A smile curls at the corner of my lips. “They don’t even do that anymore. But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for worrying you. How did you even find out I was in there?”
He scoffs. “It’s my job, remember?”
“Right,” I bark out a sharp laugh. “I’m guessing that’s how you got this new number?”
“Pretty good, aren’t I?”
I grin. It’s the first real smile I’ve had in what feels like forever. “You’re the best, I ever tell you that?”
“You look like shit, Mackenzie, but seeing that smile on you looks damn good. And honestly? Not nearly enough, I definitely wouldn’t mind you speaking my praises a little more often.”
My smile freezes on my face when his words register, and I glance around. “Let me guess, you can see me?”
“I’m at your three o’clock.” I look around, squinting my eyes, trying to spot him. I hear his aggravated sigh.
“Your three o’clock, Mackenzie, not mine. Jesus Christ.”
I finally spot him with a ball cap pulled low over his features, shaking his head. I shoot him the middle finger for being a jerk.
“C’mon, we need to talk.”
I cross the street, following Jack into the building that I now realize must be where he’s staying. His studio is filled with boxes, computers, and wires everywhere. I cringe.
“Christ, Jack,” I mumble, nearly tripping over a stray wire. He rolls his eyes.
“Oh, shut up. I think your issues outweigh the state of my current living situation. Now, plant your ass down and tell me what the fuck is going on. And start from the beginning.”
I purse my lips. “We might be here for a while.”
He glares at me, silently telling me to start talking. Once I have him all caught up on everything that has transpired, and what is probably going to happen next after the piece is out, he stares at the ceiling, likely for strength, shaking his head. “You’re poking a bear, Mackenzie. This isn’t going to work out the way you think it is. You know that, right? If you’re not careful, he’s going to kill you next.”
I press my lips together, unconvinced. “I’d like to see him try.”
“So, what now?”
“I watch them all fall.”
“And Baz? What happens to him?”
“I want the truth from him. The real truth. Not some bullshit story he’s spun, or Vincent’s spun. I need to know if he hurt her.”
“How the hell are you going to get that information out of him? You’re here, and he’s there. You don’t trust him; he doesn’t trust you. This is a fucking disaster waiting to happen.”
“Well…” I trail off, catching his gaze, willing him to hear me out. He doesn’t. His mouth drops open, shock lighting his features.
“You’re kidding. Tell me you’re fucking kidding? You want to go back, find a way back in his life? What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I just need you to help me get in to see him.”
“Why not try to contact him and have an actual conversation instead of lying? Ever think of that?”
I glare at him. “Stop doing that. Stop making me feel bad for the choices I’ve made. He’s not going to want to hear from me. Our last conversation didn’t go well at all. This is the only way.”
“And what if he hurts you? What do I do then?”
My mouth opens, and I pause, thinking about the possibility of him hurting me. Even as I do it, no fear comes, because I can’t see him doing it. I can’t see Baz hurting me. Or maybe it’s me being stupid and naïve again, wanting to see the best in him.
“He’s not going to hurt me,” I finally say.
“Are you sure about that?” he asks, his brows drawn together, concern written all over his face. This is the first time I’ve seen him look really afraid. I can only hope I’m right.
“No.” I blow out a breath and shrug. “But I’ve made up my mind. I need this closure.”
“Why can’t you just let this go, Mackenzie? You really think he’s the kind of man who is going to trust you so easily after what happened last time? He’s not, I can assure you.”
“No. My plan this time is different. The stakes are higher. I just need him to think I trust him and still care for him.”
“You do still care for him.” Jack rolls his eyes.
“Who the hell said that?”
“No one needs to say it. It’s obvious to anyone with a fucking brain.”
“Can you help me or not, Jack? This is my last chance.”
“Why can’t you be patient and wait for the authorities to take them down? Let them go through the evidence in your journalistic piece. Isn’t that why you wrote it in the first place?”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Tell me how to get ahold of him or I’m out of here.”
“Fine. This time, your agenda needs to be real. You need to be your real self. Not Scarlett. Not some harlot with dyed hair. Just yourself. Show him who you really are. Strip yourself bare for him, peel back your layers, so he sees you really mean it this time.”
“He’s not going to make this easy.”
“I have no doubt in my mind you’re right. Just be careful. This guy and all his friends are still dangerous. I don’t need you doing any more stupid shit, understand?”
“Yes, Dad,” I mock.
After my meeting with Jack, I walk around the streets of New York for a while longer, just thinking. I’m trying to soak up as much calm as I can before the shit really hits the fan. When I make it back to Kat’s place, I’m surprised that she and Vera are there pacing around, waiting for me. I give them the rundown of my meeting with the lawyers and the next steps we plan to take, then I tell them about my run-in with Marcus. Just in case the bastard tries anything.
“We wanted to surprise you with a girls’ day. A day of pampering before things get…crazy,” Kat says, dragging me toward the door, a conspicuous grin on her face. Vera picks up a lock of my hair, her face twisted with disdain.
“It’s time to fix this. You look like you’re wearing a reject version of Sia’s wig.”
A laugh bursts past my lips because she’s not wrong. The looks I’ve been getting from people haven’t been the kindest. And they’re right. It’s time for a change. Time to go back to my roots and embrace myself.
After a solid seven hours stripping my hair of the black dye at Vera’s favorite salon, the hairstylist is able to return it back to normal and even add some honey blond strands to brighten up the color. With an aching back from sitting in the chair for hours, I’m turned toward the mirror, and I gasp at the reflection staring back at me.
It’s me.
Not the me who’s pretending to be anyone else. My eyes seem lighter, my skin brighter than it’s looked in days—weeks actually. With a few inches off my hair, the blond locks now hang around my shoulders, the shorter layers of the waves grazing the contours of my face and jaw.
I don’t know how the stylist managed to do it, but she’s turned me into the beautiful version of Makenzie before she had any aspirations for revenge. A version of myself I never even knew was there.