"It was Beauty killed the Beast." —King Kong. Directed by Merian C. Cooper and Ernest B. Schoedsack Summer "He didn’t." I crumple the paper and fling it aside. Karma looks up from her laptop, "Let me guess." She pretends to think, "It’s the alphahole, otherwise known as, your husband?" "My soon to be ex." A situation I can’t wait for. Something hot stabs at my chest; my heart begins to race. I can’t wait to be rid of him, to put all of this sordid mess behind me. "Hmm." She resumes working. "What are you doing?" I growl. At least my own sister could be sympathetic to my cause, huh? She’s been curiously controlled in her reactions the last few days. Every time I try to talk to her about Mr. Sterling. Yeah, it’s back to that. Best to think of him in formal terms. Newsflash: tell that to my subconscious which has a one-track mind where Sin is concerned—Yeah, see what I did there? "Karma." I march up to her, slap the laptop’s face down, a second after she yanks her hand out of the way. "Oy, you were never this violent before." "Shit happens." I scowl at her. "What are you hiding from me?" "Moi?" She fluffs up her hair, "Nothing. Honest." She widens her gaze, looking not innocent at all. "After all there’s no crying in baseball." "That's from A League of Their Own." I shoot back. "And, you can’t distract me." She huffs out a breath. "I tried." "What?" "You are overanalyzing this." "Me?" A slow simmer starts somewhere inside. "I’m overanalyzing?" I spot the piece of crumpled paper, scoop it up, and walking back, I thrust it under her nose. "Read it." She acc epts it, reluctance written in every angle of her body. She opens it, peers up at me. "Go on." She sighs, opens it up, and begins to read. "Aloud." "Dear Ms. West, This is to inform you that you are appointed Head of FOK quizzes a new division of FOK Media. Please r eport for work, 9 am tomorrow, and present your long-overdue ideas in response to the earlier marketing brief—I take it you have the details? PS. You’re welcome." "Aargh! That man."
She continues reading. "Yours sincerely, Sinclair Sterling MD, FOK Media Chairman, 7 A Investments" "Yeah, yeah, I know all that." I grab the sheet from her, then thrust the other piece of paper at her. She reads it and her eyebrows shoot up. "Divorce proceedings?" "Yeah." My shoulders slump. "That’s what you wanted, right?" "Hmm? Yes." "Then?" "Don’t you see the problem?" I scowl. "That you’d be working with him?" I glare at her, "You’re taking the piss, right?" "Why should it bother you?" "Only that he’d be my ex, not to mention the history between us." "He’s giving you a chance to accomplish all of your dreams. You’ve always wanted your own quizzing company, and you’d be the CEO of it, so to speak." "As a part of his company." "So?" "So, I want complete autonomy." "Maybe that’s what he’s calling you to discuss?" "Why is he doing this? It’s favoritism, n epotism." "It won’t be if he’s divorcing you." "I’d be his ex." "Gives more credibility to the fact that he’s recognizing your potential." "But I don’t—" I bite my lips. "You don’t want to be s eparated from him?" She tilts her head. "I didn’t say that." "You almost did." She continues, "You’re making too much of all this." "It’s only my life." "And he returned it to you." "Huh?" She waves her hand around. "Gave you back this shitty apartment, reinstated all your outstanding bills, transferred the £4.5 M to your bank account." Y-e-p.
You read that figure right. When I saw it, I almost fell over. Like, how many zeroes were there in that figure, huh? Well, ask me, I know. I counted and re-counted it quite a few times in my online bank balance. "He hasn't backtracked on the money and he hasn't sneakily tried to pay off our debts." Karma ste eples her fingers together. "He hasn’t shown you favoritism... Hasn't bullied you into doing anything you don't want." "Yeah, yeah." I huff. "What are you? The alphahole's personal PR flunkie?" "No, that's your official role." She chortles. I throw my hands up. "I walked into that one." "No, seriously Summer. He's trying. He made sure I have access to Dr. Weston... if I choose to pursue the treatment with him." "Which you are." "It’s something we need to discuss." "What do you mean? He’s the best heart specialist there is in the city." "Nothing’s wrong with me." "There." I stab a finger at her, "That’s the problem. You’re afraid of getting the right diagnosis, because then you’d have to do something about it. You'd have to stop pretending there’s nothing wrong with you." She jumps up to her feet, "So not true, and you should speak." "What do you mean?" "You’re the one denying you have feelings for Mr. Gazillionaire." "Not." I grind my teeth. "You do. And now when he’s doing everything as you wanted, you are livid." She’s right, though no way am I going to admit that. "You were hoping for a chance to find fault with him, which you can’t. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that you’re missing him." "You’re deluded." "Oh?" "I can’t be bought with good intentions." "You should be telling him that." I stiffen. "Unless you are too chicken about ke eping that appointment and telling him that to his face?" Umm. I begin to pace. "I don’t trust him." "You mean you don’t trust yourself?" I swing around. "What?"
"You have to admit there are serious sparks between the two of you. Maybe that’s why you don’t want to ke ep the appointment?" "I don’t have to. I could sign the divorce papers, mail them to him. Then go tell him to stuff the job offer where the sun don’t shine." "You could." She relaxes into the sofa, places the computer on the side. "Or you could tell him to his face." I grab a strand of my hair, bring it to my lips. "Imagine the look on his face, huh?" She nods. "Bet he wouldn’t be able to deal with the fact that someone could actually turn him down." That’s true. She places her fingers together in front of her, "You’d have the last word. You’d enjoy that." That would be cool. I raise my shoulders, and let them drop, "Well, nobody’s perfect." She snorts. "You’re a long way from that, girlfriend." "Gotcha." I clap my hands. "Wait. What?" She sits up. "I'm confused." "That last line of mine?" I chuckle, "It's from Some Like It Hot." "Not fair, Summer." She scowls. "I got a point on you." I pump my fists in the air, then fling out my arms and do a shimmy. "Woohoo." It's childish of me, but gosh does it feel good to let off some steam. "I'm not as obsessed with movie trivia." She tosses her head, "So I ke ep missing things. Not that I'm competing or anything." "Such a sore loser." I grin. "Now it’s you changing the topic." She waggles a finger at me. "Yeah." I sober, straighten my shoulders, "What should I wear tomorrow?"