Page 90 of Fight Or Flight

“I guess I just didn’t realize that things had changed so much for me. I’ve never had a great home—even when my mom was alive. Being away from family isn’t something I’ve had to face before. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

She sank back down onto the couch, her shoulders slumping forward. The anger left, and she just felt sad. “I missed you and Ben. I missed Ethan,” she said, dropping her head into her hands. “God, I even missed Mapleton.”

Chelsea nodded. “Welp, I don’t want to say I told you so, but . . .”

“Go ahead. You were so right,” she said.

“Mapleton is pretty great,” Chelsea said with a sigh.

Natalie looked up at her. “I’m so sorry, Chelsea. I want to make this right. Do you still want to live in the manor?”

Chelsea looked around. “Yes, I do. I never thought I’d end up in a dump like this.”

“I grew up in a dump like this. I don’t want that for Ben.”

“Me either. You haven’t even seen the school.”

“It’s probably just like the one I went to.”

Tears sprang into Chelsea’s eyes. Natalie closed the distance, pulled Chelsea into a hug.

“It’s going to be okay. Elizabeth wanted to help you, and I’m going to make sure it happens. I swear, I’m not leaving again.”

“What if Ethan doesn’t forgive you?” she asked.

Natalie bit the inside of her cheek. She’d thought about this long and hard over the twenty-three-hour flight. She knew Ethan shouldn’t forgive her. What she did to him was probably worse than what Lindsay had done. But she was going to ask for forgiveness anyway, and hope.

“If he doesn’t want me, I won’t blame him. But I’m not leaving. I’m trying this new thing where I ignore my flight response and let the fight happen.”

“Even with Anne?”

Natalie laughed. “Especially with Anne.”

Chelsea blinked her tears away and smiled. “I hope you know what you’re doing. Let’s hear the plan.”

Natalie could feel her face break into a fiendish smile.

“Here’s what we’re going to do . . .”

Natalie sat in a small room at Speeler’s office, down the hall from the conference room where they were going to meet with Anne, Emily, and Victor Monroe. Next to her sat Chelsea, nervously chewing on her thumbnail and bouncing her knee. When they heard Anne’s voice pass by their door, Chelsea stood and paced.

“You need to relax. Everything is going to be fine.”

Chelsea rounded on Natalie. “I have a lot riding on this. Maybe I should have just taken the five hundred grand.”

Natalie stood, took Chelsea by the shoulders. “Listen to me. You can’t act like this in front of Anne. She can smell fear. If she thinks she has the upper hand, she won’t yield.”

Chelsea flopped down in the seat. “God, I hate her so much!”

“Me too. But don’t think about that. Just . . . try to play it cool. You’ve seen actors in negotiations, right?”

Chelsea nodded, then sat up straight in her seat, leaned back at an angle, and narrowed her eyes. “Like this?”

Natalie smiled. Chelsea had worn her “interview outfit”: a silky blue blouse tucked into a purple-and-blue tweed skirt with black polka-dot nylons and white ankle boots. She kicked a foot out, crossed her legs, and lifted a brow.

“Perfect.”

A knock on the door grabbed their attention. Speeler’s assistant opened the door. “They’re ready for you.”

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