Page 166 of The Pact

What’s her issue? I mean, sure, right now I was obviously snooping, but she had a problem with me when we first met. “I’m not up to anything,” I defend, grabbing my phone off the desk and heading to the door.

I expect Jessie to move out of the way, but she doesn’t. She’s a couple of inches taller than me, although her presence makes her feel taller. There’s a deep set scowl on her face. That might work on other people, or even me, a few months ago. It’s not doing anything except annoying me.

“I have to get to work,” I tell her, motioning with my hand that she’s in the way. For a minute, she doesn’t move, and I think I’ll have to shove past her. Then she turns slightly, giving me enough room to squeeze by her.

Rolling my eyes, I move past her and head to my room.

“Whatever you’re hiding won’t stay that way for very long. You’re a shit liar. You might have them fooled for now, but they’ll catch on.” Jessie turns, heading into Cole’s room to start cleaning, leaving me confused and embarrassed. Can she really tell that I’m hiding something? Can the guys tell, too?

I push that thought out of my head. There are more important things to think about. Like Cole’s search history.

There’s an explanation, I tell myself. Did I see the dates wrong? Maybe I mixed them up. Could it have been August seventh, not July eighth? I try to convince myself of this, however, neither my head nor my heart believe me.

Cole most definitely looked up both the inn and the gas stations near it before we ever visited. Did he plan to run out of gas?

I need to get some clarity. I need to get out of the house. Once I have time away to sort out my thoughts, I can ask him about it. I’ll do it after the barbeque tonight.

There has to be an explanation. I need there to be one.

Clarity never came. My stomach knotted tighter and tighter throughout the day. I could hardly focus on my clients. Cassie was talking to me about her wedding. All I could do was nod and smile like I was paying attention. I wanted to talk to her about this, but she’d suspected them initially. If Cole has a simple explanation, I don’t want a seed planted in Cassie’s head.

Cole texted me throughout the day and I had to pretend to act normal. At least five different times I typed out a paragraph, asking him about what I found on his computer, only to delete it. Part of me wants to do it without seeing him because I don’t want to face him. However, the rational part of me knows I need to do this face to face so that I can read him.

Over the hours and hours of thinking about it, I could only come up with one reason for him to do this—he felt like he wasn’t getting enough alone time with me.

Maybe he thought I’d say no to staying the night or that I wouldn’t make time for it. Or maybe he thought his brothers would veto it. Either way, he manipulated and lied to all of us, and that isn’t okay. This isn’t the man I know—this isn’t my sweet and honest Cole.

My phone beeps as I’m locking up the studio for the night.

Cole: Hey, I’m going to have to close tonight. I’m so sorry. I’ll be at the house as soon as I can.

Me: Oh no! I’m so sorry. Hurry home!

The words feel disingenuous. I want to get this over with.

I turn over the engine after getting into my truck and head to the house.

Music thumps from above as I step out of the shower. I wipe the mirror and stare at myself for a moment, willing some strength to appear. I need to at least act the part until the end of the night when I can confront Cole.

Toweling off, I throw on some mascara, gloss, and brush out my hair. Slipping on a white bodysuit and ripped cutoff shorts, I head out of my room and force a smile. I can do this.

The sound of laughter and foreign voices drift downstairs, but I don’t want to go up there alone with a bunch of people I don’t know. I knock on Sutton’s door first. Silence. Then I go to Wesley’s room. It’s cracked and dark. They must be upstairs already.

I make my way up, finding that whoever was just there must have gone back outside. Crossing the kitchen, I go to Damian’s door and open it.

“Damian?” I call out. His lights are on and I wait a moment to see if he answers.

“Yeah? Come in.” He replies.

His voice comes from the end corridor and I follow it. I look around and find him at his computer, of course. “Are you ready? I think the party’s in full swing.”

I stop and glance around at the metal and plastic pieces scattered all over his desk. His computer tower is disassembled. I open my mouth to ask him what he’s doing, but something much more interesting catches my eye.

A massive canvas is hanging above his desk that wasn’t there before. Although it’s what’s on it that makes my breath catch. It’s a photo of me. Not just any photo—one Damian took the day he came to the studio and forced me to pose for him.

The one in front of the mirror.

“Wh-what is that, Damian?” I can’t tear my eyes away from it, but I vaguely sense him staring in the same direction. He stands.

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