Misery

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KATHERINE

What I really wanted to say to Nick was "Why would I ask for your help?" but all that came out was a weak, "How?"

If Betsy was here, she would tell me to storm past him, maybe stomp on his foot for good measure. But her aunt, the one who'd prayed for me so steadfastly during the first few years of my break-up, would encourage me to keep my peace. And listen. So I did.

Nicolas stood before me, dressed in a wrinkled gray suit, one arm held across his abdomen, like he was trying to keep his guts from spilling out. Or maybe he was afraid I would claw him.

"I didn't mean to overhear your conversation, Katherine," he said carefully, "but it sounds like you need to go home, while your brother needs someone to look after him here."

I squeezed my eyes shut to fight a fresh wave of tears, but nodded at his words.

"I'll give him a hand," he said. My eyes flew open. "I'm already here for work. He can stay at my place until he can catch the next flight—or until you can collect him." He chuckled softly, nervously, and when I didn't argue, he stepped closer. The goosebumps on my skin began to settle.

Then it hit me—work. I gasped, then groaned. "I start work tomorrow..." Of course, my mother's in the hospital, my fiften-year-old brother is flying for the first time in his life, and I'm going to lose my job. Before I even start.

Nicolas's calm demeanor cracked a bit, but he didn't freak out. "Where do you work now? Maybe I can help you—"

I shook my head. "Wayward Press," I said. "But how could you do anything?" Vaguely, I recalled the sticker on his laptop, but he might have a friend who was published with them.

Nicolas's amber eyes captured mine. "I know a few executives there. I'll make sure you keep your job until you can come down."

A nearby flight attendant cleared his throat. We turned to look at him, so engrossed in our conversation that I hadn't realized they were preparing the gate for the next flight. He tapped his watch. "We have to get the next flight on. If you two are done, you best collect your bags and move out."

Nicolas frowned at the man, then stepped closer to me. I got a whiff of his scent. He smelled like raspberries and pine needles and something new, something I couldn't quite place. Then it slapped me: Victoria's perfume.

The closeness was too much, and the fear in my chest gave way to something deep in my gut. It came up and spewed out of my mouth like poison. "How will you help me?" I scoffed. "Last I checked, your bookstore was falling apart at the seams. Even if you have the connections, why would they listen to you? You're nobody."

I spat the words with such venom, I almost winced alongside him. He lifted a hand, as if to press his palm against my cheek, and I flinched. I forced myself to stare at the row of people lining up for the gate behind him, avoiding the ring on his left hand.

He took a deep breath, as if to keep his composure. "What flight is he on?"

"See for yourself." I unlocked my phone and shoved it at him.

Anger coursed through me, hot magma in my veins, as I glared at Nick. At the thought of our foiled wedding day so many years ago. A little voice in my head tried to reason, calm me down, He's helping you, remember? And the other part of me wanted to scream, sob, and watch my world crumble like the ashes of Pompeii.

Nicolas glanced at the email, copied the flight number on his phone, and handed back my phone. I snatched it back. Nicolas's expression hardened.

"I wouldn't be offering if I didn't think you needed it, Katherine. Why else risk getting chewed out?" His hand dropped to his side. There was no kindness in his voice. "I'll help you with your brother and your job and you'll never have to see me again."

My gaze shot to him, but he was out of reach now. Regret sank into my stomach like a leaden weight, and I couldn't mistake the hurt in his eyes.

"Goodbye, Katherine. Your brother will be in touch." 

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