Page 214 of Bona Fide

? Down — Jason Walker ?

The day is shit;windy, rainy, the rain pelting against the windows in my office, and I can’t stop watching the raindrops fall into a stream down the glass. It feels like my insides; a mess, cold and damp, the warmth completely gone from my life because I couldn’t say goodbye to Reagan again.

Not a third time.

I contemplated it for half a minute, wanting to assure her that I’d do everything to keep her protected. That I’d finally take care of this instead of half-assing it and worrying about my career, the press, my reputation—all of it. I’d do anything to make sure nothing happened to her and her family. And I’d live knowing that I was able to do that. No matter how much it ached inside to be away from her, not be with her or see her. It was, again, for her own good, not mine. I’d survive, barely, but I’d know she was still here, on the same planet as me, and that had to be good enough.

I have no other choice.

A soft knock rasps on my door, tugging my attention from the weather and to Emmy, who slips inside with a weak smile.

“How are we holding up today?” she asks me, making her way over to my desk.

“Fine,” I deadpan then nod to the folder she’s holding in her hand. “What do you have for me?” She hesitates, I see it. We all know she’s all too telling on pushing me off the handlebars and making sure I’m following directions and the rules—most of the time. So when she acts like a rattled child, my guard flies up.

“What’s wrong?” I press through descended brows. “Who do I have to kill now, Em?” She lets out a mirthless scoff and shakes her head, blonde hair barely moving from all her hairspray.

“No one today,” she replies. “It’s already done.”

“What’s done?” Her knuckles turn white around the manila folder, and the silence of the room is deafening.

It’s unbearable, and I can’t handle it right from the gate. I’m always edgy, always anxious, always a fucking mess now.

“Wade,” Em voices. “Demi is dead.”

I blink.

I think that’s all my body does. I don’t feel it doing anything else besides staring at my assistant. Because the words that just left her mouth, well, I wouldn’t say she’s lying, but I’d say she was on some type of bullshit. My dreams don’t come true, I’ve had them with Demi being out of my life, not being able to walk around the living.

The folder that Em is holding gradually finds its way to my desk in front of me, but I make no effort to grab it. I’m just watching Em’s face turn a shade of white.

Okay, she hates Demi.

She’s part of some secret organization that I was just made privy to because allegedly since I’m the new president, these four other people wanted to make sure I wasn’t a lunatic that would use them and start popping people off.

“Did you do it?” My question is soft, I don’t recognize it being my voice, but it’s in the air and hits Emmy’s ears because she slowly shakes her head again.

“No.”

“Emmy...you just said...my stand-in wife is dead.” Her spine straightens—seen it a million times. She’s trying to keep her composure whether it’s from being pissed or upset. I’m not betting on the latter.

“Car accident,” she informs.

“Caused by what?”

Her brown eyes never leave mine when she says, “By B723.” I begin to rise, but she continues. “There’s more.” A heavy exhale is punched from my gut as my ass hits my leather chair again. “It’s Reagan.”

I jolt this time, knees hitting the edge of the desk, and I round it. My hands latch on to Emmy’s biceps, and I shake her.

“Where is she?”

“I think Camp Davi—” I shake her harder. I’m not sorry for it right now, but I will be later.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“Demi had—Wade.” I follow her gaze to my bloodless fingers squeezing her skin, and I immediately release her. My hand rakes through my thick hair before I take a step back.

I can’t breathe. The room is beginning to spin. Emmy latches on to me, guiding me back until my ass hits the edge of my desk.

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