Page 17 of Relentless

She wouldn’t grantthemthe satisfaction.

Stretching as far as her injuries would allow, she felt the phone flip over her fingertip. She lunged again, feeling every muscle tense as she caught a corner of the case. Edging into a sitting position, she leaned against the cabinets, blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear her blurry vision.

She scrolled through her contacts, running her fingers across her brow. She was unsure of who exactly she could call for help.

Paisley?

Even though they weren’t on the best terms, Harper couldn’t imagine that her own daughter wouldn’t pick up in an emergency.

It rang twice before going to voicemail.

Delia?

The pang of embarrassment gave her a moment of pause before she tappedsend.

Before the call even had the chance to connect, Harper’s phone buzzed in her hand with a notification.

Delia — typing

About to board a plane, dear.

Harper sighed.

Pulling her knees to her chest, she rested her pounding head on her folded arms. Desperation drove her as she searched through her contacts again, noticing her vision becoming even more distorted.

Shep, you idiot. Please pick up.

A moment later, her phone chimed with a profanity-laden voice memo listing the many horrible things that he hoped would happen to her.

If only he knew that his wish might just come true.

She scrolled haphazardly up and down through her contacts. She watched as Oakleigh’s name slid across her screen and back again. Biting her lip, she allowed her finger to hoverover her eldest daughter’s name. Even her dire circumstances couldn’t quell the surge of pride that held her hostage.

“I should have deleted her number ages ago,” she declared. She flicked her thumb, sending the names scrolling downward until she reached the top.

Her double vision barely made out the name —

Assistant, Clara.

She had fired Clara in a blind rage. Although she would never voice it out loud, there had been more than one instance when she had second guessed her hot-headed decision to let her go. Clara was a spitfire, and Harper had found she respected the young woman’s grit in calling her out when she was wrong. The stack of nondisclosures Clara had to sign when they parted ways had been extensive. Harper had admittedly been petty, legally barring her from working for anyone in their tight-knit circle who loved to swoop up discarded help.

No matter how guilty she felt, self-preservation always came first.

She dialed Clara.

Much to her relief, she picked up. There was a flurry of rustling, and Harper heard the deep tenor of a man’s voice in the background.

“Why are you answering that?” he asked. “You don’t work for her anymore.”

Clara’s voice was muffled as though she were covering the phone with her palm. “I just feel sorry for her, okay?”

If it hadn’t ached so severely, Harper would have rolled her eyes at how incredibly pathetic she felt. Collecting herself as best as she could, she donned her usual authoritative tone. “Hello? Clara?”

“Harper, yes,” Clara answered. “I’m here.”

“I’ve had a little bit—” she struggled to find the words that would salvage the crumbling remains of her dignity. “Well, I’ve had a bit of an accident.”

There was a pregnant pause.

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