Page 81 of Almost Perfect
Maybe her assistant, who seemed to be part warlock, could help.
She rubbed her temples, all signs of relaxed, sleepy Calla gone. “I definitely do not, and I’d appreciate if neither of you spoke to him either.”
“Of course not,” I said, just as Warrick said something similar.
“I hoped I’d at least get out of here without this happening. How did I go for this long without a problem, and now this?” She felt each of her pockets one after the other, then whipped her head to me. “Have I had my phone at all the last few days?”
Warrick snapped and pointed at her. “Actually, I’ve been wondering about that. I texted you to make sure you were okay but couldn’t get you. I didn’t press it since you were with Wyatt and I knew he’d take care of you, but I’m wondering if maybe you’ve got some other missed messages.”
Maybe this could all be explained once she checked her phone, which I definitely hadn’t seen. She’d used it as a light that first night and must’ve left it in her room as she packed. Maybe Kristoffer had finally set up that interview her publicist had thought would help things.
“I have to get home and check in. I’m sure it’s there—I didn’t worry about leaving it because I’m trying not to pay attention to it, and obviously, I’ve been distracted.” She glanced at me, but her eyes flickered away before I could read her expression. “I’m going to run.”
She actually jogged out of the kitchen, and Warrick and I eyed each other.
“This didn’t strike me as that big of a deal. I heard about it two days ago, but he kept sniffing around yesterday and I saw the guy todayagain, so I figured it was more than just a dude wanting a scoop. I don’t know.” He looked toward the hallway where she’d disappeared.
“It could be nothing. Just the usual, and she’s frustrated.”
Or it could be terrible, and this would mean she was leaving and never coming back. The front door clicked closed, and her words echoed in my mind. “I’d at least get out of here without this happening.” Had she been planning to leave soon this whole time? Did “get out of here” meanhereor Silverton?
I jumped into the shower so I could be ready in case she needed me, refusing the other thoughts that kept trying to push in. On the off chance I had something to offer, or could help, I wanted to be prepared.
I wouldn’t think about saying goodbye. I wouldn’t acknowledge the sinking sensation in my gut that whispered how inevitable all of this was.
I just wouldn’t.
THIRTY-FIVE
Calla
More than usual, my room looked like a bomb had gone off. Emblematic of the whole situation, it felt oddly accurate. I tossed another pair of socks into the suitcase laying open on my bed, then shoved my wireless earpiece into my ear so I’d be ready when Kristoffer called back.
I’d left my phone at my place since the first night I’d spent with Wyatt. And honestly? I hadn’t missed it. I’d been working to trim the time I used it anyway, and I didn’t spend time on social media right now, full stop. So when I needed the Internet, I used my laptop. When I wrote songs, I used pen and paper. All very low-tech for me, but it meant that I hadn’t missed the device in the last forty-eight hours.
I hadn’t missed the device or the seventeen texts and three calls from Kristoffer, not to mention several attempts to contact me from Jenna late yesterday, all giving me the bad news: the press knew I was here, and they were framing it like I’d run away because I was guilty and ashamed.
I hadn’t seen it and hadn’t been able to give anyone a response. Or make a plan. Because my stupid phone had been here on my nightstand, right where I’d left it the night the power went out. And so this little problem I might’ve otherwise dealt with quickly had ballooned while I’d been in Lalaland with Wyatt. It’d spun out, based on everything I’d gathered during my frantic read through of the messages from Kristoffer, and now I had to act. I couldn’t stay hidden away anymore.
If it’d just been a reporter looking for a shot of me around town, that’d be one thing. But it was more than that, and the narrative that I’d run away in shame because of Candy or whatever tale they were telling had come to a boiling point. Time to face this head-on and turn down the heat.
But I could be honest and say I’d had the best possible distraction. My heart brightened and glowed as I pictured Wyatt’s handsome face. He was sweet and generous, and I was in love with him.
I dropped the shirt in my hands and stared at the reflection in the mirror.
In love with him?
My throat cinched closed, and an attempt to swallow proved just how much. The neck of my shirt felt tight, and I slumped onto the bed and held my head in my hands.
Was I in love with Wyatt? Truly?
My mind pinged around what felt like an empty space, frazzled and delighted and terrified.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand where it sat plugged in to charge since it’d been on its last leg when I’d gotten home.
“Kristoffer, hi. Could he do it?”
He’d called Julian Grenier about a plane again. This was short notice, and if I had to, at this point, I could fly commercial. But it’d cut hours of travel and hassle and probably a whole pile of ridiculous photos of me at the airport people would no doubt share far and wide like their snapping a photo of me was some kind of ultimate coup.
