Page 31 of The Art of Being a Psychopath

“I didn’t expect to see you here, today,” Alex replied kindly, his gentle tone putting me at ease. “It’s a nice surprise, though.”

“I didn’t expect to be here. But I had to come to apologise.”

His smile faded.

“Apologise for what?” He glanced between Lloyd and me, looking mystified. “Is this still about the broken sculpture, or has something else happened?”

“It’s the article,” Lloyd announced, raising his brows in a telling way.

“Have you read it?” I asked, feeling nervous about his answer. I was really hoping he’d say no.

“Of course I have,” he said, and my erratically beating heart stuttered with dread and fear. “It was a little... abrupt, maybe,” he went on, choosing his words carefully. “But I don’t understand why you’re here to apologise.”

“It was abrupt,” I said, mirroring his words, “But it wasn’t my article.”

Lloyd cleared his throat, preparing to dive into the conversation, but Alex wouldn’t let him.

“What do you mean, it wasn’t your article?”

“I didn’t write it.”

“If you didn’t write it, who did?”

“Mr. Gold.”

Alex hummed in understanding, and nodded, knowingly. “That doesn’t surprise me. I wouldn’t put anything past that man. But it isn’t your apology to make. It’s his.”

I was speechless and so fucking grateful that someone was finally listening to me.

Why hadn’t Lloyd been like this?

Maybe I wouldn’t feel so bad about turning down his offer of dinner next Thursday if he’d shown an ounce of empathy. But he hadn’t. And if I was honest, I didn’t feel bad about turning him down at all. He was an asshole who was more than willing to fleece me of five grand.

“I wish everyone thought like you,” I found myself saying.

“There’s people in this world who thrive on causing drama and misery for everyone around them.” Alex turned to Lloyd. “Isn’t that right, Lloyd?”

Lloyd nodded, even though he was the type to be at the front of the crowd when drama was happening, and Alex’s comment was clearly aimed at him.

“Don’t let it upset you, Emma.” Alex reached out to stroke the side of my arm in comfort. A gesture that left goosebumps on my skin and made my spine tingle. “They’re only words, and it was just an article that’ll be forgotten about tomorrow.”

I swallowed, the heat from his touch still smouldering on my arm.

“I hope you’re right. But I don’t think S.K.A.M. sees it that way.”

Alex frowned, narrowing his eyes as he asked, “What makes you say that?”

“He emailed the newspaper.” I didn’t want to admit that the email was sent directly to me. “He wasn’t happy about what was written, to put it mildly.”

“He’ll get over it.” Alex shrugged. “He knows how things work in this world. And he knows Gold, too. Him emailing was probably a knee-jerk reaction. Nothing more.”

“He was pissed off, though. I don’t think he will get over it soon.”

“And that bothers you?” Alex regarded me closely, like he couldn’t believe I was so bothered by this.

“Yes.”

“But you can’t please everyone all the time. Especially when you weren’t in control of the words that were put out there in the first place.” He paused, then added, “It’s like the art you chose on Friday. A piece of the shattered heart. You feel torn, but it’s out of your control. How someone else reacts and what they feel is for them to worry about, not you.”