Page 96 of Fake Out Hearts

BECCA: It’s okay, I understand. But I wish you could too. I’m scared.

THEO: It’ll be fine. He’s the best of the best. But don’t forget to call the car service to confirm your ride. I don’t want you out there alone.

I’ve been so wrapped up in my misery that I completely forgot about needing to make that call. Before he left, Theo arranged for a private driver to pick me up for the lawyer meeting so I wouldn’t have to drive and, hopefully, could avoid being spotted in public. It’s normal to see a lawyer in these cases, but Theo thought the press might have a field day with it if they found out, so he wants to keep it hush-hush.

I don’t blame him.

BECCA: Shit, I did forget. I’ll call them now.

THEO: Good luck. Let me know how it goes.

BECCA: You’ll be the first person I tell.

I scroll back up in our text thread for the driving service’s number and tap to call them. Thankfully, they were expecting my call so me forgetting isn’t a problem. They tell me the driver will be in the garage waiting for me within the next twentyminutes, barely giving me time to get ready. The perks of being married to a wealthy, well known hockey player!

I feed Milo and make sure he has fresh water before hurrying to my room to rummage around for something business professional to wear to the meeting. True to their word, a driver is already in the garage waiting for me, and they wordlessly step out of the car to open and close the door for me. I never would’ve imagined I’d be the kind of girl to get private service like this.

The car itself is immaculate, both in its amenities and presentation. It feels like something a Hollywood diva should be driving around in, not a “trashy dancer” like me. I try not to focus too much on the tabloid headlines on the drive to the lawyer’s office, but this story is all I can think about anymore. My eyes are burning from lack of sleep and my lids feel heavy, but I have to keep it together for this meeting.

The lawyer, Eric Botti, is all business when I enter the office. He’s older, probably mid-fifties, with salt-streaked black hair. And judging from the deep lines on his face behind his thick glasses, he’s seen enough in his day to make anyone blush. That’s probably exactly the kind of guy I want working on a case like this, but his appearance only makes me worry more. He strides out to shake my head and welcomes me into his private office.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Summers. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances,” he says as I sit down on the opposite side of his desk.

“That makes two of us. Thank you for meeting on such short notice, Mr. Botti.”

“Please, call me Eric.” He rests his forearms on the desk and joins his hands. “I’ll cut right to the chase here. I don’t like beating around the bush. I’ve reviewed everything you and Mr. Camden provided, as well as the TV episode in question, and there aren’t a lot of clear-cut options.”

“That’s the exact opposite of what I wanted to hear,” I say, although I’m not surprised. Shawn’s an asshole, but he’s smart, and he’ll have had his own lawyers comb through every piece of footage before anything airs to make sure it’s sound.

Eric nods. “I understand. The thing is, you signed a very restrictive contract with Mr. Kaplan, one that basically gives him free rein to use whatever footage the production captured—including the less-than-flattering bits. There’s even a clause that says the producers are allowed to edit the footage however they want.”

“So, what? You’re telling me I’m screwed?”

Eric chuckles wryly. “Not completely. Depending on what Mr. Kaplan decides to do next, or how far he takes things, there might be some avenues we could explore legally. But as of now, my hands are tied. There isn’t anything I can do to get the episode taken down or scrubbed. I’m sorry.”

“Well, thanks for the time and attempt,” I murmur and stand from the desk, feeling utterly defeated.

Eric walks me out of the office, and I get back in the elevator I took up to him. The doors close, and they feel like a perfect representation of the walls closing in on me. I’m a world away from Shawn, but I’m still under his thumb, just like always.

I don’t know how I let this happen. I’m smarter than this. But I was so desperate to make a relationship work, to not repeat the mistakes of my mother, that I stayed in a totally toxic situation and let him walk all over me. I see just how toxic it was now, but it’s too late. Clarity won’t buy my freedom, and at this point, I’m not sure anything can.

By the time the elevator reaches the ground floor, my head is so far off my shoulders that I feel like I left it in Eric’s office. Everything is swimming, and I feel like I’m going to be sick again when I step out of the elevator. I stop and lean against the wallby the exit to steady myself while I fish for my phone in my pocket to tell Theo what happened.

BECCA: Botti said

But as I’m typing, my eyes flutter and the world goes dim.

Somewhere in the distance, I hear my phone clatter against the marble flooring of the foyer as it rushes up to meet me.

A man’s indistinct, muffled voice mixes with a steady beeping sound, pulling me up from the thick haze I’m under.

Everything is so heavy, dark, and slow, like I’m underwater.

“Where is she? Where is my wife?!”

The words cut through the dense fog.

Theo. It’s Theo. But where is he? And where am I?

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