“Just listen to me… for fuck’s sake…” There’s a ragged note in his voice that wasn’t there before. “It’s about Chloe. Okay?Chloe is in trouble.”
My eyes spring open at the same instant as my mouth.
“Wait.”
* * *
The privacy partitionis up inside the limousine, but I can still feel the weight of the guards’ presence on the other side — two inches and an entire universe away. I almost wish I’d asked them to keep it lowered when we climbed into the backseat and pulled away from Westgate. Some small modicum of supervision wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.
The last time you were alone in a limo with Carter Thorne, you ended up in his lap.
But that was an eternity ago.
So much has changed since then.
You’ve changed so much since then.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.
The silk of my dress is slippery beneath me as I shift restlessly against the leather, a feeble attempt to get comfortable. As if I could ever be comfortable with him sitting two feet away, reclined like a king on the seat directly across from mine.
I force myself to look at him. To stare danger straight in the face, so to speak. He’s half in shadow, his body completely immobile — no nervous fidgeting on his end. He hasn’t said a word and yet, I can barely catch my breath.
“Well.” I clear my throat roughly. “You wanted to talk to me about Chloe. Here I am, a captive audience.”
He stares at me for a long beat — an amused tiger surveying its supper. “Are you nervous?”
“Nervous?” My bleat of false laugher is painfully transparent. “Why would I be nervous?”
“Your pulse is racing.” His eyes are on my neck, where a telltale vein is thrumming visibly beneath exposed skin. “And you always dole out extra sass when you’re scared shitless. Which you usually are, when it comes to us.”
“There is nous, Carter. There never was.”
His eyes —God, why can’t I escape those eyes?— are locked on mine, unshifting. “Like I said: scared shitless.”
“Let’s just stay on track, shall we?” I swallow hard. “What’s going on with Chloe? Is she okay?”
He blows out a long breath, reaching up to rub at the faint line of stubble that’s appeared on his jaw in the hours since he last shaved. He looks irritatingly attractive with a shadow of facial hair.
Don’t focus on how he looks, Emilia. Focus on why he's here.
I shift again, uncomfortable as the silence stretches on. “So help me god, Carter, if you lied about her being in trouble just to trick me into talking to you…”
“I didn’t lie.” He leans back against his seat and I suddenly see how worn out he looks; as though he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. “She’s off the rails.”
I blink. “What?”
“She’s using again.”
I tilt my head to one side. “Not to be insensitive, but Chloe’s been pretty blatant about using drugs since the day I met her. During our first ever conversation, she pulled a joint out of her bra and lit up.”
“I’m not talking about her little Adderall habit or her morning bong hits. This… this is different.” There’s a starkness in Carter’s voice that sets off warning bells inside my head.
“Different how?”
“You haven’t known Chloe all that long, so you’ve never seen it happen. But this isn’t the first time I’ve watched my sister spiral. I recognize the signs — almost too well, at this point. She doesn’t come home for days at a time. When she actually bothers to sleep at Hightower, she’s a zombie. I try to talk to her, try to reach her, try to make her eat something… but there’s no life behind her eyes. She’s nosediving. It’s only a matter of time before she crashes.” His words drop to a rough whisper. “If she keeps this up, I’m worried she’s going to OD again.”
My stomach feels like its turned to a block of cement inside my gut. “Do you know what kind of drugs she’s on?”