"I can't," he grated, holding his palms across his jaw and backing away from me. "I need the money, Wyn. Nobody will know it's you. They can't see our faces."
I couldn't believe the excuses coming out of his mouth. In fact, all of this felt unbelievable. Noah had always been my friend, always been good to me.
"Noah, if you don't take it down-"
"If you force me to do it, I will tell everyone who the girl in the video is," he replied in a chilling tone which didn't sound like him at all. "I'll leak your name and you won't be able to live it down. You won't be able to prove it's me either. So just chill, Wynnie. When I get the money, I'll give you a share of it as well."
I was shaking. Shaking at his audacity and the injustice of this whole situation. Fury ripped through me and I tightened my fists again. Noah noticed the gesture and narrowed his eyes.
"I think you should leave now," he said curtly. "I thought we could talk about this. I could make you understand but-"
"You're sick," I spat out at him, quelling the urge to hit him again as I walked out of his room unsteadily.
What else could I do? He couldn't be trusted and he would reveal it was me in that video. Shit. How would I face the people of this town? My mother? The kids at school? I couldn't bear the thought of being exposed like that.
"Wynnie, I really am sorry."
The weakly spoken words dripping with insincerity made me see red and without a second thought, I grabbed the hard cover book which I’d been reading before and swung it across his face. Noah couldn't dodge the blow in time and it hit him right on the nose. He let out a howl and clutched it as he stumbled back and I took the opportunity to make a run for it. I didn't look back or slow down as I reached the door of the shop in front, wrenched it open and took off flying down the street towards my house, the cruel and merciless wind whipping across my face and drying my tears in the process.
Chapter 2
Jude
Thunder crackled overheard and purple lightning forked through the night sky as the tumultuous ocean waves rose and crashed over me, filling up my nose and stinging my eyes. I spluttered, frantically pushing my way to the surface, trying to hold on with every last bit of strength and resolve I possessed. No. The ocean was not going to claim me tonight. Not when I still had so much more to accomplish. So much more to conquer.
Another head broke through the choppy waters a few feet away and screamed at me for help.
"Jude!" she cried, coughing and spitting out sea water. "Jude, are you listening to me? Jude?"
Her voice began to die down, the ocean disappeared in a rush and I was dragged back to the restaurant I was dining at, the roaring sound of my imaginary storm replaced by meaningless chatter, the clinking of forks, knives and glasses and my girlfriend's concerned voice.
"Jude?" she spoke again, a slight frown marring her forehead. "Are you okay?"
My fingers twitched restlessly against my wine glass, aching to reach for my phone so I could jot down the idea I had just had for one of my novels but I made myself look at Jennifer and smile.
"I'm fine," I stated, giving the appearance of a lazy patron just out having dinner with his girl. "I was just...thinking."
She let out a barely perceptible sigh and shook her head before picking up her fork.
"Seriously? You can't leave work behind for just a couple of hours and pay attention to me?" she questioned in a disappointed voice.
It's not work. It's who I am. I couldn't separate that madness from me even if I tried.
Out loud, I said, "I'm sorry. I'm here now. What is it?"
Her berry-pink lips parted and she waved a slim, manicured hand in the air. "I need you to hire someone to take on some of your workload. Baby, you’re always distracted when I’m trying to talk to you these days and it just makes me feel...alone and unappreciated."
"I appreciate you," I told her at once because it was true.
Jennifer was awesome. The kind of girlfriend who ticked all the boxes. She was supportive, independent, classy and gorgeous. I appreciated her a lot.
"Listen to me," she continued in a slightly desperate tone. "I understand that your work is demanding..."
Work. There was that word again.
"...but you can't keep handling everything on your own. I was thinking...maybe you could get an assistant to help you out with all the extra tasks."
I frowned at her. "An assistant? Why would I want an assistant? Phillipa is there to take care of things for me."
"Phillipa is your agent and publicist both," Jennifer reminded me. "She has enough on her plate. You tend to do so many things by yourself when you could just delegate. Lots of writers have assistants. P.As. We could just find someone to help you out with things. In your office."
I raised an eyebrow at her when I realised she was completely serious. "You know I don't work well with others," I told her dryly. "And I don't like having anyone in my office. Especially when I'm trying to write."
"Ugh. Fine. We'll give the assistant her own office temporarily until we can set something up. Jude, you need someone." She let out a sigh and regarded me gravely, her blue eyes imploring in the bright lights of the restaurant. "Please, baby," she added in a soft, sensual tone, the one that managed to get me in the mood for sex even when I was too exhausted or distracted. "For me. If you don't like it, we'll fire her. Or him. Whoever it is. Trial basis?"
I sucked a little on my bottom lip as I considered it. I really, really hated this idea. I didn't like having people all up in my space. And I didn't like delegating when it came to my writing. But Jennifer was feeling neglected and I hated that too. We'd been together for four years and our families had always been close. My parents had loved the idea of the two of us getting together and I decided to give it a shot because I loved my parents and with the kind of personality and quirks I had, nobody else was going to be putting up with me. Jennifer knew what to expect and most of the time, she was fine with it. I didn't want to upset her over something she felt was important.
