She does huff out an impatient breath. “Fine. I don’t like it, but fine. You know, for a second there, I honestly thought you’dbeen, like, taken hostage by the hot boss and his hot wife.”
My reply sticks in my throat. I probably should tell Syrah about Bee, but I can’t bring myself to go there. If I say the words outloud, they’ll be true, and if they’re true, then God only knows how long that pain is going to last.
It sounds dumb and dumb is exactly what it is, but that’s how my brain is working these days. Logic is a thing of the past.
“I’m not a hostage; don’t worry. Everything is fine.”
I can practically hear Syrah’s suspicion through the phone. “You’d tell me if anything was up, right?”
“Of course!” I cringe at the way my voice goes up a handful of octaves into a barely believable
