Page 32 of Chandelier Enthralled
My throat tightened at the knowledge that interest in me had gone that far up the chain of command.
“Jewel Delany,” he said. “She’s one of the most influential women in news. You know that, right?”
“Right.” I straightened my skirt, trying to hide the fact I had no idea.
Oh, God.When she’d asked me about nepotism, I’d thankfully not answered, considering she was born into the Delany family.
I did it!
I felt exhilarated. I’d just proven that my move to L.A. was meant to be.
We left the conference room, and he led me back along the hallway, and this time I viewed the activity on the floor with the perspective of a person who would be working here.
“How are you going to celebrate?” asked Joe, as I stepped into the elevator.
The doors closed before I could answer the question. I was left standing alone, waiting to descend.
Not sharing that I’d just gotten hired at Pulse360 was going to be a challenge considering I was heading back to the grand interrogator himself. Cameron would have a thousand questions and could read me like a book.
Then, as I left the main foyer and stepped out onto the sidewalk, I remembered his bodyguards had followed me.
Damn it.
Being related to Cameron meant my secrets were rarely hidden for long.
My head was split in two—or that’s how it felt.
I’ll never drink again.
I’d left Cameron’s and within minutes of getting home, I’d dived headfirst into my bar, imbibing too much whiskey as I tried to drown these feelings of overwhelming dread.
I’d woken up with a hangover, disoriented for a minute before realizing I was home in the Hollywood Hills, lying on a king-sized bed, wearing a robe with nothing on underneath. It was the only place I could go where the world couldn’t reach me, but the ghosts raged inside me ever louder.
Behind the shut blinds, dawn’s garish light screamed at me to get up.
When Amelia had visited weeks ago, she had again asked why I’d not modernized the rest of the house like I had the kitchen. I hadn’t wanted to share the reason because my childhood memories were too thin and fading.
Through the labyrinthine corridors, secrets lingered in the places where everyone had once gathered—the Oscar winning actors and writers and producers. This manor, once a playground of the elite, now stood as a testament to the darkest depths of neglect.
Behind the glitz and glamour of Hollywood’s facade lurked the gritty truth—a child had been abandoned here. This place was frozen in time, displaying relics of the golden age of glamour.
My simple bedroom was the least ostentatious. But even here I felt the loneliness of the mansion bearing down on me.
A male voice shattered the silence, calling out my name.
How did he get in?
Then I remembered I’d given Atticus a key. Facing him in this state would be a nightmare.
I could always leap out the window.
He’d no doubt have that same look when he visited, showing his disquiet that I still lived here. Because I was an architect who could create a visionary sanctuary that I loved instead of staying in a place filled with tortured memories.
Atticus leaned against the doorframe. “I was going to kill you, but I can see you’ve opted for alcohol poisoning.”
Our friendship was cracked; unable to hold its center.
“You look like shit.” His voice sounded strangely comforting.
