allowed to hurt anyone else.” The balmy evening breeze whispered along her bare arms. It was a beautiful night, far too serene and peaceful for her to be arguing with her best friend. “Can’t you see that?”
“If you were really interested in what’s best for me then you would have consulted me first instead of running off there behind my back. You’re doing this for you.”
The words were like a slap across the face. “How on earth is this for me?”
“You needed something to focus on after Christian screwed you over. You needed some kind of problem to solve, just like you always do when your own life isn’t going according to plan.” Kylie sighed. “I love you, Wren. You’re the sister I never had, but don’t delude yourself that this is all about helping me.”
“What was I supposed to do, sit by and watch while you broke down? While he’s getting away with it?”
“You could have stayed with me. You could have done what Debbie is doing. But instead, you ran away because it suited your situation.”
“I wanted to help you,” Wren said, swallowing the lump in her throat.
“I’m getting help…with a therapist. I’m working through what happened with a professional, Wren. You being in New York and trying to force me to talk about it isn’t helping. It’s stressing me out.” Kylie’s voice wavered. “Please come home.”
For a moment Wren considered it. But what about Aimee? What about the next girl or the one after that?
She held her breath, debating how much to say. “There’s another girl…he’s hurting her, too.”
The silenced seemed to stretch out for an eternity. Only the steady sound of Wren’s footsteps against the pavement told her that time hadn’t stopped completely. There was a faint, muffled sound on the other end of the line. Kylie was crying.
“I’m sorry, Ky.” She wanted so badly to press for more details—anything that might help to gather proof against Ainslie. But her friend’s tears halted her words. “I promise I’ll come home as soon as I can.”
“I have to go,” Kylie said, her voice rough and edgy. “Maybe don’t call me for a few days, okay? I need to stop thinking about this, and talking to you while you’re there…”
Wren’s stomach sank. “If that’s what you want.”
“You know what I want. I won’t feel better until you’re far away from him.” She sniffed. “Just think about coming home. Hell, don’t come home if you don’t want. Go somewhere else. Anywhere else.”
“I’ll call you next week.”
“Why don’t I call you…when I’m ready.”
Wren blinked back the first prickle of tears. “Okay.”
She ended the call and brushed the back of her hand against a tear that had dropped onto her cheek as she walked up the path to her building. The sky had turned dark and the temperature had dropped. Goose bumps rippled across her skin.
How was it possible that she’d screwed up so badly while having the best intentions? Rhys was angry at her. Kylie was angry at her. Debbie…well, her sister wasn’t angry but she resented Wren leaving her behind.
Wren trudged up the stairs of the walk-up, her mind swirling like a tornado. She tried to shake off the bad feeling that had settled into her bones. Rhys was right; what she’d done was stupid and naive. She hadn’t helped Kylie; in fact, she seemed to have made things worse.
But Aimee still needs your help. She’s still in danger. If you don’t stand up to Sean, who knows what might happen to her?
As she walked to her front door, her gaze snagged on Rhys’s apartment. She was tempted to knock, but it was probably best to give him time to cool down. After all, she’d dropped a pretty big bombshell on him tonight.
Wren walked into her apartment and had been inside for all of five minutes when a knock on the door made her heart leap into her throat. Had Rhys decided to come to her? The thought filled her with warmth.
She rushed to the door and opened it, the smile dying on her lips when she saw that her visitor wasn’t Rhys. It was Sean.
“I hope you don’t mind me showing up on your doorstep,” he said, sounding decidedly uncaring. “I want to clear up this tension between us.”
Wren swallowed down her instinct to slam the door in his face. “What do you mean?”
“You’re not being honest with me. A true artist doesn’t bottle his or her feelings up, Wren. That’s why you’re having issues with your paintings. You’re suppressed.” He swayed and planted a hand on the door frame, leaning in. “You have no idea how to tap into your true self.”
The scent of stale whiskey invaded her nostrils. “Have you been drinking?”
“So what if I have?” He stepped forward and pushed her back into her apartment, slamming the door shut behind him. “Are you judging me? I should have known after I hired that twit Kylie that everyone from your hick fucking town was a purist prude.”
“I told you, Kylie and I have nothing to do with one another,” she lied, warning bells ringing in her ears. “And I still don’t understand why you’re here.”
“‘I still don’t understand why you’re here,’” he mimicked in a high-pitched voice. “Who’s the boss, Wren?”
“You are.” She forced herself to breathe slow and even.
“Are you sure you believe that? Because I’m getting a strong vibe of insubordination from you.” He raked a hand through his long, dark hair and a chunky gold ring glinted on his right hand. It looked like the kind of ring that could do a hell of a lot of damage if it connected to bone.
Like shattering an eye socket, perhaps?
“I want…I want what’s best for our working relationship,” she stammered. “I value my position at the studio and if I’ve done something—”
“Bullshit,” he spat. “You know exactly what you’ve done.”
Her mind spun. Was he referring to her getting into his email? Setting off the alarm on the storage room? Had he discovered the truth about her and Kylie?
“Spare me the deer-in-headlights look, Wren.” He rolled his eyes. “I know you’ve been talking to Aimee about me.”
Damn. “I just wanted to make sure she was okay.”
“It’s none of your business.” His voice escalated, taking on the shrill edge of a person about to lose their shit. “You ought to be careful, being so nosy. I might think you were the one trying to hack into my account and delete my emails if you weren’t so stupid and obvious.”
Wren said a silent thank-you for small mercies. For as long as Sean didn’t suspect her, she could talk her way out of her supposed indiscretion.
“You’re
