The Rivals - Dylan Allen Page 0,246

his words. We have a future. Our paths are clear.

“I can’t either.”

He glances at his watch. “Sorry I’ve really got to go. You good to walk back to the hotel by yourself?”

“Yeah, I know this neighborhood like the back of my hand still. I’ll be fine.”

CONVERSATION ONE

I’m just walking back into my hotel when my phone rings.

“Give me an update. I’ve only got six minutes before my next call.” Jules’s abrasive voice snaps in my ear.

“Morning. Uh, well—I had a meeting with Gigi Rivers—” I stammer.

“That’s fucking fantastic. Did she tell you anything about Remington Wilde, if he came to see her that day in the hospital?”

I clear my throat and rack my brain for a lie that will tide her over. Just until I can decide if there’s a story in there somewhere.

“Yes. She said he came to see her. He and Hayes are friends, you see. Good friends, and it was just a friendly get well visit.”

“That’s bullshit, though, right? I mean, we see him storming out of the hospital, squealing out the garage and then he hasn’t really been seen since.”

“Well, I don’t know what’s going on with him and Regan. But no one else here seems to think he’s missing. I talked to a source at his office, she said he sent out a company-wide email this week, saying he was back from his break and that he can’t wait to share all of the exciting ideas he had while he was away. So, it appears he was just on vacation. So, I think we can scrap that part of the—”

“I’m sorry, are you high? Who goes on vacation for months? Nobody,” she yells.

The flips my stomach has been doing intensify.

“I haven’t heard a single rumor about him being an alcoholic or on drugs. Honestly, I think there’s a real story in whatever is happening with The Rivers Family and their resurgence—”

“Kalilah. No one gives a shit about their resurgence if they don’t know the details. If you’re not up to it, come home, pack up your office, and find a job at The Huffington Post.” And then, she hangs up.

I drop my phone like it’s on fire and fall backwards on my bed. I can’t afford not to have a job. Tomorrow is pay day, but by the time the sun sets, most of it will be gone. Fear makes my throat constrict and I force myself to face the worst case scenarios.

If I don’t write the story, at the very worst, I lose my job. But I’d have at least one more paycheck and I own my place outright. Taxes aren’t due for months. I may not be able to find a job as a journalist, but I could keep food on the table while I sold my place. And with the money left over, I’d have a nice nest egg until the I could figure things out…

If do I write my report, at the very worst, Remi wouldn’t forgive me. But I’d have a job, it might even be the promising beginning of a career I’ve always dreamed of. But all of that would probably mean causing real harm to the fragile peace Remi and I have forged.

I don’t even have to think about it to know which one of those poisoned pills I’d rather swallow.

I just need to think about what comes next. I decide to go for a walk to clear my head.

CONVERSATION TWO

* * *

I leave my hotel with no particular destination in mind. So, when I find myself standing in front of To Be Read a few minutes later, I’m surprised.

I planned to never come here again. I have so many painful memories about our time here; I thought being back would send those old feelings, that I avoid like the plague, flooding back. But my feet guided me, anyway. As I stand here, the only thing flooding me is love.

I had loved it here.

It had been the best summer of my life.

I love living in New York, but this feels like home. And now that Remi and I are both be ready to give us a go, it also feels like a solution.

It’s still vacant, just as we left it.

I wonder why Lister never sold it or found someone to re-open it.

I also wonder why he never wanted to know his daughter. I can’t imagine what makes a man do that. Paul may not win any awards for father of the year, but he at least made time