Page 162 of His Good Girl

Jules went still. “What?”

“They don’t know you confessed.”

“No.”

“They think you’re still scared.”

“I am still scared.”

“I know.” I sat back slowly, staring at the messages. “But they think scared means controllable.”

Jules stared at me and my eyes held hers. For the first time all night, the calm in me changed. It was still brittle, still frightening, but now it had direction.

“Avery,” Jules said carefully. “What are you thinking?”

I stood and went to my desk.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting a notebook.”

“Why?”

“Because Benjamin has ruined me and now I respect documentation.”

“That is not an answer.”

I found a clean notebook under a stack of old mail, grabbed two pens, and came back to the couch. Jules watched me like I had just picked up a weapon, which, in a way, I had.

“I’m just going to go solve this problem on my own,” I declared with undoubtedly misplaced pride.

Jules blinked. “That sentence is horrifying.”

“Good. Then it matches the situation.”

“Avery.”

“I don’t meanalonealone.” I sat beside her and opened the notebook to the first blank page. “I mean not sitting around waiting while Callum, Benjamin, Dana, Tom, Marcus, Elise, outside counsel, probably the mayor’s dentist, and a small army of terrifyingly competent people decide how to protect me.”

“They are probably better qualified.”

“Maybe.” I uncapped the pen. “But none of them know what Becca said to you. None of them know how she made you trust her enough to answer her questions. None of them know me the way you do. And none of them are you.”

Jules’s face went pale again. “No.”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

“I know the tone. The tone is bad.”

“The tone is strategic.”

“The tone is how women end up in documentaries with moody reenactments.”

“Jules.”

“No. Absolutely not. I already hurt you. I am not helping you walk into something worse.”

I looked at her for a long moment. Then I reached across the space between us and took her hand.