Saturday morning I wake to nothing but my alarm. No calls. No door buzzer. No text messages. It’s uncomfortable, the eye of calm taunting me with the promise of very bad things to follow. I check my phone just to be safe, but there are no messages. There is nothing.
Once I’m awake I actually relish the feeling of nothingness, avoiding the drawer with the necklace and the note cards in it in favor of simply enjoying my coffee and reading a chapter from the book that I haven’t touched in a week. I enjoy this escape so much that it’s a struggle for me to force myself to slide my letter opener/bookmark behind a page to mark my spot.
An hour later I’m at work, well before Jack. I’ve agreed to open and take the early shift to allow my earlier departure at five since I’ll be attending Jess’s awards ceremony. Jack joins me midmorning with the intent of staying for the late-Saturday closing hour of seven.
When I depart for the day, it’s with another offer thrown in Jack’s direction. “You sure you don’t want to go with me? It doesn’t take you long to get ready, and we can be a little late.”
“Not a chance,” he says. “When we close, I’m going to go up to the records room, crank up the music, order dinner, and catch up on all our paperwork and inventory. Me and this place, with no one but a security guard as my unseen and unheard companion, is a sweet spot I haven’t felt in a long time.”
We are two pieces of the same puzzle, this man and me, and he doesn’t have to explain the joy in his words. I understand them with every piece of who I am. Our friendship was kismet, no doubt about it.
I leave the library, actually feeling a little jealous that he will remain here, secluded from the world, as he loses himself in his love of the library and all the books that line the shelves.
I am no longer the me I know, I think, and not for the first time.
This is my first thought as I stand at the mirror, staring at my reflection in the gorgeous fuchsia dress and sparkling shoes, having a bit of an out-of-body experience. Of course the dress and shoes are stunning, but the girl, the woman, wearing them has my hair, my eyes, and my body—it’s just all arranged differently these days. It’s who I am beneath all those changes, and tonight’s glam and glitter, that I question. I do believe some part of me always felt that if I looked more like Jess, I’d be more like her. That felt so far from possible I didn’t even try. But now, looking at myself in the mirror, I am the closest I will ever be to my version of her, and while I do feel different about me, I’m still not sure it’s in a good way.
My phone buzzes with a text message, and I grab it from my nightstand to find a message from Jess: Me and the limo are about three minutes out.
That’s my cue that my time is up. I walk into the bathroom, where the velvet box sits, and open the lid, and as I had when I opened it, I barely glance at the necklace as I lift it and attach it around my neck. It falls just above my cleavage, a platinum round diamond pendant that glistens in the light with the clarity of the stones. It’s stunning, and yet every place it touches me, my skin crawls with the idea that Adam will be looking for it and watching me tonight.
I glance down at the cards he’d insisted I keep close. He wanted me to read them again, but I refuse to be transported back to the moment Kevin was rendered extinct. I close the lid down hard, sealing them inside the box, and then set it aside.
Jess left me a collection of evening bags to choose from, and I walk to the bed and pick up what Jess informed me is a classic Jimmy Choo black velvet Bon Bon bag. I have no idea what is classic or not classic. I chose it because my letter opener, bookmark, and potential weapon, per Kara, fits inside. A smart accessory for someone being stalked by a stranger who has proven his willingness to kill not once, but twice.
Chapter Eighty-Five
The limo is white. Jess’s dress is black lace with a flesh-color, skintight full-bodied slip underneath it. Chanel, of course.
“It had to be Chanel,” she purrs. “You know how I adore Chanel. And you, my dear, look gorgeous.” Her eyes catch on my necklace. “Oh my. That’s new, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I say, and when I’d be forced to say the devil’s name, Adam, I’m saved by my phone buzzing with a text, though I’m not sure it’s really a save if Adam is the person contacting me.
Steeling myself for the worst, I withdraw my phone from my velvet purse and read the message from my father: Can you come for brunch tomorrow, baby girl?
Welcoming the chance to talk to him about Big Davis, I quickly reply with: I wouldn’t miss it for the world.
“My father,” I say. “He wants me to come to brunch tomorrow. Maybe I can talk some sense into him then.”
“A little late for that now,” she murmurs. “But maybe you can prepare him for the worst.”
My brows knit together. “What does that mean?”
She twists around to face me. “Wait. You don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“Oh, Mia, I’m sorry.” She grabs my hand and squeezes. “I assumed he told you, and you just didn’t want to talk about it today, after Akia and all. He signed the contract. Every attorney involved swears there is verbiage in the contract to protect your father.”
“But?” I ask, sensing that’s where she’s going.
“I heard through a press contact Big Davis always puts an image clause in tiny print buried in a weird place in every contract. If your father hurts his image, the deal will be edited, and done so in Big Davis’s favor. So after I found out about this, I asked Nick to look for it. Mia, it’s there. Your father signed it with that clause in the contract, and I swear I blame myself. Not one of the attorneys I recommended did their damn jobs.”
“I don’t understand why he did this,” I say, dread for my father’s future humiliation on national television filling me. “He knows what Big Davis did to him in the past.”
The car pulls up to our destination, and Jess says, “It’s like you’ve said in the past. Humans radiate toward habit and what they know. Your father obviously sees the familiar just like you do. A security blanket. All we can do now is prep him for his television presentation and pray he conquers it.” The doors to either side of the limo open, and it’s a good thing they do.
My defense mechanism over my father rears its ugly head. My father does not need a security blanket. He was just trying to get the most money for his family. My angry words are blotted out by the activity that consumes us the minute we’re out of the car. There is a literal red carpet to walk, with cameras flashing here and there. Jess catches my hand and leads me along with her, forcing me to pose with her, smile with her.
In what feels like a million years later, we are led into a pre-event room, with twinkling diamond chandeliers above us, ice sculptures, and expensive art adorning the walls. We’re both handed champagne and instructed by a man in a tuxedo to enjoy the random tables of delicious food. Jess is instantly pulled away, and I walk to the cake table, and it’s with white cake in my mouth that I almost choke on a memory. I toss my plate in the trash as Adam’s words come back to me: “You mean you were waiting on your security blanket to return. You do like your security blankets. That’s becoming a problem for me, or, more importantly, you.”
How does he know everything, even what my friends say to me? How?
I wonder if he’s approached Jess and Jack, acting like a stranger, prodding them to talk, or if he simply hacked their electronics. I hug myself, aware that he is here, somewhere in this crowd, even if it’s simply by way of the cameras he’s using to spy on me—and, really, everyone here.
“Time to sit,” Jess says, appearing by my side. “The ceremony is going to start.”