Got him. “I’m dead serious. Trust me, if it’s who I think it is, I won’t have a problem finding dirt.”
He mulls it over for a long few seconds, then he gives a slight nod.
“Blake Thompson.”
Two blinks, immediately.
“Thanks for your time. I’ll be in touch.”
12
Karli
I want to curl up and die. I don’t know if I’ve ever been this embarrassed in my entire life.
I stare at my TV, watching another Hallmark Christmas movie, one after the other. I wanted to watch Die Hard, but I’m pretty sure I hate that movie at this point and will never watch it again.
I glance over at my original movie poster and give Bruce Willis a mental apology and let him know I’ll miss John McClane when I’m feeling down.
I know most people would expect me to cry my eyes out, watching Hallmark movies over and over, feeling sentimental about Matthew. Wishing he’d show up like the hero does after he screws up, begs for forgiveness—apologizes.
Instead, I just laugh at the big climax redemption scenes over and over again, one after another.
Because it’s fucking stupid. That never happens.
The real world is dark and cruel, and people get thrown under the bus by selfish assholes. They get their hearts broken and the bad guy wins.
I glance over at the screen. Look at this fucking guy right now in his goddamn cardigan, apologizing profusely, suddenly loves Christmas, realizing how shitty he’s been because of whatever ‘tragedy’ happened in his backstory. I don’t even remember what it was with this current dickhead on my screen.
I take a giant bite of mint chocolate chip ice cream straight from the container. “Don’t take him back! You’re a piece of shit, buddy! You’ll always be one and no amount of Hollywood writing will ever change that, no matter what happens on this screen right now!”
I laugh to myself, but it’s hollow. All it does is amplify the pain I’ve tried to shove away, deep down. It won’t leave my body. The worst part is I want to mourn what this means for my career. That’s what should concern me right now.
I sniff once and curse the tears threatening to break through but manage to keep them at bay once again.
No, it’s Matthew Graham eating up every square inch of mental real estate. No matter how hard I try to erase him from my memory, he’s always there, like a damn virus. One question keeps rolling around, plaguing me constantly.
How could he do that to me? I just knew he was different.
Just stop, Karli. Wallow like this for a bit then pick yourself up.
My phone rings and it’s a number I don’t recognize. I answer it, hoping it’s a telemarketer so I can take some frustration out on them.
“Hello?”
“Karli?” The voice sounds a little familiar, but I can’t place it. It has a slight southern drawl to it.
“Yeah. Who is this?”
There’s a long pause and it sounds like she takes a deep breath on the other end. “Tate Collins.”
My eyes widen, then slowly start to narrow as the memory of everything that happened to me in her husband’s firm come to the surface. I should remain professional. I know that’s what I should do. But this ball of anger flares up inside me, like it’s just been sitting there, waiting for the right moment to emerge. “What do you want?” The words come out through my teeth.
I cringe at how it sounds, but fuck that. I hate these people. They’re making me question my entire existence, everything I’ve wanted for so long. I’ve actually contemplated changing careers because of this.
“I wanted to check on you. See how you’re doing.”
I scoff. “How I’m doing? Seriously? Why?”
I hate the fact that I still, even right now, feel like I should walk on eggshells and kiss this woman’s ass for some reason. It feels like she’s still above me somehow, like royalty of the legal world. It’s bullshit. Her husband is an asshole which makes her one by proxy. What could she possibly see in that man? She has to know what went on and she did nothing but make an empty phone call? She’s spineless. I looked up to her. I looked up to all of them.
“Because… Honestly, I don’t know. Something just feels off about how everything happened.”
“You think?”
“What happened?”
“Why are you asking me? Ask your goddamn husband.”
I hear another long sigh, like apparently she’s done that and gotten nowhere. “We’re not on speaking terms at the moment. Precisely because I did that and I found his answer unsatisfactory.”
“You know what, it doesn’t matter, Tate. What’s done is done.”
“Please just tell me, so I can at least try to hold someone to account. I know you’re upset, but this matters to me, I promise. Justice is important to me, no matter how cliché it sounds. All I’ve been told is that you leaked information to the press.”
I have to bite down the boiling rage in my chest and manage not to scream my response. “I did no such thing. I’ll admit, I made a mistake leaving some things up on my computer. But the information in that article, I didn’t even know about it. Your husband, your firm, made me a scapegoat. Do you know what this will do to my career? Do you even give a shit?”
“Karli, I’m sorry.”
That takes some of the wind out of my lungs momentarily, because it’s unexpected. I didn’t think people like her knew how to apologize. It still does nothing to tamp down the anger, though.
“I can’t promise you your job back, if you’d even want it at this point. But some heads are going to roll for this. I promise. And I would like to remain a resource to you, if you’d like. For character references or recommendation letters. Whatever I can do to help.”
I stare at the asshole on the screen, still wearing his shitty cardigan, doing his monologue right before the idiot heroine forgives him. It’s so surreal. How did my life become this in the span of a few days?
I sit there for a moment, shaking my head. Even if my career rebounds, which it probably will, and I’m sure I’ll be fine, do I really want to end up like Tate one day? Going around cleaning up shitty things Matthew or some other asshole attorney I fall in love with does? Trying to explain to people oh, they’re actually a good person, followed by excuse after excuse? They didn’t mean to do it. Gaslighting every last one of their victims.
“Tate, I do appreciate you reaching out. I mean that. I think you mean well. But I can’t accept your help. Out of principle. I hope you can understand.”
“I do. More than you know. Thank you for giving me some of your time.”
“Sure.” I hang up the phone and toss it out on my coffee table. It rattles around next to a different empty ice cream container.
The woman on the screen smiles, with tears in her eyes, and lunges into the hero with fucking mistletoe over their heads. His arms wrap around her and her stupid Christmas sweater. It makes me want to puke.
My eyes roll up to the ceiling and I just stare at it, because I can’t bear to look at this farce on my TV any longer. Now, I want to punch something even harder because I actually do like Tate. Come to think of it, I like all the women at The Hunter Group. If they started their own firm, it would be a dream job.