"Trial basis," I agreed half-heartedly and noted the pleased smile spreading across her face. "Two weeks, Jen. And I’m going to decide who gets to work for me. No recommendations.”
"Sure. Leave it to me. I know what you need, Jude. And thank you."
I nodded once and swirled the wine in my glass, my attention drifting away from the conversation as I eyed the door of the restaurant, itching to get out of here.
My brain was exploding. I needed my laptop, my desk, a closed room and silence. I needed the muse to flow. Being in public places was my idea of claustrophobia.
"Um...Mr. Knight?"
A woman who appeared to be in her forties smiled down at me, holding a pen and napkin in her hand. The smile was both of excitement and embarrassment as she glanced over at Jennifer, who was sitting back with a displeased expression, and then looked back at me.
"I am really sorry-" she started to apologize, sounding like she was regretting her decision to come over to our table, obviously seeking my autograph.
"Hey, no problem," I said to her and extended a hand for the napkin and pen. "So nice to meet you...um...?"
"Dolores," she supplied in relief and beamed at me. I began to sign her napkin with a flourish. "I've been wanting to come over for the past twenty minutes and I know this is so rude of me-"
"It's not," I told her as I wrote her name with a note. "I'm always happy to meet a fan. Thank you for coming over."
She hugged the napkin to her chest once I gave it back to her and was red in the face, I wasn't sure why.
"I've read all your books and I think you're amazing," she gushed, sounding like a schoolgirl and making me smile. "But this last one. I mean, the way you talked about religion, it was so enlightening. I tried to get in touch with your agency but they said you weren't available but if you could just make an appearance at our church-"
"Um, Jude?" Jennifer said uncertainly, obviously a little surprised at the direction this conversation had taken.
I held up a hand and nodded at Dolores to continue.
"A lot of our members are your loyal readers and we needed a guest speaker for the service this weekend. It's nothing formal. But we would be so honored to have you."
I studied her face for a few seconds, the hope and earnestness shining bright in her eyes.
"Get in touch with my agent again, Dolores," I told her. "I'll give her your name and let her know to expect your call. I'd love to see your church and meet up."
She looked like she had just won the lottery and thanked me about a dozen times before finally moving away, the napkin still clutched to her chest.
"I don't believe this," Jennifer muttered and stared at me as if I was mad. "How do you even know she was telling the truth? She could be a crazed fan, looking to abduct you or something."
I laughed a little at that. "Jennifer. She's legit. I can just tell. And I don't have crazed fans."
My girlfriend shook her head at me slowly. "See this is why we need that assistant. To intercept weirdos like her."
That made me frown at her in reproach. "My family follows that same religion. Have some respect," I snapped.
Jennifer immediately looked contrite. "Baby, I was just concerned about her true intentions. I didn't mean to make fun of her faith." She paused and added, "Or your family's."
I sipped my wine to prevent myself from berating her any further on the subject. I was already over this conversation. Over this dinner. I just wanted to go home and write.
"I'm sorry, Jude," Jen said again and her hand reached out to caress my fist. "I do respect your decisions. I just...I really think you shouldn't mix religion with your career."
I retrieved my hand from under hers and my lips thinned at her ignorance. Okay, maybe she didn't tick all the boxes after all. Because she didn't get it.
"It's not even about mixing the two. She loved my perspective on Christianity and asked me very nicely if I could come to their church in person. Meet some of my Christian readers. What is so wrong about that?"
Jennifer stayed quiet. She was from a Christian background too but she didn't really take her religious beliefs seriously. It was more about appearance and pleasing her family for her. I didn't care. As long as she didn't try to belittle others for it.
"I'm really sorry," she murmured once more but I was hardly listening. I was back in the ocean again. Back out there in the stormy night, trying to figure out how the protagonist in my head was going to survive the fight against Mother Nature.
Chapter 3
Wynter
I was sitting on the floor of a public library, crying, crying because this man had reduced me to tears with his words. I mean, people said, ‘it’s just a book’ but it wasn’t just a book for me. It was the ability to rip apart someone’s soul simply by putting words on paper. I had read a lot of novels in my life but so far, nobody’s writing had moved me to tears to such an extent.
Sometimes, it felt like the author wasn’t just telling a story but sharing a part of himself through this fictional world he had created. And each and every revelation ensnared me until it was all I could think about. All I could feel.
It was a Saturday, the day after my ordeal with Noah. I had come home last night to find cops on my doorstep, talking to my mother because she had panicked when she hadn’t been able to find me at home or get in touch with me. Normally, you had to wait at least 24 hours to file a missing person’s report but since this was a small town and everyone knew everyone else, the police had decided to help.
She’d been livid when she’d seen me appear, apparently unharmed and wearing some boy’s clothes. Naturally, she had jumped to the conclusion that I’d been off enjoying myself and not at all worried that my mother might be going crazy.
I'd wanted to tell her what happened but Joshua was standing right behind her, his entire stance and expression full of menace as he dared me to open my mouth. I'd gone to bed after receiving a long lecture and when I'd asked her why she hadn't replied to my texts, she told me that she knew I had a history of being dramatic and she had tried calling me back but my phone had been switched off.
