Page 84 of Tempest

“Bitch. Why?”

“I don’t know. We didn’t really have a chance to talk about that.”

“But you will, yeah?”

“He’s coming here when he’s done at the arena,” I say. “I may have to fly to L.A. tomorrow, should only be gone a night.”

“Okay,” she says, eyeing me like she doesn’t trust my mental state, either. “Why?”

“Josephine wants to wear that brand.”

“The brand we don’t speak of? Gross,” Britton says, dramatically acting like she’s going to gag.

I have rules when you contract with me. The first one is that I choose the brands I style a client in. If a brand or designer doesn’t align with my morals, I won’t use them.

There is a major label that was run by a man with many children. Several sons, one daughter, all of whom worked in the company. When the man died, he left control to his sons, completely cutting out his daughter because he didn’t want a woman to run his brand.

I refuse to dress women in clothing that doesn’t support women.

One up-and-coming starlet hated that about me and wouldn’t sign on with me because of it. That was fine by me, but she made a big stink about it. Page Six picked up the story. It’s a well-known fact about me now, one Josephine is aware of.

“I may have to drop her; she’s causing Fallon to pull his hair out.”

“His hair is far too pretty for that.”

“Right?”

“And, Gavin?”

“I don’t know, Britt. It felt so…”

“Familiar?”

“Yes.”

“Give him a chance to explain. If it doesn’t sound legit, call me down. I’ll stab him in the heart for you.”

“Love you, Britton.”

“Love you to prison and back, Odette,” she says, making her way back upstairs.

Bypassing the glass, I walk into my living room. Pulling the throw blanket off my sofa, I wrap it around myself and lie to watch the moonlight on the water. It’s calming and I need that right now.

I need rationality, understanding, patience. I need a motherfucking explanation.

What I get is Caroline’s words lulling me to sleep. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Gavin got in late. I remember waking up when he carried me to bed last night, but I was back asleep before I hit the pillow. I woke up this morning to his body curled around mine, my face buried in the bare skin of his chest. For a few minutes, I lie still, listening to his soft snore, barely audible. Just loud enough to know he’s alive.

The hit from last night flashes in my memory, sending a fearful shiver down my back. I’m so thankful he’s okay.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Fuck.

My mind is my worst enemy. My biggest nemesis.

Or, hell, maybe it’s Caroline.

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