Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 119005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
But I was sluggish and tired as I moved from machine to machine and was considering giving up when a shadow fell over me while I used the power squat.
“Do you mind if I use this next?”
I looked up and the breath was sucked right out of my body.
“Amanda?”
“Excuse me?”
I blinked, my heart racing a mile a minute as the woman standing over me suddenly became clearer. She had auburn hair the exact shade as Amanda’s, the same slight, willowy build, even blue-gray eyes. For a second there, I could have sworn it was her.
It wasn’t.
She was haunting me again.
“It’s all yours.” I pushed up and away from the machine. Suddenly, that pressure on my chest turned into a vise. My head felt fuzzy as it became difficult to breathe, my face tingled, and a cold sweat turned my skin clammy. It felt like my heart was trying to explode out of the steel wrapping itself around my ribs. Vision blurry, the gym seemed to swim around me as I hurried for the ladies’ locker room.
Bursting into it, I dove into one of the toilet cubicles, my fingers clumsy as I tried to lock the door behind me. Then I slumped on the toilet as I heaved in sharp, tight breaths.
A knock sounded on the cubicle door. “Are you okay in there? Do you need help?”
Breathe, Beth, breathe. Mindfulness.
Choose to return.
I took a massive inhale of air and then exhaled slowly.
“Hello?”
Another breath, staring at the door, taking in my surroundings. I was in the toilet in the women’s locker room, in the gym. I could smell sweat, perfume, deodorant, and toilet chemicals. I could hear blow dryers, conversation, and the faint thrum of music from the main gym room.
My breathing slowed. “I’m okay,” I croaked out to the kind stranger. “Thank you.”
“Okay. If you’re sure?”
“I’m sure. Thanks.”
I listened as her footsteps disappeared, but I stayed in the cubicle, meditating until the panic attack was over and I was utterly exhausted.
As I was driving back from the gym, worn out and wanting to hide from the world, my phone rang. It was Tellie Sutton.
Adrenaline flushed through me as I hit the Answer Call button on my steering wheel. I hadn’t heard a thing from Aura Beauty since I’d lied to Samuel about Callan being my boyfriend.
“Hi, Tellie, how are you?” I answered, trying to sound normal.
“It’s Sheera, actually.”
Hope filled me. “Sheera, hi! How are you?”
“I’m a little disappointed, Beth,” she said, sounding more bored than anything else. “I really had high hopes for working with you, but I can’t work with a liar.”
What? My throat felt tight as I squeaked out, “I don’t understand.”
“My son, Samuel, he really liked you. And I like seeing my son happy. Of course, if you have a prior commitment to someone else, that’s understandable. You told him you’re dating a Scottish Pro League football player, but there’s no mention of it in the papers. In fact, Callan Keen is known for his string of one-night stands. So, I can only conclude that, for some bizarre reason, you lied to my son.”
Oh fuck. Sheera had the kind of connections that could kill my company if she decided she wanted to. “No. Not at all, Sheera. Samuel is wonderful, but I really … I really am dating Callan. He’s my boyfriend. Truly. You know what the tabloids are like. They see him with a girl and they make up lies.” I winced at my own horrible, horrible untruths. Was this who I really wanted to be? Was this what getting ahead meant? Selling out for success?
“Fine. I’m hosting a launch party for our new line two weeks on Saturday. I’m inviting you and a few influencers along to show me what you have. Bring your so-called boyfriend so I can determine for myself if you’re lying. And, Beth, you better not be because there’s nothing I can abide less.” She hung up before I could respond.
I was shaking as I pulled into my assigned space at the flats. Callan’s Defender wasn’t parked outside our building, but he had a game today so I wasn’t surprised. Unclipping my phone from its stand on the dash, I tapped on the inbox message flashing on the screen to see the formal invitation from Tellie.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!!!
Then I saw a text from Dad asking me if I was coming to dinner.
Usually, I would, but I couldn’t force myself to pretend to be okay in front of everyone.
Really, really busy, sorry. Will be there next week, I promise. X
A few seconds later, my phone beeped.
We’ll miss you, kid. Don’t work too hard.
I felt guilty but I refused to let it take over and send me plummeting into another spiral. Because I had a plan. I was focusing on that plan, and it was going to make everything better.