Lilac
His declaration lands like a blow to the gut, amplifying the throbbing ache of my injuries. I lock gazes with Mr. Byrd, desperately hoping for a glimmer of jest in his steely expression. But his demeanor leaves no room for doubt—this man is deadly serious.
A man of his caliber doesn't dabble in humor. My mind whirls, grappling with the grim reality that if he chooses to replace me, I'm truly going to die this time.
Emotions surge beneath my composed facade, threatening to erupt. I battle to contain them, though tears threaten to spill down my cheeks. The fate of the shop hangs in the balance, teetering on the brink of falling into the hands of those greedy bastards. And as for me? I'll meet my end somewhere in some ditch as Jane Doe.
Anna will probably kill me again, or die trying to get justice for me. Either way, it's a grim outcome. My hands shake as I struggle to find my voice amidst this situation.
What could I possibly say to a man so ensconced in the echelons of power that he likely can't fathom the struggles of us common folk? Briefly shutting my eyes, I steel myself to demonstrate unequivocally that I'm the best wedding planner for the job despite what's happening in my life.
Struggling to straighten my posture, I assert confidently, "Mr. Byrd, rest assured that my personal life will not impede my professional performance. Whatever information you may have uncovered about me does not undermine my dedication to excellence in my work as the wedding planner. I can prove to you that I am the best coordinator for your wedding."
Squirming uncomfortably as his gaze sweeps over me, I curse life's injustices—why does fortune smile so generously on some and not on others? The man exudes wealth and charisma in equal measure, leaving me feeling acutely aware of my own shortcomings. Anxiously chewing on my lip, I brace myself for his verdict like a convict on the chopping block.
"Ms. Carter, I'm not asking for proof; I'm merely stating a fact," he declares, crossing his legs as he settles into the chair with a cup of piping hot coffee. The aroma fills the room, tantalizing my senses. Those beans are simply divine.
I subtly shake my head, attempting to refocus on the matter at hand. My mind buzzes with potential comebacks, but his next words halt my train of thought.
Taking a sip, Jett continues, "I'm concerned that your 'associates' might disrupt my wedding."
Without hesitation, I refute, "They're not affiliated with me, and I can assure you they won't cause any trouble at the wedding!" After all, they're in need of the money just as much as I am. However, I keep those thoughts to myself.
"Ms. Carter, there's no such thing as certainty in this world," he states, reclining in his chair with a frown creasing his brow. "You must realize, this marriage holds immense significance for me."
Jett rises from his seat and strides to the window, his gaze fixed on the outside world. I shoot a glare at his back, suppressing the urge to scoff. Seriously? He thinks this wedding is important? It's evident he couldn't care less!
"What was that?" Jett inquires, turning to face me, his head tilted as he scrutinizes me with his piercing gaze. He approaches the bed, looming over me with his towering 6'1" frame casting a shadow over my petite stature.
Feeling dwarfed in his presence, I pout and retort, "I didn't say anything. You must have misheard."
Averting my gaze, I inwardly curse my tendency to speak my mind without a filter. I can be so careless at times.
"He clearly doesn't give a damn about this wedding at all!" Jett echoes my tone, almost mocking, and under different circumstances, it might have been amusing.
Embarrassment floods my cheeks, a telltale sign of being caught. My mouth parts, but words evade me, leaving me tongue-tied.
"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" Jett's eyes narrow, drawing closer to my face.
My heart pounds against my ribs. What's his game? I stiffen, fixating on the near-perfect curve of his nose, marred only by a slight deviation in its line. Unconsciously, I hold my breath.
I inch back, seeking refuge against the bed frame.
"You ought to be grateful I'm footing the bill," he murmurs, his fingers gripping the metal frame. His gaze delves into mine, burning with intensity.
"I don't do charity, Ms. Carter," he asserts, stepping back. I release the tight hold on my chest, finally inhaling deeply after nearly a minute of breathlessness. I shoot him a glare. Why did he have to do that?
"Those men pursuing you won't relent until they've bled you dry, Ms. Carter. They're sharks for a reason. Your life seems to be quite the mess. I could refuse to pay you altogether, but I'm feeling generous. Isn't that sufficient?" Jett's lips curve into a smirk. "Don't push too hard, or you might not enjoy it when I demand interest."
"It's because of those loan sharks that I need this job, alright?" Frustration seeps into my voice as I attempt to rise, hindered by the pain shooting through my side. I groan, clutching my arm.
"You're not fit for the job in your condition..." Jett retorts, exasperated. "I'm not a slave driver, and I won't force you to work. Even if there weren't loan sharks involved, I wouldn't allow you to work like this. I refuse to let you handle my wedding!"
Tears gather in my eyes as I lose control of my emotions. "You don't give a damn about this wedding! You're just an entitled jerk who's getting married out of obligation. I feel sorry for Ms. Sykes for marrying someone like you!"
The instant the words leave my lips, immediate regret courses through me. Curse my reckless mouth. Instead of convincing him, I've succeeded in genuinely infuriating him!
He scoffs, shaking his head. "I'm trying to help you, Ms. Carter. Looks like I'm only making things worse. And don't even get me started on the car accident; I'm warning you, you're the one who crashed into my car. We've got the dashcam footage to back it up."
His lips curve into a disdainful smile as he tucks his hands inside his stylish suit jacket.
Reminded that I collided with his car, a pang of guilt stirs within me. He doesn't really have to take care of me like this. "I... I won't do that," I deflate, despising myself.
Jett sighs, running his hands through his hair. "You know what, just take care of yourself. I don't have time to waste here. I stayed because I wanted to make sure you're okay."
He whirls on his heel, swiftly exiting the room. Despite his hasty departure, I remain rooted to the spot!
"Wait, Mr. Byrd!" I panic, ripping the IV from my arm. Ignoring the pain, I hobble after him. He slips into the elevator, the doors sliding shut before me.
"Come on, come on!" I urge, jabbing at the button for the next elevator. I refuse to give up now! I bite my lip, repeatedly pressing the button. Why must I be stranded on the third floor?
The elevator chimes, and I dart inside. As it descends, I burst out, leaping and limping on my good side. He's engrossed in conversation on his phone, likely waiting for his car.
"Mr. Byrd!" I scream, but he doesn't hear. Hobbling closer, a concerned nurse intercepts me.
"What are you doing, miss? What floor are you on? You need to return," she soothes, attempting to guide me back to the seating area.
"No, you don't understand! I need to—" I halt abruptly as he enters his car and drives away.
"Damn it!" I whimper. How will I ever speak to him now? Why did I utter those words in the first place?