Page 143 of It Happened on a Sunday
I shake my head again, even as I appreciate the way she worded the ask. I’m not sure I can get anything down right now, let alone keep it there.
“Try this,” Lucia tells me, thrusting a smoothie cup into my hand. “It’s the only thing I could stomach after…”
She breaks off awkwardly, her eyes darting to mine and then away. Another layer of guilt presses down on me as I complete the sentence in my head.The only thing I could stomach after you let Grant beat the hell out of me.
I know she’d never say that, but the implication is always there, circling the back of my head.
My phone buzzes with a series of texts, and I rush to look at them in case it’s Pauline telling me Sloane’s woken up. Or Marco telling me they figured out who did this.
Instead, it’s a string of texts on the thread Vivian set up with her crisis publicity team.
Vivian:You need to get on that plane
Unknown Number:She’s right. The entire country is focused on where you are right now. Everyone wants to know if you’ll choose the Black Widow over your team
Different Unknown Number:That’s not a choice you can make at this point in your career. Everyone is talking about Sloane’s overdose and how the rest of the country shouldn’t suffer for her bad decisions
Vivian:You HAVE to get on that plane, Sly. Your career depends on it
Fuck my career. I start to type the words into the chat, but before I can, Marco comes barreling out of an elevator, grim-faced and loaded for bear.
“We found it,” he snarls as he stalks straight toward me with murder in his eyes. “We found who did this to her.”
Chapter 62
Sly
“Who?” I demand, meeting him halfway. “Give me a name.”
“I’ll do better than that. I’ll give you a fucking picture.” He whips out his phone and pulls up a screenshot from a video. One that very clearly shows my agent’s closed fist poised over Sloane’s drink. A drink that I’m holding inmyhand.
I’m giving a hello half hug to Bradley’s wife, Brandi, and in the photo I can’t see the drink because I’m turned toward her.
“What the fuck?” I demand, rage and guilt rocketing through me in equal parts. “Viviandid this?”
He swipes left, and a video clip starts playing. It starts with Brandi, Bradley, and Colt coming over to talk to me. Brandi moves in for a too-close hug the way she always does. In the video, I deflect it the way I always do, by turning my body a little so I can make it a half hug instead of full-body contact.
As I do, Vivian takes the opportunity to drop a fistful of something into Sloane’s drink.
I keep watching as she chats away to us like she hasn’t just dumped enough oxycodone into my girlfriend’s margarita to murder her. Then, when Sloane comes back, Vivian proposes a toast—which I realize now was to ensure she took a sip.
I watch in horror as my girl drains her drink. The video cuts off right after it, but the scene keeps playing in my head.
Sloane dropping her empty glass on a nearby table.
Sloane grabbing onto my arm to steady herself as we walked toward the stage to watch Pauline.
Sloane leaning against me, eyes closed.
Sloane stumbling as she tried to walk up the steps to the stage.
The whole time, the signs were there that something was wrong, but it certainly never occurred to me that she’d beendruggedat my fucking team mixer. Even when I asked her if she was okay, I figured she was just a little tipsy. I was even happy for her letting her guard down a bit, nauseous as the thought makes me now.
I didn’t for a second think she could be dying right before my eyes.
My phone buzzes in my hand—more messages on that damn crisis thread Vivian started. Seeing her name there, next to a text that readsSly, be reasonable, snaps me out of my shocked stupor and has me going straight to full-on rage.
“What happens next?” I ask, ignoring her text.