My phone was ruined actually after so much rain had gotten in and so was my mattress so I had to sleep on the floor of my room with the door locked because I didn't want to risk sleeping on the couch with Joshua the animal lurking about.
All night I kept trying not to think about what had happened at Noah's place, tried to shut it all out because who wanted to remember such moments, anyway? I wished I could get back at him somehow but there really was nothing I could do about it. I'd made the mistake of trusting that guy and now I was suffering for it.
Dragging myself back to the present, I wiped my tears, got to my feet and walked all the way to the front of the library to check out the latest two books I had borrowed. Both by J. R. Knight. The writer whose words I was slowly falling in love with.
I'd already finished the book I'd taken from Noah's house, flown through it actually. I couldn't get enough, couldn't stop. It was like an addiction.
When I reached home that afternoon, I went straight to my room to look up J. R. Knight on my laptop, consumed with a burning curiosity to find out who this man was. Due to my phone being ruined and me losing myself in his stories all day, I hadn't been able to do much stalking online.
Finally, I had a chance to see the person behind the words and it was kind of thrilling. His bio had no photo on the dust jacket and only said:
J. R. Knight published his first novel, ‘Mercy's End’ (which became an international best-seller) after graduating from Yale Law School. He is now in his thirties and lives in Atlanta, Georgia.
I needed more than that. I needed to maybe write to him and tell him just how much his one book had impacted me emotionally. How it had made me feel and think deeply about things I normally overlooked.
Hundreds of results popped up on Google and I was lost for a moment. I clicked on the first article I saw. There was a picture with the same brief bio and a list of his published books.
My eyes were glued to his photo. I couldn't stop gazing at it for a long minute. He had angular features and a strong jaw line, piercing bright, blue eyes and jet-black hair. It was a handsome and intelligent face, which was definitely interesting but it was the stubbornness of his mouth that held my attention for several seconds longer.
So this was what he looked like. J. R. Knight.
"Who are you really though?" I murmured thoughtfully and then went on a clicking frenzy for the next twenty minutes.
He didn't have many pictures of himself but I managed to find some and saved all of them. No smiling photos except for one where he was receiving some kind of award for one of his books. He wore a suit in that one and it molded his long, lean body to perfection.
Well, as perfect as a picture could get. But I wanted to know the man.
There were thousands of followers on his Facebook page, Instagram and Twitter. Disappointment flickered through me when I realized there was no chance of ever interacting with him personally. I'd never get through. Any fan mail of mine would just get lost in a mountain of others.
Mom and Joshua were both going to come home late today so I didn't have much to do and strode inside the kitchen to get myself a snack. Then I sat at the table and continued reading the emotional roller coaster of a book I had started in the library. Twenty pages later, I was overwhelmed with just how good his writing style was and was kicking myself for not having read any of his work before.
"Why do you live so far away?" I mumbled as I flipped a page.
This novel was titled The Darkest Storm and there were some very emotional scenes in it which frankly gutted me. It was about a mentally-ill man who tried so hard to fit in and found rejection everywhere just because he was different. And when he eventually did find someone he thought he could connect with, she betrayed him and took their child away as well. He tried to convince people he wasn't dangerous and it was true but nobody believed him. Onl
y the reader could tell he was truthful and to go through the scenes where nobody else understood his pain made me close the book for a minute and rub my eyes.
I had to get up and take a breather before I went back in my room and typed up a message, sort of like a letter, to send to him if I ever got a chance.
For a long time, I sat there looking at the screen and thinking how pathetic I was. As if these authors cared. He was so out of my reach and every message from a reader must sound the same to him. Why would this one stand out?
Because it feels like you know him, Wynnie. It feels like he is writing just for you. Like his words are bleeding from his very soul and calling out to yours.
I ran a hand through my hair and glanced at the time on the taskbar. It was getting late and I was here wasting my energy so I went and took a shower before deciding to study for a bit.
Mom came home and poked her head through the door, saw me engrossed in my schoolwork and murmured a quick greeting, saying she was going to order pizza for dinner.
I barely heard her. But I did hear the rumbling sound of a truck coming up my driveway and immediately got up to lock my bedroom door before going to curl up in bed with J. R's novel.
An hour later, when my mother yelled for me to come and have dinner, I told her I was studying and to just save me some for later. I didn't want to sit across from Joshua at that table and endure his leering when my mother's back was turned. The snacks I had eaten would do for now until they both went to bed and I could sneak into the kitchen quickly.
It was depressing, feeling so unsafe in my own home. Burrowing even further under the covers, I breathed in the scent of his book, my lips curving ever so slightly. Who would have thought something made from a fallen tree would bring me so much comfort?
I woke up to find the room bathed in darkness and felt a hand groping one of my breasts. There was someone in bed with me and another hand quickly clamped over my mouth as he breathed, "Don't make a sound, Wynnie, or you and I both know what I'm going to do to your Mom."
Girl Obsessed: A Dark Romance Page 2
