Page 37 of Relentless

Scrolling through her dwindling accounts, she noticed her credit cards were maxed. Apparently, she actually couldn’t afford the flight in first class — and now there was only one person she might be able to coerce to get her home.

Harper — typing…

Delia. I need help.

She pressed send, hoping she wouldn’t be asked to share the humiliating story of how she ended up all the way in Montana. For some time, she had suspected Delia was screengrabbing their private conversations, sharing them in a side chat with those who had devoured her scandal.

Her phone dinged with a notification. When she looked at the screen, she saw that Delia had blown her off entirely, simply marking the text with a heart.

Harper wound her arm back, gripping the device tightly with the urge to fling it at the wall. Rationality taking hold, she tossed the phone on the lumpy bed, draped with what she deemed a hideous patchwork quilt. She sat beside it, scrubbing her face in her hands as she contemplated her next steps.

Her head was still pounding, and she heard the call of the pain medication in her purse. Retrieving the bottle, she twisted off the lid and eyed the last few pills clattering against the orange plastic.

Just to take the edge off.

Popping a smooth caplet in her mouth, she stowed the bottle safely out of sight in her nightstand drawer. She was grateful when her spinning thoughts finally began to slow. Glancing out the window at the darkness, she felt her eyelids grow heavy.

What felt like only minutes later, Harper’s eyes wrenched open to an earsplitting eruption of noise. She pulled her pillowtightly around her ears just before the shrill cry again burst through her peace. Her blurry mind struggled to locate the source as her eyes focused on the bright early morning sun through her frosted window.

There was a funny-looking little rooster perched on the fence below, thunderously announcing the dawn of a new day.

She closed her eyes again and rubbed angrily at her temples.

I need a drink.

Easing up in bed, she swung her legs over the edge and placed her feet on the chilly hardwood floor. Running her palm across her brow, she glanced again at the drawer beside her that held the little orange bottle.

The nagging desire she felt scared her a little.

She reached down and picked up her purse off the floor, rifling through it until she found the little bottle of vodka she had stored away in case of an emergency.

“If this ain’t an emergency,” she said with an ironic smirk. “I don’t know what is.” It was just one little bottle, and Harper figured what her prudish sister didn’t know wouldn’t hurt anyone — especiallyher.

She twisted off the cap with a snap and brought it to her lips, savoring every last drop that burned down her throat.

No big deal.

She stuffed the evidence into the bottom of the trashcan beside her bed and pivoted her thoughts to the day ahead. She couldn’t go home, and she knew she couldn’t let on to exactlywhy.Maeve would probably take great pleasure in buying her aplane ticket on some rattletrap airline that would barely make it off the runway.

“I’ll never give her the satisfaction,” she vowed to the empty room. She’d have to endure until she could get her accounts straightened out. “It won’t take any time at all,” she reassured herself.

Tossing her luggage on the bed, she pulled the zipper around, letting it fall open. She retrieved her cosmetic bag, tucking it under her arm as she went to her pitiful little bathroom. Going through her usual morning routine, she squeezed a dab of cleanser in her palm and scrubbed away the previous day’s makeup. Splashing away the suds, she searched with her fingertips for the rough hand towel hanging on the hook. She patted her face dry before applying the layers of eye cream and moisturizer that boasted of reducing wrinkles. After blending a fresh layer of foundation, she twisted open the cap of her mascara and brushed on her eyelashes.

Pulling at the corners of her eyes, she gave a dissatisfied sigh. Being surrounded by young people in the house made her feel pressured tokeep up. She was confident that Maeve’s beauty routine was minimal, yet somehow, she maintained a youthful glow.

Just one more reason to loathe her.

She twisted the cap back on the tube of mascara, resisting the temptation to dash it across the mirror and blot out the reflection that stared back at her.

Digging out her designer jeans from the suitcase, she paired them with a white button-up top and fashionable slingback heels. One thing she had noticeably failed to pack in her unfortunate episode was anything remotely warm enough for a frigid Montana winter.

Crossing her arms tightly across her chest, she sat on the edge of the bed, intending to hide away for the day in the privacy of her room.

Until she caught the rich, earthy scent of fresh coffee.

It made her stomach pang with hunger. Steeling her nerves and fortifying her walls, she loathed herself for surrendering to her basic needs.

Pathetic.

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