Page 42 of Spin Control

“That’s why Lizzy is here—she’s with you. I’m Todd Andrews,” he says, extending his hand. I don’t particularly want to take it, but I grit my teeth and do it anyway, squeezing harder than necessary. “I’m Lizzy’s brother-in-law. It’s great to meet you.”

I smile rather than returning the pleasantries. “Sorry to cut this short, but I actually need to steal Jacobs here.”

“Of course!” Todd crows. “Enjoy your night. And Lizzy, I’ll see you in Cape Cod on Sunday, right?”

She says nothing as she turns and silently walks away.

19

I’ve heard that a side effect of surviving an explosion is a high-pitched ringing in your ears.

Turns out that’s true even if the explosion is only internal.

What was I thinking? Why did I do something so monumentally stupid?

I know where my sister’s priorities lie. I know better than to put myself in a situation that pits me against her husband—because Jane has never chosen me over him. I should have taken a deep breath and then backed Todd into a corner so he had no choice but to beg me for mercy. But instead, I let my emotions get the best of me.

I lost control.

The ringing in my ears intensifies and my head spins. Suddenly, a large, warm hand envelopes my wrist. “Jacobs, you have to stop!”

I blink. I’m outside. It’s dark. A car drives past, closer than expected. I look down—and oh.

I almost stepped off the sidewalk and into traffic.

I almost died because of Todd fucking Andrews.

Pressure builds in my chest, bubbling up until I can’t hold it back anymore. A laugh bursts out of my mouth—but it’s an ugly, uncanny sound.

“What the hell, Elizabeth?”

I look at Wes and am met with a stern expression. I had no idea he could look stern. But wow, he can really pull it off. Brow furrowed, mouth in a straight line, whisky eyes filled with an impenetrable look.

For some reason, this makes me laugh even harder. I try to take a breath, but end up wheezing, noisily sucking in air even as the maniacal cackling continues.

Todd would have been so damn smug if I’d died. As if I wouldn’t haunt his ass for the rest of his life, making the bathroom floor extra cold in the winter and always stealing just one sock from each pair.

A bus drives by, fast enough to create a breeze.

“Can you please, for the love of God, step away from the curb so that you don’t die in front of me, thereby creating yet another crisis that I’m involved in and don’t know how to handle?”

My laughing fit ends. I blink again. I step away from the curb. And toward Wes Grant.

“Thank you,” he says, his eyes raking over me. “Let’s get you some food.”

I shake my head. There’s no way I could eat right now. But Wes looks incredibly unimpressed by this. “When was the last time you ate?”

I’m annoyed by the question. But now that I’m thinking about it, I don’t know the answer. I ordered a French dip for Jack and a protein bowl for Wes. I wanted the grilled halloumi salad, but they were out of it. So I didn’t have lunch.

I did have breakfast though—didn’t I? I slept through my alarm and was in a rush. But I ate a container of yogurt, right? It was in the mini fridge. It was blueberry, and I took it out and then…there wasn’t a spoon with the rest of the utensils in the room, for some reason. So I didn’t eat it.

Before that was the mad dash from Connecticut to La Guardia to catch the flight to D.C. And before that…

“Ice cream.”

“They had ice cream at the conference?”

I shake my head. “Yesterday. But then David called and—”