Page 79 of The Pucking Wrong Rookie

I held up my hands. “Everett?—”

“Do I need to remind you that without the opportunities I’ve given you, you’d be out there struggling, working yourself to the bone just to have food on the table? Do you want to go back to how you grew up, Sloane? Is that what your tone means?”

I bowed my head. “No, Uncle.”

His footsteps were slow and methodical as he approached me, and then he was tipping up my chin until I was meeting those brown eyes of his, the ones that always reminded me of my mother.

And how much she would hate what I’d become.

“Remember, you chose this…and remember, this is all you’re good for.”

With those words he released my chin and walked to the elevators. I didn’t bother to watch him leave.

All you’re good for.

It was the reminder I needed to dig out the tendril of light that Logan had infected me with.

Maybe a better woman would have cried. Maybe she would have screamed. Instead, I sat on the couch, staring at nothing, as the reality of my life closed in around me.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I slowly pulled it out, not surprised to see the instructions on the screen.

Everett: JS. 8 PM. Plaza Hotel.

For a second—just a second—my mind drifted to Logan. To that one perfect moment this morning.

And then I stood up and went to my bedroom to get ready.

Walking into the closet, I grabbed one of the dresses—black, fitted, something that showed off my body in all the ways it was supposed to. My hands moved on autopilot, slipping the fabric over my skin, zipping it up without thinking. I sat down at the vanity, brushing out my hair, applying my makeup, covering my heartache with just the right amount of concealer.

My phone buzzed again. This time, with a call from Logan.

The brush trembled in my hand as I stared at his name on the screen, the weak part of me wanting to pick it up, to hear his voice…just one more time.

I silenced the call, ignoring the tear falling down my cheek. He wouldn’t want anything to do with me after this.

But it was better this way—to ghost him. It would be torture now to hear his voice and see his face.

I already missed him.

Setting down the makeup brush, I stared at my reflection. My heart felt heavy, but I shut the feeling down, putting the image of him in a vault I wasn't going to think about again.

Standing up, I smoothed out my dress, and grabbed my purse. The Plaza Hotel. Eight o’clock.

I wasn’t allowed to be late.

CHAPTER19

LOGAN

JS. 8 PM. Plaza Hotel.

Thanks to the app I had installed on her phone, I could see all of her incoming and outgoing text messages. I read the text she’d received two hours ago over and over in disbelief, my stomach twisted into a knot so tight it felt like I couldn’t breathe. A dark, burning sensation filled my veins as I stared at the message, the words branding into my mind. I didn’t need to guess what it meant. I’d looked through enough of her messages to know how she was informed about clients.

I’d missed catching the text when it came in thanks to practice, so I frantically turned on the video feed for the tiny camera that was in the necklace I’d given her this morning.

Fuck. She’d taken it off. The feed showed her ceiling, and the recorder wasn’t picking up any sound.

I hit her number immediately, pacing the locker room with the phone pressed to my ear. It rang, and rang, and rang—then went straight to voicemail. I gripped the phone tighter, so tight my knuckles turned white, and I forced myself to take a deep breath. She was shutting me out. It was her instinct—to push me away.

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