Page 149 of Sin

I close my eyes. That word. Protected. Everyone keeps saying it like protection doesn’t feel exactly like being the dirty part no one wants seen too clearly.

Tate sighs. “Sin wants me to give you the number of an attorney he trusts unless you already have someone.”

I let out a watery laugh. “No. Can’t say I keep an attorney on retainer for something like this.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Is he there?”

A pause. “Yes.”

I grip the edge of my kitchen counter. “Did he ask to talk to me?”

“Yes.”

Another small, stupid fracture in my chest.

“And?”

“And Owen told him not to.”

Of course he did. Owen, the patron saint of policy violations.

“He’s right,” Tate says quietly. “I know that’s probably not what you want to hear.”

I swallow hard.

“What I want is irrelevant, apparently.”

“No.” His voice turns firm. “It isn’t. That’s why you need your own attorney. Someone who represents you, not Sin. Not the company. You.”

I press my palm to my forehead. The flu is gone, leaving behind a dull ache that I fear I’ll have to live with now. Guilt.

“Okay,” I whisper.

“I’m texting you her information. Her name is Mara Ellison. She’s independent. Employment law, corporate disputes, reputation management. She’s good.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

Then Tate says, softer, “Laurel, stay off the internet.”

“Too late.”

“I figured.”

I say, “It’s fine.”

“It’s not.”

“No,” I admit. “It’s not.”

There is silence on his end. Then, “He’s losing his mind over there.”

My chest squeezes. “Don’t tell me that.”

“I know. Sorry.”

“Is everyone mad?”