Page 1 of Ms. Lead

Chapter One

OLIVER

LIFE’S GONNA KILL YOU (IF YOU LET IT)

Staring at the tiled ceiling of this hospital room, counting the little bubbles in the paint, is really getting old. Especially since the painkiller I was given a little while ago hasn’t started to kick in yet. Activities like counting objects or focusing on one item are supposed to help with this sort of thing. At least, that’s what all the professionals keep telling me. I’ve yet to find a reliable way to distract myself from pain. It’s rather becoming a way of life for me now.

“You know, if you ever want to see me, you could just phone. This whole ‘spraining your ankle’ thing is taking it too far. Even for you.” My literary agent and friend, Darcie, appears in the doorway and fills the frame, hands on her hips. She thinks she’s being funny.

I’m not amused in the slightest.

“They won’t let me leave without a ride. It wasn’t my choice to call you here, believe me.” The disdain in my voice is for the doctors, not her. But she knows that. We’ve been friends since university, and things like this are becoming par for the course lately. “I’m sure I’ll be fine once the drugs start working. Besides, it’s barely even a sprain.”

I try to be as nonchalant about the situation as possible, but she knows me too well and sees through it instantly. Nothing gets past Darcie.

“Seriously, Oli. What happened this time?” Her brows draw together, and her tone softens.

With that one look, my worst fears flash before me. The concern. An expression I never wanted to appear on my friend’s face. Not towards me, anyway. I need to look back up at the ceiling to avoid it. I can’t stand it. I knew it would be coming eventually, but now that it has, it makes my stomach churn.

“It’s nothing, really. I just missed a step in the stairwell of my building. I’ve done that a million times. This time I just landed awkwardly. It’s not a big deal. Some decent drugs, ice, rest, and I’ll be good as new.” My words ring hollow in my ears as they’re spoken, but I force myself to smile for her sake.

“Well, you really need to find a flat with no stairs. We can’t keep doing this. And, that thing you’re doing with your face? That’s a grimace, just FYI.” She swirls a well-manicured finger in a circle in front of my nose. “Not the confident smile you think it is.”

“Well, unsolicited advice regarding my living arrangements is exactly that, unsolicited. And as I said, the painkillers have yet to present themselves to my pain. I’ll be grinning from ear to ear just for you once they do. Better?”

That gets a corner of her mouth to twitch, at least, and her scowl relaxes.

“Are you able to take regular painkillers with your new prescriptions?”

It’s an innocent enough question, but the barbs on the subject matter snag on my vulnerability. Darcie is a great friend, and I can count on her for anything I could possibly need, but sometimes she’s too involved in my life. I don’t know what I’d do without her, but I do like to let myself wonder about that very scenario in times like this.

“Darcie…” I warn.

She leans away and holds her hands up defensively. “Okay, okay. I just want to make sure your A&E doctors know what else is happening with you. That’s all.”

My intense answering glare is enough to let her know it’s time to drop the subject of my care.

Clearing her throat nervously, she asks, “What does this mean for your trip to the states? Are you going to be able to go as you planned?”

For my next book, I’ve arranged to spend one month in Las Vegas to research the connections between the Mamana and Calnetta organized crime families and the city. Darcie has scheduled interviews with some key local players for me. Spraining my ankle like this was not on the agenda for my travel preparations, but it’s still a couple of weeks away, so I’ll have time to heal.

“Nothing should be upset by this little mishap. Don’t worry.” I shrug a shoulder. “You know I can’t…don’t drive anyway, and that’s all been prearranged with your contact at that car service, Mischief, whatever.”

I cringe internally at having to be carted around the city and not free to wander as a whim might take me. But, like it or not, this is the reality I face now. While I’ve always preferred rail over the road, having the road option removed is frustrating on a deeper level than I bargained for. It’s strange to miss something that isn’t even a thing but an essential activity in daily life for most people.

“Mischief Motors,” she mumbles, now distracted. “Maybe I should go with you to help—”

“No. Absolutely not,” I say, my voice flat and emotionless, the words clipped. “I don’t need your help.”

I impulsively drag my hands through my hair and sit up. Being treated like an invalid chafes against my pride and will not work for me or our friendship. She should know this. I don’t know what’s changed in our relationship for her to think she should even offer, but I don’t like it.

I don’t fucking like it at all.

The surprise and hurt in her eyes at my outburst makes me shift my gaze away again. I don’t want to see that; the pain I cause others. Because I do a lot of that lately, and she’s just the latest innocent bystander to be added to my tally of collateral damage.

It would be easier if I could just cut everyone out of my life, which I’ve attempted to do and have been largely successful. Darcie, however, won’t let me quit, making my lashing out at her even more heinous and deepening my guilt. It’s a vicious cycle that I can’t seem to escape.

“I’ll see when they’re going to let you go.” Her back is to me, and she’s out the door before I can even think of a response or apology if I was going to give one. I don’t think I have one to offer. Because I’m not sorry for lashing out. I happen to think I’ve earned the right to strike out at the entire world.

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