Page 75 of Black Sheep
“Can’t complain. It’s another day in paradise.”
I settle in the back of the car and pull out my phone to do some mindless scrolling during the ride, but when I open my purse, a terrifying realization hits me hard.
I only have one phone. Where is my other phone?
I dig around in my purse, but I don’t see it. I’m not imagining that it’s not here. My brain skips back to this morning when I couldn’t open a door handle from the 1970s and spilled everything on the floorboard of Cannon’s car.
No. No. No.I didn’t leave it there. I didn’t. I wouldn’t have. I couldn’t have. It has to be back in my apartment in the clothes I wore home.
Right?Of course. That’s exactly where it is.
It’s going to be fine.
Totally fine.
But I’m lying to myself, just like I’ve lied to Cannon since the moment my résumé landed on his desk. And tomorrow I’m going to tell him everything and hope to live to see the next day ... without him hating me forever.
Jesus Christ, I’m a fucking idiot.Who thought this was a good plan? Surely not me. Because it sounds like the absolute worst plan in the entire world.
He won’t hurt me. He couldn’t.That’s one thing I do truly believe. But how the hell do I think it’s going to turn out when I put Cannon in the position where he’s keeping something vital from Dom? I could gethimkilled.
At that thought, every single drop of blood in my body runs cold.
I can’t do that to him. I love him.
Oh fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
A strangled sound escapes my throat, and Warren meets my gaze in the rearview mirror.
“You okay, Ms. Carson?”
That name. Again.It’s like nails on a chalkboard or someone crunching on shards of glass.
No, don’t think about things like torture.
I can’t do this. I can’t do any of this, but I nod for Warren’s sake.
What the fuck am I going to do now? How am I going to fix the mess I’ve made?
My first instinct is to run. Far and fast, and call leaving my heart in New York City in the safekeeping of Cannon Freeman as my penance for thinking I could do this. But the car keeps rolling toward the Upper Ten. Short of opening the door and throwing myself out into oncoming traffic, there’s nothing I can do to stop the chain of events I’ve unleashed.
My heart rate kicks up, and my palms sweat.
Stay cool. Act cool. Be cool.I silently repeat my mantra before I realize I need more than that. I need someone a hell of a lot smarter than me to weigh in.
Desperate, I stare up at the ceiling of the car.
Dad, what would you do? Please give me some kind of guidance, because I’m in really fucking deep and I’m about to be in over my head.
After my silent prayer for assistance, I wait for any sign from him or the universe to light up in neon, telling me how to fix things before I destroy it all.
But when we stop in front of the building housing the club, I still have zero answers. I thank Warren for the ride and hop out of the car with as much enthusiasm as a death row inmate walking toward the lethal injection room.
To make matters worse, the man who will stand as my executioner is waiting for the elevator when I step inside.
“Drew, good to see you again. How are things?”
Dominic Casso’s voice, a slightly deeper version of his son’s, is enough to raise every hair on the back of my neck. But it’s his stare, those nearly black, all-seeing eyes, that unnerves me as they drill into mine, searching for all my hidden secrets.
