Conceited (Crimson Elite 3)

“She quit her job, and never wants to see you again,” she says quietly.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” I say rubbing my forehead.

“I’m sorry, Falcon, I love you. And I can see you like her, more than you care to admit, but some lines shouldn’t be crossed. You need to let this one go. She isn’t coming back.”

I sigh and hang up.

What the fuck have I done?26Ariel ‘Raven’One Month Later…* * *The sting has lessened, but not gone away. I stopped talking to Tracey just so I could clear my head, and she agreed not to call me for a while. It’s been a month now, and I miss her. I’m still healing. I have to heal after what happened. To have your life put in danger to better your career was not something I signed up for. Shit, to be with someone who you knew would hurt you was a risk. But the hurt was worse than any normal hurt, this one was ten times worse. Fuck! I mean I woke up drugged and tied to a chair. Granted, nothing happened but still. That’s not something a normal person wants to go through. Maybe it’s his normal—I don’t even know and don’t care. I put that behind me and I’m now looking for work. My mother insists I need to leave the house.

He came here looking for me, but thankfully Mom lied and said she hadn’t seen me. I hugged her tight after that, which followed with plenty of questions I wasn’t willing to answer.

“You can do it,” I say nodding my head, looking at myself in the mirror. I run my hand through my now short hair which I cut off a few weeks ago.

A new me.

I needed the change to feel good. And it did feel good, but sometimes I do miss it. Tying it up in a bun was easy, now I always have to make sure it’s straightened or curled. It isn’t as easy as throwing it up in a bun on the top of my head anymore.

“You look beautiful,” my mother says making me jump on the spot. “You sure you don’t want to go back to the city and get the type of job you wanted? You don’t have to get one here to be close to me.” I thought about going back, but I’m not quite ready, yet.

What if I saw him again?

“No, I’m excited for today,” I lie through my teeth. It’s a small-town paper covering shit stories. But it’s all that’s available right now around here. And with quitting my last job, I need to work up my references.

“I wish I didn’t know when you’re lying.” She cringes, then shakes her head and walks away.

I put on some pink lip gloss and run my hands through my straight, black hair one last time, checking that my skirt has no wrinkles and my button-up shirt is covering all my cleavage. When I walk down, Mom is speaking to someone which makes me pause. Hardly anyone comes to visit, not because she doesn’t socialize, she does. She just prefers to keep her house to herself.

“I won’t be a bother at all Mrs.—”

“You’re no bother, Tracey. I think she’s getting ready to leave, I’ll let her know you’re here.” Mum turns around, and sees me at the stairs and pauses, waiting for me to make my way down to her. I take a few breaths, I can do this. She’s my best friend, it’s not like I have anything to hide. I know Tracey better than most.

“Hi, Tracey.” She waves at me as I walk into the entrance of the house, and when I get closer her hands wrap around me. I see it before I can stop it as I manage to hug her back.

“No more, okay? I’m dealing with a very emotional wife, I need you.” I hear my mother walk away leaving us standing there by ourselves. She manages to pull back to look at me. “Where are you going?”

I shrug. “I have an interview.” The words leave me in a rush.

She looks me over. “You never wanted to work here, that’s why we moved to the city.” She’s right, that doesn’t change the fact that the last place I want to be is near him. “Is what he did that bad?” she asks.

“It is, you don’t want to know.”

“Okay, but I came here to make you an offer.”

“An offer?” I ask confused. She plays with the cell in her hand.

“Storm heard about your situation and has offered you a job.” I don’t know what to say. “So, I came here to see if you would take it. I mean, you don’t have to, but the pay is good and it’s still writing.”

“For a fashion magazine?” I ask.

She nods her head. “It’s not as bad as you think. It’s good, have you ever read one of our articles. We have some of the best writers in the country.” The magazine wins awards every year, so I know she’s telling the truth. I wanted to be a journalist, though, but beggars can’t be choosers.