Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 241
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
“That new guy with the mustache. Bernard?” Vance throws out there. “I don’t like him.”
“Me either,” O’Malley agrees. “Novak caught him obsessing over Luna’s social media account.”
I wonder if a house has landed on me and I’m in Oz. “Why did no one tell me about this Bernard fucker?” Did Oscar know?
He’s sifting through the empty chip bag.
Suspicious.
“Because Luna’s not your client. She’s your girlfriend,” O’Malley emphasizes.
“She’s not really your client either,” I say pointedly.
“Guys,” Ian shakes his head, giving O’Malley an annoyed look.
O’Malley throws up his hands like, What did I do?
I stare at my friend. “Oscar? You know about this?”
He turns to me. “We all thought it wouldn’t be good for your mental health to hear that one of the temps is jerking off to her picture.”
“Now he’s jerking off?”
“Metaphorically, bro.”
I rub my face with two hands. “Who’s we?”
“Epsilon and Omega…and Alpha.”
Oh, the whole fucking team.
“Redford wanted to tell you. He was pissed. So don’t be angry at him.”
I’m not angry they’re trying to protect my sanity. Just upset that they think it needs protecting at all. “I can handle that sort of information. And why isn’t Bernard kicked off the temp roster?”
“Price wants to gather enough evidence against him, in the event the temp tries to file a wrongful termination suit,” Ian says. “He probably won’t be around for another week.”
Alright.
I ease back and try to calm down.
Trust goes two ways. I’m positive they trust me to protect Xander. Maybe they think I’d leave them out to dry just as much as I believe they’d throw me to the wolves as an afternoon snack.
Giving into this open forum, I end up saying, “I appreciate you all looking out for Luna.”
“We care about you too,” Ian says, validating what Oscar told me earlier. They’re not pretending to care about me.
I can’t wrap my head around it. “I get her. But me?” I give them all a soured look.
Vance squeezes his stress ball and turns to his brother. To which Ian admits, “I don’t think we really knew you. Back when you had to infiltrate your family—we thought it’d be easy for you.”
My eyes sear. I can’t speak.
Oscar pats me on the back like this is good. It’s progress.
It’s not. Not for me. What’s worse than feeling like they hate me—is feeling like they pity me. Frustrations bubble. “I don’t need you feeling sorry for me. Everything you ever hated about me—it’s true. My family are meth-heads. I’m a slut. Don’t even have a GED. So whatever you think has changed, it hasn’t.” I go to stand, but Oscar tugs me back down.
I can’t even play dumb to take the spotlight off me.
“Just give it a few more minutes, Donnelly,” Oscar encourages.
Ian says, “Look, knowing more about you, I doubt any of us could even do what you did.”
“What you’re doing,” O’Malley adds under his breath, but it’s with more concern than I can process.
Omega caring about me—I love. We’ve had each other’s backs. I would die for them. They’d go through hell for me. Epsilon caring about me—odd, peculiar. I don’t trust it. Probably because I don’t fully trust them.
I buck forward to peer out the door, expecting Oscar’s husband to come barreling in with his production crew. Saying, Gotcha! It’s all for show.
But Jack Highland-Oliveira is nowhere to be seen.
My phone suddenly vibrates on the table, slicing through the thick silence.
“Can you silence your calls for the meeting?” Ian asks me.
The number is unknown. “Nah, gotta take this one.” My tone is light, and I’m quick on my feet. Standing on the booth, I climb over Oscar’s thighs and hop on the floor. Holding on to storage compartments overhead, I move toward the front of the wobbly bus and answer with the cell to my ear. “Who’s this?”
“It’s so good hearing your voice, honey. It’s been too long.”
My legs buckle under me, and I sink into the booth at the front of the bus. “Vanessa?” My mom’s best friend. “How’d you get this number?”
“Your mom gave it to me.”
What the fuck. Why would she do that? She knows I’d rather chop off an ear than listen to Vanessa for two minutes.
My dad said Vanessa was the reason my mom broke her parole the last time. But I couldn’t stand her long before that. She’d give me freezer-burnt ice cream, and I thought she was a saint. You coulda told me she was Mother Teresa, and my little uncorrupted brain would’ve believed you. I ignored the fact that she’d talk shit about her friends behind their backs. Ignored how often she did meth with my mom.
‘Cause she’d ask Bridget if I had dinner. ‘Cause she’d remember I was in the room more than my own mom ever did.
Then she’d crouch to my height and ask me if I knew how to pickpocket. If I could go steal ten bucks for them. And I started wishing she’d forget I existed.