Page 102 of Pity Pact
“I’m not telling you to do anything, Paige. All I’m saying is that sometimes things aren’t what they seem. Sometimes you think you have all the answers, when in truth you didn’t even know what the questions were.”
I raise my hands in the air and then bend down so my fingertips touch the coffee table. “Oh, wise one,” I joke. “I am so lucky you have all the answers to impart to me.”
She wings a throw pillow at me. “Smart aleck. All I’m saying is that you shouldn’t make snap judgments when you don’t have all the facts.”
“Good thing I have all the facts then,” I tell her. Even as I say this, I’m aware that might not be true. Good thing I’m smart enough not to cop to it out loud.
“So you’re going to ignore Tim and pretend you never meant anything to each other?”
“I never did mean anything to him, Missy. What I’m going to do is pretend he never meant anything to me until I’m over him.” Leaning my head against the back of the couch, I add, “And if you were a good friend, you’d help me.”
“If I were a good friend?” Oh yeah, she’s mad. “I’m your best friend, idiot. As such, I’m always there for you. Always. But what I want you to remember is that you do not know everything, and I will not sit back and watch if I think you’re about to make a big mistake.”
“Is that a threat?”How dare she threaten me right now.
“No, Paige,that’s apromise.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
TIM
I don’t know what to expect walking into work the day after being part of the television spectacle of the century, but I don’t expect it to be easy. Which is why I shouldn’t be surprised that Trina is waiting for me in the lobby when I get there.
“Tim,” she says, sounding sterner than I’ve ever heard her.
“What can I do for you, Trina?”
She glances to her left where two other producers are standing. Their arms are crossed authoritatively. “I need to speak with you.”
“Sure.” I mean, what more do I have to lose? It’s a done deal that I’m going to be on the wrong end of a lawsuit, so I might as well hear the woman out in hopes of garnering some idea of how screwed I am.
I follow Trina past the producers, toward Conference Room A. I’m surprised when she doesn’t stop there. Instead, she strides purposefully down a long hall, turning at the entrance to the pro shop. She looks around to make sure we haven’t been followed before leading the way out the door into below-zero temperatures.
As the hairs in my nose freeze like mini icicles, I finally ask, “Where are we going?”
“I need to talk to you privately.” She scurries up the path that leads to the parking lot. When we get to a black Mercedes SUV, she unlocks the doors and motions for me to get in. Once we’re seated, she starts the car and pulls out.
“Are you kidnapping me?” In all the scenarios I played over in my head, this was not even close to being one of them.
“No. But we can’t be at the country club for what I have to say.”
“Because it’s been booby trapped with tripwires and landmines?” I’m clearly joking but she’s being so secretive my imagination has immediately gone to the absurd.
“I’m not going to say anything else until we get to where we’re going.”
“Which is where?”
“A small motel on the outskirts of town.”
Shifting my gaze so I’m staring at the side of her head, I ask, “Why?”
She clearly senses my discomfort because she says, “Don’t get your panties in a bunch. We’re only going there to talk.”
Don’t get my panties in a bunch?That’s not something anyone has ever said to me in the past, and for some reason it makes me laugh. “Trina, you’re acting like we’re in some kind of spy thriller and the KGB is chasing us.”
“The entertainment industry and the KGB are probably more alike than you think.” She turns left into the Bunk House Inn parking lot before getting out of the car. I follow her to a room only two doors down.
Once we’re inside the shockingly avocado green room, she announces, “I didn’t have any part in setting you up, but I’m still responsible.”