Page 21 of Lost Summer
“Is everything okay?” My voice came out tight.
“No,” she spat, her fingers tapping on her desk. “It bloody well isn’t.” She leaned back, her nails gleaming as they tapped against her phone. “I’ve had an email from Edward Hart,alsoknown as Mr Elena Dalton.”
Every hair on my body stood on end, a quiet wail rising in my mind. The harsh fluorescent lights above Evelyn’s desk felt suddenly oppressive, too sharp, too intense—everything about this room was too much.
Why had he done this?
“He said he’s willing to do an exclusive interview, but only if it’syou,” Evelyn continued, twirling a pen between her fingers. “And, apparently, you’ve turned him down.”
I wanted to scream—anger, disbelief, and confusion all tied together in my chest. I forced my voice to stay calm.
Polite. Professional.
“Well, it’s complicated, and I?—”
She arched one perfectly sculpted eyebrow, her expression daring me to finish that sentence. “Butnothing.” Her mouth twisted into a smile that was all sharp edges. “There’s a car outside waiting for you right now. If you still plan on working here tomorrow, you get your arse to his address and land this interview. Edward Hart is today’s meal ticket, and he’sonlytalking to you.”
Her words slid over me like oil—polluted and suffocating. The room itself seemed to tilt around me, suffused with fluorescent glare, Evelyn’s smug smile stretching with triumph.My mind fought to take it in, even as my limbs responded automatically, robotically, as I stood up and nodded.
“Fine,” I bit out. “But I’m taking the rest of the day off.”
“Take the decade off if you bring me that interview,” she quipped, the backhanded insult hitting its mark.
I clenched my jaw against the seething anger coursing through me.
Evelyn smiled, winking at me. “I don’t care whose dick you have to suck to get this story, but Iwant it.”
I stared at her, my jaw dropping open at her vulgar words.
Dick? Suck? Edward?
What?
Gripping the armrests of my chair, I forced a smile while silently wishing Evelyn an agonisingly slow death, preferably with an audience.
I marched back to my desk, grabbing my jacket as the wheels on my chair scraped harshly against the floor. My jacket got stuck, and I felt my irritation boiling over. Everyone else carried on, oblivious, while my entire life felt like it was teetering off-axis. I yanked the fabric free, cursing under my breath.
The elevator dinged, and I stepped inside, feeling the last shred of calm slip out of reach. I could already imagine Ted...Edward...standing there, waiting for me with his easy smile and his half-lidded gaze. The same look that had melted all my resistance a decade ago—but it wasn’t then. It wasnow. And I was here forbusiness.
The truth of it drummed in my ears, spurring frustration.
Outside, the crisp spring air cut through the car’s open window, but inside, the car’s leather seats smelled fresh, like new beginnings. The driver looked at me in the rearview mirror, a knowing smile curling on his lips.
“Edward Hart?” His voice was chipper. “You must be either very lucky or very unlucky, eh?”
I shrugged, tightening my fingers around my bag strap. “Unlucky,” I murmured, casting a fleeting smile that tasted bitter on my lips.
As we pulled up to the Hilton Hotel, the cool steel-blue glass reflected the sky above, and I immediately felt dwarfed by it. My breath hitched.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.
There was something jarring about seeing someone who once filled your world sitting in a hotel.
The double doors slid open with a quietwhoosh, and I walked inside. The scent of fresh lilies and polished floors drifted in, along with the sound of hushed voices and clinking cutlery. I hesitated before heading to the elevator, pressing the button with a hand that shook a little.
When I reached the sixth floor, my heart was in my throat.
Room 607.
