowd full of people, but the way she’s looking at me, it feels like we’re miles and miles away.
“You’re just such an inspiration to me,” she explains, wrapping her hand around mine until our palms touch. She’s not holding my hand, but rather sliding her skin over mine, and she holds my fingertips with her own for just the briefest moment before withdrawing entirely. “It’d truly be an honor to work under you, to get an inside look of what makes you tick.”
If anyone were to ask me, I would never admit to my suspicion — but I swear her eyes flick to my lips, that there’s heat in her gaze when it finds me again, that the curl of her lips is alluding to more than just her desire to use me for a school project.
I clear my throat, inhaling a breath that burns too much for my liking and taking a marginal step back from Sophie. Her grin intensifies, as if she’s won some competition I hadn’t realized we’d entered into, but I hold my chin high to let her know she hasn’t won shit in my eyes.
“Thank you,” I say first. “And I would be happy to help you with your project. Why don’t you swing by my desk on Monday and we can discuss further?”
Sophie’s manicured eyebrow inches up, that smile still cemented on her lips. “I’ll do that.” Her eyes wash over me suggestively, tongue sliding along the inside of her cheek as she does, and now I know I’m not imagining things.
This bitch is checking me out.
Is she… is she hitting on me?
“Have a good evening, Ms. Daniels,” she says, tipping her almost-empty glass with a wink. Then, she plucks the toothpick with an olive at the end of it and pops it into her mouth, sucking on it in a way that makes her lips big and pouty before she turns and leaves me standing at the edge of the pool so shaken up that I’m in danger of falling into it.
And I keep standing there, completely alone, with a shocked face I can’t even pretend to hide.
What in the ever loving fuck was that?
GAVIN LINDBERG HAS BEEN MIA from every session since the one when he so casually asked me to dinner.
Not that it matters, of course, because I’ve had my own priorities to focus on. I’ve spent the last month making amends, apologizing to everyone I’ve hurt and accepting that as much as I want them to, not everyone will forgive me.
Skyler was first, and she was the easiest — perhaps because she was the one in our group who always seemed to put her friends before herself. I don’t think it’s in her blood to hold a grudge, and I’m thankful for that, since we’re now slowly working toward having a friendship again.
My mother was the next battle, and it was more like a war, because as much as I was apologizing to her for all the hell I’d put her through in the past year, I was also confessing to her that she was responsible for a lot of the deep-seated issues I’d been fighting all my life.
She did not like hearing that.
I’m thankful to my mom for how she helped me after Landon and his brothers gang-raped me. It’s because of her that I clawed my way out of the deep, bottomless hole that night had put me in and took the reins of my life firmly in my hands once more.
But she also advocated ignoring what had happened and disguised that as strength. We never talked about it, and there was never any room for me to explore what that night did to me, how it permanently changed me, how I would never be the woman I was before. Hell, I wasn’t even allowed to say the word rape — like I should have been ashamed of it.
To my mom, strength is standing tall and holding your chin high and never letting anyone see that you were a human being with feelings and flaws and hopes and dreams.
You must be steel — cold and hard and resilient.
So, opening up to her was not only difficult for me, but to her it was practically being forced to lie in a bed of needles. She wasn’t just annoyed by my emotions, she was uncomfortable when they were aimed at her, which is why I wasn’t surprised when she was less then receptive to them.
Still, she forgave me, and she seemed to at least somewhat listen to me, and I hope that, like Skyler, we’ll move forward into a new, stronger relationship together.
I’d sat down and talked with everyone close to me — Lei, Jess, and Cassie included. I wasn’t ready to tell them everything that had happened to me just yet, but I at least wanted them to know that I was trying.
And then, there was Bear.
I’m not surprised that he reacted the way he did when I asked him to dinner and tried, pathetically, to explain why I murdered our child.
I know it’s not as callous as that, that I’m berating myself and not “being kind to myself,” as my therapist would urge me to do.
But truthfully? In my heart? That’s how I see it.
I took life from my own child, and I’ll never forgive myself.
So why does it upset me so much that Bear won’t forgive me, either?
He had every right to reject my apology that night we went to dinner, and still, I was shocked by it. Maybe it’s because through all the shit I’ve faced in the past year, he has always been there for me. He’s always been the one holding me and assuring me that it’s okay, and that I’m not a terrible person, and that I will make it out of the hell I’ve been imprisoned in.
But he didn’t hold me this time.
Hell, he could barely look at me.
And it killed me.
So, yeah, I’ve had plenty of my own shit to occupy my time and energy without worrying about going on a date with Gavin Lindberg.
But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t notice he hadn’t been around.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t take extra time getting ready for group the week we were supposed to go to dinner, curling my hair and putting on my makeup with
precision and picking out one of my favorite fall outfits — dark, skinny jeans, a conservative silky blouse, and my favorite black high heels. And I’d be lying if I said my heart didn’t deflate a little when he never showed that night, or the week after, or the week after that.
Maybe that’s why I find myself slightly annoyed when he waltzes through the door two minutes before group therapy starts, casting me a smile and a wink as if we’re buddies before taking a seat across the circle from me, outstretching his legs and shoving his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. His intense blue eyes watch me curiously, and I just glare back at him, letting my annoyance show until Jackie says we’re getting started.
Then, I turn my attention to her, and I leave it there for the rest of the session.
I don’t look at Gavin again, not even when he makes his sarcastic and ill-placed comments when someone else is speaking. Jackie warns him a couple times, and he finally shuts up — presumably because he’s failing to get my attention like he so desperately seems to want to do.
When the session is over, I promptly grab my belongings and make my way toward the door, not bothering to stop by the table of coffee and donuts that I never touch, or stay back to talk to anyone else in the group.
I make it all the way to the parking lot before the distant sound of my name being called out stops me, and I take a deep breath, turning and finding Gavin slowing from his jog to a walk and eventually to stand just a few feet away from me.
It’s dark in the parking lot, save for the streetlights casting warm circles over a few of the spots. Gavin is standing under one of them, and it leaves his face half-shadowed, but I can still see a tinge of remorse in his ocean eyes.
“Geez, you really bolted out of there tonight,” he says. “Did I miss the fire?”
I cross my arms, shifting my weight to one hip.
Gavin sighs, grabbing the back of his neck and looking around at the otherwise-empty lot before his embarrassed gaze finds mine again. “Alright, I deserve the silent treatment. I’m sorry I bailed on our dinner. I have the tendency of being an asshole from time to time.”
Ritual: A New Adult College Romance (Palm South University Book 5) Page 13
