I look over and see Mara, Sterling Cross’s head designer, standing at a high table with several people from the art department. I’m so thankful for the sympathy in her eyes that when she reaches her hand out to me, I grab it like a lifeline.
But when she asks, “What happened?” I cringe. I don’t want to—can’t—relive it.
“It looks like Caleb’s out,” I say. “I don’t know all the details...”
Around the table, jaws drop. “He’s out?” Mara gasps. “So who’s in? Olivia? What does that mean for all of us?”
I shake my head to indicate I don’t know. I don’t know anything. Right now, so much is up in the air.
You don’t know what I do to my enemies. But I swear to you, you’re about to find out.
More shudders. I point to the exit. “I’ve got to—”
“Whoa. Listen to this.”
All attention is drawn from me to Dan, the head of the art department. His nose is buried in his phone.
“I just got a text from my buddy in security at Sterling Cross,” he says, thumbs working. “And he was told to be on the lookout for Caleb Sterling. Well, guess who just showed up… And was promptly arrested?”
More gasps. Jaws on floor.
This isn’t happening. I’ve got to get back to headquarters.
Mara’s still holding my arm, but I quickly disentangle myself and force a smile. “I’ve got to go. I have a… Headache.”
“Oh, okay. Feel better!” she calls after me, but I don’t look back.
I rush outside and hail a cab, headed for the downtown headquarters. My heart’s racing. I keep checking my messages, as if Caleb’s going to bother texting me. As if he’ll even look my way again, after what I did.
I’m his enemy.
When the cab pulls to the curb, I jump out and rush inside, only to find the building emptier than I’ve ever seen it. There’s only one security guard there—the guy who must be Dan’s friend. I say, my words tumbling over one another: “Caleb. I mean, Mr. Sterling? Where is he?”
The man smirks. “The slammer. You missed quite a show.”
Oh, no. This isn’t good.
Worse than that, this is all my fault.
I rush outside, frantic as I raise my hand to hail another cab. Sliding into the back seat, I bark, “Police station!”
It’s only when the driver looks back at me like I’m insane and says, “Which precinct?” that I realize I am in way over my head.
I need to calm down. Think. “Uh, where would they take someone under arrest?”
He shrugs as if to say, Your guess is as good as mine.
I can’t do this on my own. I need help. Caleb needs help. Someone who can…
It suddenly hits me. Jonathan Brewer. His attorney. I’ve spoken to him a couple times, obviously regarding more corporate, non-criminal matters. But he’s got to be better at this than I am.
“All right. Just… Hold on.” I fish my phone out and find his number in my work contacts.
He picks up on the third ring. “Brewer.”
“Hi, Jonathan? This is Juliet Nichols. One of Caleb Sterling’s assistants.”
There’s a pause. “What’s the problem? I’m sure it is a problem, since you’re calling me near midnight on a Friday night.”