Uncovering You 7: Resurrection Read Free

found—”
    “And why are we taking what Robin found as accurate?” I ask, starting to get angry. “He’s not even out of school yet. He’s just a wannabe reporter. He doesn’t have the experience to—”
    “Robin is not ,” Fey proclaims, “a ‘wannabe reporter!’ How dare you insult him like that?”
    “And how dare you presume to know what’s best for me?” I demand. My anger is in full swing, now. I must be channeling my inner Stonehart. “You said it yourself, Fey. I’ve changed. Well, you’ve changed, too! The Fey I knew before would be smart enough to realize that I can make my own decisions. I don’t need coddling or advice or warnings on how to live my life. I know what’s best for me, Fey! You hear that? I do! Not you, not Robin, not Jeremy, not my fucking mother…”
    I trail off when I realize that I’m yelling. My heart is pounding hard. Adrenaline is rushing through my veins. I’m amped up, defiant, frustrated. All I can think of is:
    Does my behavior all stem from the way my mother raised me?
    Silence greets me on the other end of the line. I imagine if Fey and I were interacting face-to-face, it’d be a shocked silence.
    But I’m not going to blink first. I wait for her to speak.
    “Fine,” she says finally. Her voice has taken on aristocratic airs. “It’s obvious that you now consider yourself superior . Enjoy your new life, Lilly Ryder. And the next time you need a friend, don’t come to me.”
    She hangs up.
    Slowly, carefully, I bring the phone away from my ear. Slowly, carefully, I turn it off and lower it to my lap.
    Then with a primal scream of pure rage, I throw it as hard as I can against the wall.
    I fling the sheets off myself and march out the door. I find Jeremy sitting on a chaise lounge in the living room.
    I go to him. He starts to stand. I don’t let him. I push his shoulders down and straddle his legs.
    “You,” I say, my voice demanding and full of unrestrained emotion, “need to get naked. Now .”
    He wastes no time complying.

Chapter Two
     
    I’m edgy and irritated the next day at work. My tolerance for incompetence is at an all-time low. I snap at my entire team, knowing that I’m doing myself no favors in ingratiating myself to them as the newcomer to the job.
    I don’t care. Jeremy gave me this position. He is the only one I feel responsible to. I will prove to him—and to everyone else—that this is not just a sweetheart deal.
    Despite my disposition—or maybe because of it—the day is over before I know it. At 5:30, I’m about to step in the elevator (the same one where I had that electric first encounter with Jeremy Stonehart) when I feel a hand on my elbow.
    “Jeremy,” I begin, turning around. “We’re not supposed to—”
    I stop short. Standing behind me is not Jeremy Stonehart, but a grey-haired, spidery specter of a man. He stands only as tall as my shoulder. His face is creased with lines. His eyes are hidden behind a pair of orange-tinted glasses.
    “Miss Ryder,” he says cordially. “If I may have a word?” He glances at the people standing around us. “In private?”
    There’s something vaguely familiar about his face. It takes me a second to remember. When I do, my walls go up immediately.
    I saw him once, many months ago, when Jeremy introduced me to his board. Back then, he was one of Jeremy’s most vocal opposers.
    “I don’t think so,” I say, pulling my arm out of his grip. “I have to—”
    “I’m afraid,” he says, taking hold of my arm again, “that I must insist.”
    His fingers dig into my skin. He has a surprisingly strong grip for a man his size.
    He steps closer to me. “You wouldn’t want to cause a scene before all these lovely people now, would you?”
    I look around.
    Actually, I think , in my current mood, I wouldn’t entirely mind.
    He senses my reluctance, and adds, “It’s about Mr. Stonehart. Or—as you seem to prefer—about Jeremy .”
    I go stiff. I should have been more