Page 127 of Tell Me It’s Right

“Leo, it’s okay. Go. Get out of here.”

He ruffles my hair, and I swat him away until he ducks into the hall.

“You’ve got sixty seconds, Brooks, before we leave your ass behind!” he calls.

I turn to where Liam’s standing in the kitchen with his arms crossed.

“You’re sure you have everything you need?” he asks.

I nod. I don’t think I can speak around the emotion rising to the back of my throat. He wraps his arms around my shoulders and pulls me close, the scent of him momentarily blocking out everything else.

“Thank you for helping today,” I mumble into his shirt. “Text me when you get home so I know you made it back okay?”

“You got it.” He kisses the top of my head then holds me out at arm’s length. “I’ll see you soon, okay? We’ll FaceTime tomorrow so you can tell me about your first day.”

He kisses me goodbye, and I last an entire sixty seconds after the door closes behind him before the tears spill over.

The apartment barely looks different with my minimal belongings. There’s a small stack of books on the nightstand, a plant on the desk, my fuzzy pink blanket on the foot of the bed. The portrait Liam painted of me on our first date is the only thing on the wall.

It’s so empty, so quiet. I pace the length of it, looping around the furniture, taking in every square inch. The AC thrums loudly in the background. I grab a leftover slice of the pizza from lunch and a pillow from the couch, then plop on the floor in front of the windows so I can peer out at the city lights as night falls.

I chew the cold pizza, barely tasting it, and hug my knees into my chest. The world looks so much bigger from here. Cars are parked along the sides of the streets, and people walk back and forth on the sidewalks. Traffic stops and starts as the lights change.

Nothing about it looks familiar. Nothing about it looks like home.

But for some inexplicable reason, through the tears running down my cheeks, I smile.

Chapter Forty-Four

GRACIE

It’s immediately apparent that my wardrobe is not up to par. I opted for a plain black dress and cream cardigan for the first day to play it safe until I saw what everyone else was wearing, but instead of blending in, it paints a neon New Kidsign on my forehead.

Because everyone here looks fucking fabulous.

People stream in and out of the elevator as it stops a dozen times. Everyone looks older than me. More polished. I smooth the hairs that escaped my low bun and tuck them behind my ears.

When I reach the fifteenth floor, it’s easy enough to find the suite I need because Bezzels is an explosion of color through the glass doors. The furniture, the decorations, the clothes.

I swallow hard as I step up to the front desk. A woman with cat-eye glasses and bright purple lipstick types away on a computer, her complexion tinted pink from the neon sign behind her.

I wait and wait, but she doesn’t acknowledge me.

I clear my throat and drift forward another step.

Still, nothing.

I double—triple—check the time, then the welcome email. But no, this is exactly when I’m supposed to be here.

“Excuse me?” I ask.

Finally, the woman glances at me over her glasses.

“I’m Gracie Collins.” I force more confidence into my voice than I feel. “I’m a new hire. I’m supposed to start today.”

She looks me up and down. “I’ll get Selena for you.” She picks up the phone then cuts her eyes to the waiting area behind me. “Have a seat.”

I sink onto one of the bright red leather chairs that’s shaped like a pair of lips and try to keep my eyes from widening too far as I take everything in.

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