Peter walked into the room almost as soon as the nurse left, and his eyes went straight to the boot. “Jesus,” he said. “I was hoping this was just a shitty excuse. You actually sprained your ankle at three in the morning bad enough to need all this?”
“Technically, it was probably more like a quarter till four. And technically, the ground sprained the ankle, not me.”
I’d read in a book once that a character had “storm clouds over his eyes” and I’d always thought that was a nonsensical description. But as I looked at the way Peter was glaring down at me, I thought I finally understood. Storm clouds were frightening because they carried the promise of lightning—-of an explosion. They came without warning, and they blotted out the sun. They filled your world with chaos and violent power that made you want nothing more than to find shelter.
Peter Barnidge didn’t have storm clouds over his eyes, he was the storm cloud, and every time I tested his patience, I was testing my luck against the possibility of an electric explosion.
“Sorry,” I said when he didn’t respond. For once, I figured I’d tested fate enough for one day, and I didn’t need to add pissing Peter off to the list. “They’ve got me on painkillers. I feel a little loopy.”
Peter yanked the chart out from the foot of my bed and scanned it. “Two doses of aspirin makes you loopy?” he asked.
I winced. Maybe the wisest course of action would be to stop talking, because I couldn’t seem to spit out a sentence that didn’t make me look like an idiot in front of him.
He dropped the chart back into place with a clang that made me flinch. “We haven’t even finished your paperwork, so if this was some ploy to get workers compensation out of me, you should’ve waited a few more days. I’ll see you at the office, unless you’re ready to quit, that is.”
“What?” I asked. All the embarrassment I felt around him was blasted away by a rush of indignation. “What kind of person do you think I am, exactly?”
“Apparently you’re the kind of person who doesn’t mind making up ridiculous stories. You were ‘practicing tennis’ at three in the morning? By yourself? And why were you running around with your racquet on the ground in the first place?”
I lowered my eyes, suddenly wishing I’d just made up a plausible story instead of editing Zoey out of the true one. I hadn’t even stopped to think how unbelievable it would sound. “That’s what happened.”
He moved closer to my bed and looked down at my leg. His expression softened, and then he looked at my chart again, glanced at me, and then set the chart down. “Wait there. I’ll be right back.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Believe it or not, I wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”
I heard Peter’s voice rumbling through the wall a few seconds later, followed by a woman’s voice. It sounded like he cut her off, and he sounded pissed. A few seconds later, he stuck his head back in my room. “I expect you back at work. Soon.”
He was gone before I even had a chance to reply.
“I hate you too,” I muttered.
A nurse came into the room with a little paper cup of pills and some water. Her face was red and she didn’t say a word as she handed them to me.
“What’s this?” I asked.
From the way she looked at me, she must’ve thought I was playing dumb. “Something fucking stronger than two fucking aspirin. At least, I’m pretty sure those were your boyfriend’s words.”
“He’s not my…” The nurse didn’t wait for me to finish.
I looked down at the pills. Is that what the yelling in the hallway was about? Peter was worried they didn’t give me strong enough pain medication? Was he thinking about me, or was he just concerned with getting me back to work sooner?
I squinted at the pills one more time. Or was he trying to poison me.
Eventually, I decided my ankle did hurt like hell, and despite his bad temper, Peter didn’t strike me as a murderer. Or, at the very least, I thought if he was going to murder me, he’d enjoy using his bare hands more than poison.
But Peter also didn’t strike me as the kind of person who would be worried about my pain levels.
I tipped the pills back in my mouth and swallowed them down, deciding I could puzzle out Peter’s twisted mind some other time.
6
Peter
I’d been an ass. I knew I had, and despite what Violet probably assumed, I was a human and I was capable of emotion. I just couldn’t seem to stop myself from lashing out when I was around her. So when she came to the office a few hours after I’d seen her in the hospital, I made my way to where I’d had her desk set up—-on the opposite end of the room from Derrick’s. I knew I needed to apologize, at least in some capacity.
She was leaning on one crutch while she unpacked some supplies from a bag she’d brought in. When she saw me coming, I saw her jaw flex, but she gave no other sign of noticing me, even when I moved to stand right in front of her.
“I was hard on you this morning.” I practically had to choke the words out. They were about as close to an apology as reality TV was to reality, but it was all I could seem to manage.
She looked up and waited, as if she was expecting more. The defiance in her expression made me angry all over again, and it wasn’t because I didn’t like what I saw. It made me angry because I liked her spark. And so the paradoxical battle continued. The more she made me like her, the more pissed I got at her for making me like her, and the more I wanted to lash out and push her away.
I saw a lot of myself in her. She was driven. She couldn’t give a shit about consequences when it came to going after what she wanted. I just knew whatever she wanted had to be my undoing. I’d given her every reason in the world to hate me, and I would’ve been a fool to think she wasn’t planning some sort of payback.
