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"Piper Elizabeth Fontaine—"
"Don’t." Red-hot anger pulsed from my chest. "You don’t get to speak her name."
"Marrs has done irreparable damage to your value," he sneered. "I didn’t raise you to act like this. I raised you to have discipline. Impulsive, violent, and now? Addicted to pussy? All that hard work, wasted. You’re a professional, you’re throwing your career away for some—"
"You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking—”
"Does she know you have us to thank for your position?"
"She knows everything." I didn’t realize my hands were shaking until I tried to run my hand through my hair. "And you better understand this. If I ever catch you in the same room as her—I fucking promise you—if I ever see you talking to her, I will break every bone in your legs and you’re going to learn how much it hurts to crawl."
There was another pause over the line.
"We’re family, Adam," my dad said, his tone clipped. "She’ll meet us eventually."
Piper was too good. Too sweet. They would dive at that in an instant.
I shook my head. "No. She’ll never meet you two. Our kids won’t even know your fucking name. It’ll be like you never existed."
"Kids?"
The hairs on the back of my neck rose. It was that same feeling when I’d pull a muscle and I knew he could sniff it out, probing at the weakness until he was satisfied. And then he’d use it against me. Make it a learning lesson.
My kids didn’t exist yet but mere thought of my children—with Piper’s gray eyes and the way she scrunched up her nose when she was irritated with me—left alone with my parents, brought rapid breaths out of me. I had to calm down. I wanted to hurt him so bad, it scared the shit out of me.
"Stay on the script," another voice whispered.
My anger disappeared. Confusion replaced it.
"Mom?" I lurched forward.
There was a longer silence and in the silence, I replayed back my words. Making threats against my parents. Laying out every single way they could hurt me, every way they could twist the knife in. My mind reeled.
"What is this?" I demanded, hoarse. "What do you want?"
They didn’t say anything.
I yanked down my phone and put it on speaker, typing immediately, doing the one thing I’d been careful to stay away from. Looking them up. Figuring out what they were up to.
"You don’t know how difficult it’s been, Adam," my dad told me.
My eyes scanned over their social media accounts, searching for whatever they were hiding.
"I lost my job, Adam."
"Because of what you did," I snapped, scrolling through faster and faster.
"It was an accident."
"No, it was the only one there was a crowd for," I muttered and checked their following lists. I froze over the new followers. Professional people in suits, smiling next to bookcases.
I double-clicked the profiles and gaped at my phone.
"Adam—"
Without another thought, I ended the call and tossed my phone to one of the shelves with folded shirts. Those were editors, directors, agents, and more. The brand-new people they followed all worked for a professional publishing agency.
They’re writing a book.
