Page 152 of The Exit Strategy

“Cole,” Natalie hisses. “A word.”

“No.” I shrug her off and spot Junie with Hudson near an interior garden at the end of the long hallway. She’s running now.

My feet won’t move fast enough, but the click-clack of heels tells me Natalie’s still following and this is about to get so much worse.

“Cole, you can’t run from me.”

“I said not fucking now, Natalie.”

“Yes, now. They’re going to fire me. The board is voting on my renewal in three weeks, and I need?—”

I reach Junie, but the leech is still at my side. “Later,” I hiss.

Hudson stands at Junie’s back. I should be her support beam, not him, but I already know I’ve lost that honor just by her body language.

“We will not talk later.” Natalie’s composure has snapped, and now Junie has a front-row seat to it. “This is what you signed on for. I need designs. Three. By the end of the month. I won’t lose this job, Cole. It’s the only thing?—”

“No.”

The word drops between us.

Natalie’s eyes narrow, and whatever she finds in my reflection has panic shadowing hers. “No?”

“Cole,” Hudson warns. He doesn’t have his case against her locked down yet.

I’m not sure that it matters anymore.

Hudson can’t find Junie on the paperwork. I have to take that at face value now.

“I’m fucking done, Natalie. I’m not giving you anything else. Ever. You’ve taken too much. It’s done. You’re dead to me.”

The air grows thick between us while Natalie calculates if the leverage she has is still enough.

“Come on, Junie,” Hudson says more gently than I’ve heard him in years. “Let’s?—”

“Did he tell you about our arrangement?” Natalie asks, stepping closer to Junie.

My arm snaps out to ward her off. “Fuck. Off. Natalie.”

“About the foreclosure? About Marcus? About your mom or why he’s been?—”

“Stop,” I growl.

“Sending me designs for six years. Why he allows me to claim them? Why he subsidizes my career to help cover the cost of my brother’s care in exchange for my silence?”

“Fuck,” Hudson mutters.

But my world stops.

No one moves.

Somewhere behind us, the master of ceremonies directs everyone to their seats.

“Silence for what?” Junie asks. Her voice is as monotone as her expression.

Natalie’s face curls into the ugliest grin. “Let’s start easy, shall we, with a copy of the vlog you created the night your mother died. The one where you said you were thankful she died.Thankful.”

“A video,” Junie says, slowly.