“Make sure your crutches don’t get in anyone’s way,” I said. I turned to leave, then paused. I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth, and turned back. I’d walked over here to apologize, but I had only ended up being even more of an ass. I needed to just suck it up and give her a real apology. She didn’t deserve the way I was treating her just because I had a fucked up past. I opened my mouth to speak, but snapped it shut when I saw who had just walked out of the elevator. It was my little brother, Harry.
As usual, his arrival grabbed everyone’s attention. He was a few years younger than me, and I often thought he was what I’d be if Kristen had never been in my life. He was carefree, good looking, and successful. He worked as my agent, which had ended up catapulting him into a position where he managed some of the biggest authors in the world and had an entire company and staff working beneath him.
Harry walked straight toward me. He smiled at Violet and extended his hand. “Harry Barnidge. I’m glad my brother was sensible enough to hire you. How are you liking it here in Satan’s office?.”
She took his hand and shook it with a grin. “Satan might be a stretch. But it’s only my second day, so I guess the jury is still out.”
I felt my blood pressure rising again. Just seeing his hand enveloping hers and watching the way she smiled up at him made me want to hit something. Fuck. I’d never been the jealous type, not even with Kristen. I could hardly stand to see Violet even make eye contact with anyone. It was pathetic.
He gave a sympathetic smile. “I’m surprised you lasted that long. Did Peter do that to you?” Harry was looking at the boot on her foot.
“That’s not even funny to joke about,” I said.
“It was just a stupid accident,” Violet said, but she turned her attention almost immediately back to Harry. “So, do you work here?”
I could imagine what was going through her head as she looked up at my brother. It would be the same thing that went through the thoughts of most women who met him. They liked him, just like they had liked me before Kristen poisoned me from the inside. Before she’d taught me to be a cynical, abrasive asshole. They wondered if he was single, or if they’d have a chance of scoring a date with him.
“There’s a convention this weekend,” I said quickly. I spoke partly out of a need to peel her eyes away from him, even if it was just for a few seconds. “I need you to come with me.”
“I’m all booked up this weekend,” Harry said.
“No. I mean Violet.”
“What?” She was finally looking at me again, and I could feel myself relax, at least a little. “I’m your marketing consultant. Why would you need me to come with you to a convention?”
“Yeah,” Harry asked. The grin on his face told me he knew exactly what I was thinking. “Why, Peter? Maybe you can explain for us.”
“Because I need to have you available.” My brain was racing to keep up with my mouth. “I have some ideas for a marketing campaign, and I wanted to bounce them off you.”
“It’s Tuesday,” Violet said slowly. “You could bounce them off me sometime between today and Friday, couldn’t you?”
Harry’s grin widened. The little shit was enjoying this.
“No. I’m going to be out of town until Friday. Harry,” I said quickly. “I need to see you in my office.”
I stormed away from Violet’s desk, wondering where the hell I was going to until Friday, and how I was going to make sure my work still got finished with me out of the office.
Once we were in my office, Harry laughed. “Really?” he asked. “It’s good to see you’re interested in women again, but that was pathetic. If I had to give it a flavor, I’d call it ‘pre-pubescent with a raging boner and irrational jealousy issues.’ Definitely not the one I would’ve opened with.”
“And I’m not surprised you’re imagining my dick.” I sighed, sinking down into the chair behind my desk. “Was it that obvious?”
“Is it obvious that you’re a complete and total prick?”
“I choose not to answer that question.”
Harry nodded. “That’s because you’re a prick. Look, you’re my brother, and I’m stuck with you. So it’s in my best interest to keep you happy, because, as I mentioned, I’m stuck with you.”
“You forgot to mention that being stuck with me has turned you into a very rich man.”
“Details are irrelevant. What matters is that you’ve been throwing the world’s loneliest, most depressing pity party for yourself for years. What has it been, seven, eight years since Kristen broke up with you?”
“Two years. And I broke up with her. Because she stole my fucking book, or did you leave that detail out on purpose?”
“This is coming from the guy who writes a new book like every two months. You’ll get over it. Well,” Harry chuckled at what he’d just said. “Actually, if the past ten years of your pity party are any indication, I guess you won’t.”
“Two years. And it’s not about getting over anything. Kristen can go fuck herself, for all I care. It’s about not making the same mistake twice.” I didn’t mention the fact that it wasn’t just any book. It wasn’t my latest non-fiction piece. The book she’d taken had been the thriller novel I’d secretly written in what little spare time I had. I’d spent years writing trying to perfect that book, and Kristen knew it. She stole the one fucking thing that had meant something to me, and then she slapped her name on it and showed it to the world. Words couldn’t even begin to describe how alien it felt to wish my own book failed just to spite her. I still wanted to break something when I thought about how thoroughly she’d played me, even going as far as tricking me into signing the rights away. I’d been a complete and utter idiot. A blind idiot, and all because I thought I was in love.
I knew better now. Love was just a psychological state—-not unlike a kind of psychosis. Love was a temporary suspension of belief, like a willing submersion into an alternate reality where facts aren’t as important as feelings. It was a place where people decided to ignore their instincts and their good sense because trust was more important than reality. Love was a fucking lie, and I’d never let myself fall for it again.
