Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 54589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
And so, I had.
When I was done, he’d said, “Feel free to add an I love you, or some sappy thing of sorts. Your preference. I don’t pretend to know the inner workings of your romantic dialogue.”
I’d seen that for what it was, what all of this is—a way to manipulate and control Tyler. I’d set the pen down and refused to participate beyond what was forced, but all that bravado faded the instant I’d heard Tyler’s voice. I just want to come home, you know? I’d let myself become a weapon against Tyler, and the satisfied look on Oliver’s face that hasn’t faded since tells me I’ve performed to his expectations, but maybe not as much as he thinks.
I’d spoken the words they want you to go to the meeting, not I want you to go to the meeting, and gambled that Tyler knows me well enough to read between the lines. I do not want him to go to that meeting. I’m terrified he won’t live to see tomorrow if he does. Maybe I won’t either. Of course, there was the whole I have to go and so do you. The meeting starts soon, but that had been scripted. Oliver had literally written it on a piece of paper and held it up for me to read.
The driver eyes us in the rear-view mirror and says, “It’s begun.”
It’s begun? I think. What does that mean? “What does that mean?” I ask. “What has begun?”
Oliver ignores me and speaks to the driver, “We’re done. We’re a go.”
With that, the driver pulls us out into traffic, and I twist around to face Oliver, plastered against the opposite seat as far from him as I can get. I’d wanted to run or scream but never had the chance.
He’d propped that note up on the table, typed a message in his phone, and then ordered, “Let’s go.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I’d said.
He’d leaned in close. “I have a man who is much less civil than I am, Bella, watching Tyler and your brother.” He’d held out his phone and showed me a time-stamped photo of the two of them and Gavin at the coffee shop.
I’d sucked in a breath and then demanded, “What is this?”
“You can relax,” he’d assured me. “We won’t hurt them, because frankly I love your brother’s books, and it would be a shame to see him leave without finishing at least one more. And we need Tyler’s cooperation.”
I could barely breathe at that point, but I’d managed to push out my question. “Then why show me that photo?”
“Gavin’s disposable. So is that pretty lady who owns the store. Come with me, help me get Tyler to the negotiation table, and everyone lives to eat another cupcake. They are really good cupcakes, worthy of life itself, don’t you think?” He’d stood up. “Shall we?”
I’d wanted to scream. I’d wanted to grab a knife and stab him, and I’ve never felt a violent urge in my life. Instead, I’d grabbed my purse and stood up, calmly walking to the sedan where I sit now, terrified this is the place I will say goodbye to everyone and everything, because this is where I will die.
Chapter Twenty-One
Bella
“Bella.”
The muted, oh, so polite demand in Oliver’s voice forces me back to the moment—to the backseat of a sedan where I’m captive to a stranger with an agenda he has yet to share.
“You wanted to talk,” I say, fixing him with a burning stare full of accusation. “And yet that hasn’t happened. Why?”
“I decided we needed a more private place to chat, which is where we’re headed now. We’re going to pull up to the Four Seasons hotel where I’ve secured you a room.”
That announcement is as brutal as shattered glass raining down on me from the roof of the car might be, stabbing every part of me. That’s how trapped I feel right now, how tormented by what comes next. Nothing good happens when a woman is taken to a hotel room. “I’m not going inside a hotel room with you,” I say. “That will never happen.”
“Are you sure about that?” he asks.
“I’m not going into a hotel room with you or anyone with you,” I add, thinking about the driver with the smashed face.
Oliver offers me his phone, which I want to refuse, but curiosity and fear over what he might be showing me wins. I grab the phone from him and stare down at a photo of Tyler. He’s sitting in the booth at the bar, right where I’d been sitting, the lines of his handsome face sharp, his eyes tormented. But what stands out more than his pain is the fact that he’s being watched and doesn’t know it.
“We can get to him at any time,” he says. “Just like we got to you, Bella.”