Daddy walked in when they stopped being polite.
“Dirty whores!”
I’m a dirty whore, just like my dad said I’d be.
Dirty, godless whore, stuck between the life I wish I could have and the one I deserve.
“Of course you know her. Isn’t your brother fucking her boss?” Benny’s laugh is as degrading as his words.
Wilder’s smirk changes into a full smile and he straightens the tie at his neck. “Is your driver out there, Megan?”
Shame burns my cheeks, but I bite down hard to keep the prickling in my eyes from swelling over. I want to scrape that name from his tongue and wash it out of his mouth with scalding hot water and soap.
“Yes,” I force out.
“You better go.”
Wilder nods toward the elevator, and Benny follows him inside, too stupid to realize he’s marched right into a trap. The last thing I see before the doors seal shut is Wilder grabbing Cros by the front of his shirt and shoving him against the elevator wall.
I release a shaky breath and dig deep for the courage to put one foot in front of the other. But courage doesn’t want to have anything to do with me after the humiliation I suffered, and before I’ve taken a single step in any direction but here, I crash into an innocent bystander and use his head as target practice.
“Dammit,” I groan, palming the bump forming above my eyebrow, dropping my purse.
My victim, a sandy-haired twentysomething with black-rimmed glasses, quickly bends down to pick up my belongings. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Not your fault. I’m afraid you’re another casualty brought on by my string of bad luck today.”
He stands upright and hands me the purse. “Did you see those guys fighting in the elevator?”
“No, I didn’t see a thing,” I reply dismissively. If it were not right in front of us, I’d say,what elevator?“But thanks for your help. Have a good one.”
“Wait.” The man holds his hand up like a stop sign. Dressed in jeans, a pocketed plain white T-shirt, and tobacco leather boots, he’s more likely to work at a gluten-free dessert booth at the farmers’ market than in an office setting like this one. “I’m Adam, and you are?”
“I’m going to miss my ride. Thanks again.”
Lydia comes home later that afternoon to find me laid out on the rock-hard couch, drowning my sorrows in mindless reality TV. She drops her purse off on the kitchen table and starts flipping on lights.
“Camilla, get up, we’re having company for dinner.” Smoke follows her from the kitchen to the living room as she blows out my candles one by one. “What’s with the candles? What’s wrong?”
I eat my feelings straight out of the Nutella jar while buried under a heavy blanket I dragged from my bed. “I had a bad day at work.”
In one swift motion, Lydia draws open the drapes over the window. Dust particles float in plumes of diminishing smoke, lit up by the kitchen lights.
“Now what?” she asks, exasperated.
“I ran into Wilder at Benny Cros’ office.”
Period. Deadpan. No emoji.
She confiscates the jar of hazelnut spread and pulls the duvet from my body like a bandage. Lydia’s unmoved by my state of undress, so I don’t bother to explain my inability to clothe myself beyond a pair of cotton underwear and bra after I scrubbed Cros from my skin earlier.
“Lydia, I was humiliated. I didn’t have any underwear on because they were drenched in Benny’s saliva, and then Wilder choked him.”
“How did Wilder know you didn’t have underwear on, Camilla?” With the container of Nutella balanced in one hand, she slaps my thigh three times softly with the other, indicating that it’s time for me to get up.
The way I blushed when she said his name was a dead giveaway, she said this morning at the coffee shop. I’m transparent, and he’s hellish. She warned me good pussy makes maniacs out of men, and Wilder Ridge is no exception.
“He didn’t.” I push myself into a sitting position with the hint of sugar and chocolate on my lips. “Benny said something about you and Talent, but obviously, Wilder knew why I was there. He called me Megan.”