“Yeah. You’re clearly over it. I can tell from the way you look like you want to rip my jugular out with your teeth and spit it in the trash can.”
I sighed. “Does it matter if I’m over it? I very successfully ignore it on a daily basis, unless my idiot of a brother rubs it in my face. Will you accept that?”
“I just don’t get it. Kristen screwed you over, sure. But do you really think this new girl you’re hot for is going to steal your manuscript and publish it under her own name, too? I’ve got to imagine that particular brand of evil is at least a little uncommon.”
“Like you said. The details are irrelevant. The mistake I made with Kristen was trusting her. If I trust Violet, she’ll find a way to fuck me, too.”
Harry grinned. “Don’t worry. I doubt she’s interested in fucking you.”
I sighed. “I didn’t—-forget it. Was there a reason you came here instead of just emailing me?”
“Yes, actually. You know that convention you just invited your new crush to? Kristen is going to be there. I wanted to tell you in person since I figured you wouldn’t want to go anymore. But clearly that ship has sailed, unless you want to go take back your offer to the pretty new girl?”
My fingers dug into the armrests of my chair. “Did she write a new book?” I couldn’t even decide how that possibility made me feel. On the one hand, I wanted to watch her try to do it herself and fail—-to see how quickly her “fans” would spot her as a fraud and expose her. On the other, I was terrified she’d somehow manage to pull it off. What would that say about my book if she was able to write its sequel without anyone realizing she hadn’t written a word of the original?
Harry scoffed. “No. She’s still milking that cash cow she stole from you. Signing autographs, that sort of thing. Oh, and she’s supposed to be giving some kind of talk on how to structure a best-seller. Did you want me to get you tickets, or…?”
“And you say I’m the asshole.” I was careful to keep the sense of irrational panic I felt churning in my chest suppressed. I didn’t want Harry—-or anyone, for that matter—-to know how much it still hurt that Kristen was parading my book around as her own. The fact that it had gone global with its success was just the icing on the cake.
There were few things in this world more personal than a book. My brother didn’t understand, but whether I spent two months or two years writing a book, it was as much a part of me as my arms or legs. It was borne out of me, a product of labor and love and more hard work and determination than Harry could ever comprehend. But in the end, the result was worth it. I would have something to be proud of and something to share with my fans. It was the finish line I had to keep visualizing every time I wanted to click my laptop shut and quit.
Writing a thriller had been the hardest thing I’d ever done, at least until I had to watch three newscasters on national TV rave about my book while Kristen sat beside them smiling proudly. They showered the praise on her and she ate it up. Within days, the book was a national bestseller. It was everything I wanted it to be, but she’d taken it from me, and because I’d been dumb enough to think I loved her, I had helped her make sure I couldn’t do a damn thing to stop her.
“I’m only an asshole to you because it’s the only language you speak,” Harry said. “Douchebag. A northern dialect of douchebag, I believe.”
I grinned. “Get the fuck out of my office. And good job with all that foreign translation stuff you landed out East, by the way.”
“Fuck you too.” He reached across the desk and punched my shoulder. “Be nice to that new girl. You deserve to be happy every once in a while. Keep pushing her away, and we both know what’ll happen. But hey, if you wipe the prick off your face, who knows?”
“Thanks for the advice. Now stop leaning your elbow on my stuff.” I reached to slide the stack of papers back where it had been before he’d nearly knocked it over.
“Think about it,” he called o
ver his shoulder as he left.
“I won’t.” I wished I wasn’t lying out of my ass. The truth was that Violet had been on my mind way more than she had any right to. I thought about the way she glared up at me with so much defiance and fire, or how she managed to make the most conservative clothes look distractingly provocative. Most of all, I wished I knew if she was special, or if I’d just deprived myself of some biological impulse to date and pursue sex for too long. Maybe my internal clock had reached the final hour, and Violet was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Whatever it was, I needed to get it under control, and fast. Of course, that would’ve been a hell of a lot easier if I hadn’t just invited the woman to spend the coming weekend with me.
7
Violet
On Thursday, Lilith brought pizza over to my house and ice cream for after. It was our Disney Princess movie night, and Zoey spent all week looking forward to it. Lilith had tried to play it off like she only agreed to join our tradition because she was trying to be a good friend, but she already knew all the words to all the songs.
Zoey had been battling some kind of sinus-related, boogery illness for the past two days. It was probably something she picked up from my mom, who had only recently recovered herself. When Zoey fell asleep like a log only ten minutes into our movie, I had a hunch that she was down for the count, and grateful that she was getting some much-needed sleep.
Lilith turned the volume down on the movie and looked over to me. “She’s out?”
“Yeah,” I said. I let out a long sigh. I’d been holding it in for what felt like all day. Peter had been out of the office since Wednesday, but I knew he’d be back in time for the convention this weekend.
Her Secret Page 5