The Lover’s Secret (No Exceptions #1)(28)
Author: J.C. Reed

Then, finally, the healing could start.

Chapter 16

Thalia barely paid me another glance when I grabbed my coat and handbag, and headed out into the cold to make my way back to the hotel. As the chilly air seeped under my coat and cooled my head, my wits slowly returned.

Seriously, what had I been thinking?

Modeling to solve my debt problems?

Really?

The longer I walked, the more the idea seemed ludicrous, conjuring all kinds of images in my head, like creepy men and money scams. By the time I reached the hotel, I was convinced that Thalia received a commission for finding gullible girls and reeling them in. People didn’t just help others unless they had a heart of gold—and let’s face it, the world wasn’t exactly full of those. Most people had ulterior motives or selfish agendas, and Thalia was probably one of them. I had read about one of the dirty sides of the modeling business; the one that operated under the pretense of offering great jobs, right after one paid for having an expensive portfolio created. Once the money was paid, the jobs would never roll in. Thalia had been as convincing as a trained salesperson, but I wasn’t about to fall for any tricks. When something sounded too good to be true, it probably was.

I entered the gigantic lobby and stopped, considering whether to head upstairs to the penthouse and try to open the locked suitcase or head for the shops and buy something to wear and surprise Jett at the office…when I remembered that my credit cards were maxed out.

Dammit.

“Welcome to reality, Stewart,” I mumbled.

Not only were my debts messing with my life; they were also ruining my chance to buy something sexy and new, if only to feel better.

I never thought I’d miss my old room resembling a matchbox, but a few weeks into living with Jett and seeing his walk-in closet, which was larger than an entire store department, and I felt like asking Sylvie to let me move back into our tiny abode, just so I could pick and choose from her stuffed-to-the-brim wardrobe. Sylvie had so much stuff—thanks to her family’s platinum VISA card—that she hardly remembered what was in her closet. Such a surplus would have come in handy at the moment, if only to get out of the dress I was wearing.

I had almost reached the elevator when I noticed a redhead dressed in black heading in my direction. I recognized her as the receptionist who had greeted me upon my arrival the day before.

“Miss Stewart?” she said.

I nodded.

She handed me a large envelope. “This letter was left for you an hour ago.”

“Thanks.” I watched her walk off, her dress shoes click-clacking across the marble floor, before I turned my attention to the envelope. There was no address; not even a room number. Only a name, printed in capital letters:

BROOKE STEWART.

My heart pounded in my chest. Apart from Jett and Sylvie, no one knew where to find me. I figured it had to be from Jett, even though he could have just called me instead.

Was he trying to surprise me with yet another game?

He could be quite creative when it came to our sex life. But, even for his standards, this felt a little surprising, and for some reason all I could think of was that maybe…just maybe…this was one of those days that would end in a proposal after all.

Granted, Jett thought marriage should feature in one’s cards only after at least half a decade of dating, but weren’t miracles known for hitting you when you didn’t see them coming? A girl could dream.

I sighed. If Jett only proposed, I wouldn’t even need a proposal like the ones you see in the movies. I’d take a hand-written note, a hint, or anything at all.

With shaky hands and a half-smile on my lips, half expecting the cameras to roll on me, I tore the seal open, my heart threatening to jump out of my chest. As I pulled out the sheet of paper, I frowned and eventually my smile died on my lips. A cold shudder ran down my spine.

Oh, my God.

That couldn’t be.

Chapter 17

As I scanned the letter in my hand, another cold shudder ran down my spine and then the shock came slowly in thick, long waves.

This couldn’t be right. It just…couldn’t be.

In my hand was a piece of paper titled, “Visitation Log,” and on it was a long list of dates. Disbelief washed over me as I stared at all the times Jett’s name popped up at one and the same address.

Six weeks.

Twice weekly.

In prison.

Jett had been visiting his brother in prison.

My heart thudded against my chest as my throat constricted. I didn’t know what to think, what to make of this—of what it was supposed to mean. My pulse raced at the thought of Jett meeting with him, of all people. Sure, he was my boyfriend and my boss, but wasn’t he supposed to tell me this little fact—after everything that had happened?

I turned the paper in a feeble attempt to find out who had sent the list, and for a second, my heart stopped, and my legs threatened to buckle beneath me as nausea gathered in the pit of my stomach. I stared at the words as if they belonged to another language, but there was no mistake. Right there, it clearly stated—in black and white:

Freed, on the grounds of a lack of evidence.

It had been signed two days prior and stated that Jonathan Mayfield, who was known to everyone as Nate, was to be released within twenty-four hours. That placed his release the previous day—which was right when Jett and I had arrived at the TRIO hotel.

Gripping the wall for support, I closed my eyes and inhaled a deep breath, but the air felt stuffy, as if it contained no oxygen. I felt so weak that I feared I might just pass out on the spot, and the walls would come crashing down on me.

“It’s not possible,” I muttered to myself.

That just wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be because in the past few weeks I had not once considered the possibility. Of all the things I had feared, his immediate release had featured nowhere in my mind, nor in my imagination, not even in my nightmares. My hands were shaking so hard I had to ball them into fists. The magnitude of the words hung heavy in the air.

The sword of Damocles dangling from a thin thread above my head.

Fear and anger threatened to choke the life out of me as I read those words over and over again in the hopes they might somehow dissipate into a figment of my imagination if I begged them long enough.

Jett’s brother, Nate, was free—the very man who had kidnapped me, hurt me with the intention to kill me, and then had sent Jett’s father into a coma. In my mind, I could see the images happening in slow motion: Nate holding a knife to my throat, the blade slowly penetrating the thin barrier that was my skin. He was a monster, a cold-blooded killer with a sick need to inflict pain.