Page 130 of Face Off With Fate

But no matter what I did—what I said...

There was nothing saving Monroe from the wreckage.

I looked at the ceiling, blinking away the burning behind my eyes.

Forty-eight hours. Fuck, that’s not enough time to do anything.

“There you are.”

My hand flew to my chest, Monroe’s deep voice nearly tipping me over the edge into cardiac arrest.

He walked toward me, hand tucked into his suit pant pocket, his tie loosened enough to show a sliver of skin from his unbuttoned dress shirt. He was smiling. But instead of butterflies, it was nausea stirring up in my stomach.

“Thought I saw you slip out,” he said, stopping in front of me. “You good?”

Tell him. Tell him, right now, what she said. About the photos, about the story, about⁠—

“Yeah. All good.” The lie was putrid on my tongue. “Just needed some air.”

His warm hand came up, thumb brushing my jaw, and I let myself lean into it for a moment.

Treasure his touch one more time.

“Come back in,” he said. “Everyone’s wondering where you are. Thatcher’s up in five for his award.”

I forced a smile. “I’ll be right there.”

Josh held my gaze for a beat, searching, as if some part of him knew I was lying. Knew I was about to be another person to break his trust.

I bit back a pained laugh. The irony of his speech topic wasn’t lost on me.

“Okay, see you in a minute.” He turned, and I watched him go.

Forty-eight hours.

FORTY-THREE

GRACIELLA

I HATE IT HERE.

Me:

I need you

Ari:

Thatcher’s about to get his award. Are you coming back?

Me:

Not coming back in. Can’t

Me:

Can you meet me at your car when he’s done?

Ari: