Page 19 of The Mastermind

I cough as flames snap around me, screaming at me.

Mochi freaks and wriggles from my grip. Something crashes into my legs, burning my thigh. I choke on the smoke. My head hurts. I can’t see. My chest aches as I gasp for air . . .

I woke up choking, tears burning my eyes, making a fiery trail down my cheeks, and my throat felt like a desert. I reached for the bottle of water by my nightstand and gulped it down. I always had a spare bottle for nights like these. My heart pounded in my chest as I calmed my body with stable breathing.

The stress from work must have triggered the nightmares. Cinders of the past filled my bedroom, making the night even darker.

Over the years, the nightmares came and went, but in the past year, they’d become stronger. I’d gone through an awful breakup and started a new job, working for an asshole. So, yeah, the anxiety had skyrocketed. I glanced at my cell phone charging on the nightstand. Just a quarter past midnight. Knowing it would be a long night, I groaned.

I didn’t want to go to work tomorrow with dark circles under my eyes. I was supposed to meet up with Kiera and Michelle for drinks after work. As of right now, I might have to postpone. I wasn’t in the mood to go out looking and feeling like a zombie.

Fluffing my pillow, I tried to get comfortable and exhaled a heavy sigh. I settled back down, hoping it would release the guilt clinging to me. I missed my dad and Mochi, my blue-eyed, gray cat. What would life be like if they were still with me today? I missed playing board games with my dad, our bike rides around the neighborhood, his embrace, and his love.

Sometimes, I’d hear Mochi’s meows in my head and often glanced around, looking for him even though I knew he wasn’t there. I’d gotten him for my fifth birthday and lost him when I was eight. I only got to spend three years with him.

Tears soaked my pillows as I drifted off to sleep with their faces melted into my memory.

CHAPTEREIGHT

AUDRI

Saturday arrived,and I couldn’t be more thrilled.

After the stressful week, I looked forward to a couple of days of fun and rest. I could work on my jewelry—my baby project. I’d secured a presentation at the prestigious New York City Jewelry Exhibition next spring. When I received the acceptance letter from the review panel, I burst into tears. This would be the first time I displayed my professional line to the public. I’d be sharing the space with other well-known designers. Nerves tumbled as excitement and fear collided in my tummy.

What if my collection didn’t measure up to those designers? What if no one liked mine enough to place orders?

Stop it.I muted the doubtful thoughts because they weren’t helping.

Grabbing a pair of pliers, I twisted the silver wire around the aquamarine pendant. I loved the blue with a hint of green in it, which reminded me of Mochi. My cat had the most beautiful blue eyes. The pendant dangled beautifully on a silver chain, becoming the focal point of simplicity.

My phone buzzed with a reminder of my lunch date with Kiera and Michelle. We hadn’t met up the night before because I stayed late to finalize a last-minute project Lawrence had left hanging.

I placed the aquamarine necklace on the tray, hoping to finish it later. Rushing into my bedroom, I chose a light cream sweater and a pair of soft-as-butter brown pleather pants. I would’ve spent less money if I had purchased the real leather pants. This pleather, or faux leather, was made from a cutting-edge synthetic material that underwent special treatments to make it appear genuine and soft. The process took longer and therefore cost more, but it made me feel better, as though I was contributing to society. It also made me think of Mochi.

I loved the late March weather. Though it was chilly, the sun rose earlier and set later, offering more light during the day. Most of all, hope stirred in the air, whispering cheerful things in my ears. Spring was here, which meant longer days at the beach and summer dresses. I preferred spring and fall, the transitional seasons. They symbolized moments of movement. Spring was renewal, a time full of possibilities. Fall was rest, the comfortable and cozy feeling of getting ready for bed. Perhaps I was drawn to the transition of one stage to the next because I was still finding my way through life.

I pulled on a long pair of black boots I’d just gotten from the showroom. Working in advertising had connected me to several footwear designers who had sample sales for their employees. They hooked me up to sales meant for only their employees.

My phone pinged with a text message, and I sighed. “I’ll be there soon.”

It was probably Michelle or Kiera. They should know I was rarely late for anything. If I was, it was because of something out of my control, like traffic.

I picked up my cell phone and glanced at the message.

I want to touch your desirable body.

I furrowed my eyebrows. This was the fourth message I’d received in two weeks. The first time, I thought it was spam, or some random number had accidentally sent it to me. I had ignored all of them, but this message sounded more personal.

I often received these inappropriate messages on my social media accounts, but this was to my personal cell phone number. I mean, nothing was truly “safe” these days. If a hacker wanted my phone number, I was sure there were ways to retrieve it. However, I wasn’t royalty, a celebrity, or even a daughter of a well-known billionaire. I should’ve been safe from these inappropriate messages.

My ex-boyfriend, Kevin, popped into my mind. Why would he text me now? When we first broke up, he sent me several texts requesting another chance. I ignored him, and he eventually stopped. In the beginning, I didn’t want to block him because we worked in the same building for different companies, which collaborated on projects. That was how we met. It had seemed petty to block him, even if I had every right to do so.

Could it be him again? Why now? Did his current girlfriend kick him to the curb?

Why did men think women would take them back after cheating? Betrayal was something I could never forgive.

I couldn’t help myself and typed a message.